Chapter 294: With the Long Rope in Hand, When Will We Tame the Dragon?

“…That’s the deal.”

At the last second, Charlie Pétain, teetering on the edge of a meltdown, found a sliver of sense in his arrogance. This was Seattle, WindyPeak Games’ turf.

He took the hint—“get out while you can”—and left WindyPeak Games, stormed to his car, and sped back to his hotel, fuming.

Pétain reported straight to Barb Cornick, who furrowed his brow.

Zoey Parker, WindyPeak’s CEO, had humiliated Cornick, a Long Island native used to calling the shots.

What was WindyPeak Games? A mid-sized studio, focused on gaming, in a U.S. market still finding its legs compared to giants in Japan or Europe.

And CloudWave-Vivendi? No small fry with $8–10B in assets. This Euro-American titan dominated water, energy, transport, and tech, with a $1.48T market cap—a global capital beast.

Yet, a puny $300–500M studio dared to kick out the VP of a trillion-dollar empire.

Sure, WindyPeak had Parker Capital, a U.S. heavyweight, in their corner. So what? Cornick’s intel pegged Parker Capital at $900B, two spots below CloudWave-Vivendi in global rankings—big, but outclassed.

Market cap wasn’t everything at this level. Influence was. CloudWave-Vivendi had the edge, didn’t they?

Cornick found WindyPeak’s nerve laughable. “Young, fearless punks,” he scoffed. “They’ve bullied their way in the U.S., tasted blood against Komina, and think they’re untouchable.”

“There’s an old saying: ‘Courtesy first, force second.’ We offered courtesy. They spat on it.”

Cornick’s brows lifted, lips curling into a regretful smirk.

Since CloudWave and Vivendi teamed up, no rival lasted a year. Even Ubisoft, a tough nut, fell in three quarters, milked dry as their cash cow.

WindyPeak seemed ironclad, scoffing at IPOs and acquisitions. But to a titan like CloudWave-Vivendi, crushing a mid-sized studio was child’s play.

Parker Capital, a U.S. giant, was a hurdle, but not a wall. The real snag? WindyPeak’s three glowing features in Global Pulse Media.

That “bulletproof vest” scared Cornick more than Parker Capital’s billions.

No biggie. If overt moves failed, they’d go covert. If force didn’t work, they’d play soft.

Cripple WindyPeak, force a cheap buyout—done.

“No rush,” Cornick chuckled, waving a hand. “Let their old pal take a swing first.”

Pétain’s eyes narrowed, intrigued. “What’s the play, boss?”

Cornick grinned. “That washed-up producer we scooped up? He’s got beef with WindyPeak.”

“Time for our reformed friend to step up.”

Beep! A notification pinged in their virtual conference room.

An Asian man in his forties joined. His Vivendi-Windsport ID read: TYG Studio Chief Art Director: Jiro Yamamoto.

Perfect.

Jiro Yamamoto, who’d sparked WindyPeak’s split from their old studio to make Silent Hill P.T., igniting their war with Komina. Beaten by WindyPeak’s Outlast, he’d fled Komina’s disgrace, crossing the Pacific to join Vivendi-Windsport as a studio director.

Now, with Cornick’s hostile takeover looming, Jiro was the ideal spearhead—a producer burned by Gus Harper’s success.

Cornick wasn’t worried about Jiro playing dirty. He was worried Jiro wouldn’t play dirty enough.

Tech Tower, Seattle. Walter Parker’s penthouse office, home base of Parker Capital.

Gus Harper and Zoey Parker sat across from Walter, Zoey’s father and Parker Capital’s head.

Gus set down his coffee, steam curling. The digital clock read: Friday, 9:18 AM, September 19, 2025.

No casual visit for chess or banter. This was business.

Walter nodded for Gus to continue.

“Nebula Games once targeted our team,” Gus said. “They wanted to tear us apart for a buyout. They were after our talent.”

“Komina, who we fought, didn’t care about killing us. They wanted to stunt our growth, keep their Asian crown. They chased clout.”

“Neither wanted us dead. Survival wasn’t their goal.”

Gus shook his head, pivoting. “CloudWave’s different. They want us gone.”

“They’re after our IPs. The closer we’re to dead, the cheaper they buy us.”

“As long as our value outweighs their cost, they’ll never stop.”

Gus knew capital’s game. Profit was a relentless hunter. Hostile takeovers, like Ubisoft’s, were ideal. If that failed, they’d pounce anyway.

WindyPeak could cling to their IPs, let them die in obscurity. But CloudWave could just buy a few devs, rebrand them as “ex-WindyPeak,” and churn out “spiritual sequels” to Left 4 Dead 2, Titanfall, or Sekiro.

Not as good as snagging the IPs outright, but with their fanbases, players would still pay. Cash would flow into CloudWave-Vivendi’s coffers.

Their mission was simple: crush WindyPeak, force them to surrender IPs and control—or die screaming.

WindyPeak’s counter? “Grow fast, find cracks, and skyrocket our market value ASAP,” Zoey said, dead serious, no trace of her usual playfulness. “If we outgrow their budget, they can’t touch us.”

“Tens of billions, maybe hundreds.”

“One day, we’ll be too big to buy, and they’ll back off.”

It sounded crazy, but it was their only shot.

Like Ubisoft in Gus’s old life, surviving a takeover meant getting too big to swallow.

CloudWave-Vivendi’s $1.48T market cap meant WindyPeak needed $370B—25% of that—to be untouchable. From $400M to $370B was a brutal climb.

They had to move fast. CloudWave’s cash wouldn’t wait.

Walter took a deep breath, eyeing Gus with respect and Zoey with pride.

“Lay it out,” he said.

Zoey and Gus swapped a glance. She pulled a stack of papers from Gus’s briefcase and handed them to Walter.

“Mr. Parker, on behalf of WindyPeak Games, I’m requesting Parker Capital’s approval for—”

Application for Subsidiary Independence.

For three years, Parker Capital had been their silent shield, letting WindyPeak dominate the U.S. and challenge Asia.

Walter never meddled, but his shadow—Parker Capital’s weight—fueled their rise.

Now, facing CloudWave-Vivendi, a global capital monster, even Parker Capital’s $900B couldn’t scare them off. Pétain’s arrogance proved it—they’d done their homework and didn’t care.

WindyPeak’s move to break free from Parker Capital was simple: speed. They needed a lean, diverse business model to scale fast without an IPO.

Parker Capital’s approval process—three months to a year—would choke them. Nebula Games and Komina hesitated because of Parker Capital. CloudWave-Vivendi didn’t.

Someday, at $100B, WindyPeak could streamline approvals. For now, they needed freedom to counter CloudWave’s greed with growth.

Walter skimmed the application. The office was dead silent.

He looked up at Gus and Zoey, then grinned wide.

The shield was done. Time for them to fly.

Walter signed the application with a flourish and slid it back. “Take it to Liam Carter. He’ll handle the rest.”

He stood, pulling a slender scroll from under his desk. “Got this framed yesterday. A gift for your independence.”

Zoey and Gus stepped into the elevator, scroll in Gus’s hand.

Zoey smirked. “Stingy old man, just giving us his calligraphy. What’s it say?”

“Check it out?” Gus asked.

“Do it!” Zoey flashed her teeth.

Gus unrolled the scroll. On gold-flecked paper, bold cursive read:

On the peak of Cascade Ridge, the red flag flies in the west wind.
Today, with the long rope in hand, when will we tame the dragon?