The Game Director that Returned from Hell - Chapter 12

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Potter

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Game Director that Returned from Hell ◈

Chapter 12

──────

A developer cannot control the player.

They should not try to control the player, nor should they hope to.

Play belongs to the customer.

As a developer, you should leave customers completely free to decide how they enjoy playing.

From that perspective, a developer’s response to an uncontrolled situation... in other words, a situation beyond their intentions and expectations, is clear.

Observation and analysis.

Find out why it happened, understand how it worked, and draw out material to use in the next project.

I carefully read through the community’s summary post.

『Some well-known user posted a Hellic review on an American hardcore gaming community called challengers.

It seems to have spread by word of mouth there before making its way to other communities.

(Sections omitted)

...Then someone found an Easter egg through data mining, which apparently caused a stir.

People from major communities took up the challenge together, and someone even put up a bounty. In the end, they beat it in just one day, lol.

FlowerJaeheeCherryLips: Americans really do go big, lol.

┕SqueakyCleanT: Guess all the Korean players who didn’t even know there was an Easter egg are fucking scrubs, lol.

BangbaeBloodLord: So what’s the Easter egg?

┕HighSchoolBigSword: That’s what you’re curious about? I want to see the face of whoever won the bounty.』

Sure enough, reading the post gave me a rough idea of how it had happened.

To sum it up:

‘It’s a meme-driven hit.’

Several circumstances had come together just right, creating a temporary success that rode the current trend.

A sudden craze in online communities had led to a rise in sales.

The key factors were the data mining and the bounty on the Easter egg.

‘Pay $4.99 to try. Win, and you get $1,000. They must have thought it was worth a shot.’

Those two hadn’t just drawn attention to Hellic. They had given people a reason to play it. I felt like bowing down to thank them.

My chest swelled with emotion.

Seeing results really was that thrilling.

“So, have you figured out more or less what happened?”

“Hmm... In short, it’s a trend.”

“A trend?”

“Well, you see...”

I explained the chain of events to Han Seorim.

Han Seorim’s expression turned a little odd.

“What? So this is just a fire that’ll burn out soon? Sales and rankings will drop again?”

Han Seorim sounded disappointed, but I firmly rejected that idea.

“No, that’s not how it’ll go.”

“Huh?”

“Fires that burn out quickly don’t have enough fuel. A game’s popularity fades fast when there isn’t much to explore. But that’s not the case here, is it?”

Of course not. The depth of its systems had been my biggest concern while making Hellic.

I had spent over 70 percent of my planning and development time perfecting the weapon growth and combination systems.

Hellic required at least five playthroughs just to complete its main recommended builds.

That translated to twenty hours of playtime.

If someone dug even deeper, they could research combinations I hadn’t even thought of. How could players possibly uncover everything in such a short time and let the fire die out?

This was only the beginning, and I was confident.

Even without this meme-driven success, Hellic was already an excellent game in its own right.

All I needed to focus on now was how to make the most of this momentum.

“It’s the game we made. Have some confidence.”

Han Seorim’s eyes sparkled.

Han Seorim’s gaze returned to the monitor.

The corners of Han Seorim’s mouth slowly rose. It seemed Han Seorim was finally reassured.

“Right? Exactly. I worked on this game myself. It should at least do this well!”

When would Han Seorim break that habit of getting conceited so quickly?

No, perhaps I could let it slide for now.

Then Han Seorim asked a question.

“By the way, who actually beat the Easter egg?”

I had just started wondering about that myself.

Finding out was easy.

As soon as I opened the North American community, I saw a huge post on its front page.

I clicked it.

Then I saw what was inside.

『James Han, Winner of the First Bounty.』

There was a photograph of an Asian man smiling in front of a monitor displaying the Cancer Giant’s corpse.

“Ah.”

My eyes widened.

‘So it was him.’

A rush of delight came over me.

“James Han? What? Seonbae, do you know who this is?”

“...You could say that.”

More precisely, I would learn about him in the future.

A few years from now, media would reach a much wider audience in a more accessible form.

In other words, when individual streaming became widespread, this guy would become a major figure, the most famous streamer in the gaming industry.

James Han, a third-generation Korean American.

The enemy of every developer and the idol of every gamer.

His content was simple.

“All right, today we’re doing a Lost Kingdom speedrun! Naturally, the goal is a new record!”

Speedruns and cheesy boss strategies that broke every mechanic the developers had prepared and made a laughingstock of their endgame content.

Even [Lost Kingdom] had been picked clean by this guy. That alone should explain how ruthless he was.

‘So this is what he looked like when he was young.’

Was he barely twenty? No, even twenty felt like a generous estimate. His youthful face looked strangely unfamiliar.

The James Han I remembered had a thick, scruffy beard as his trademark.

“What is it? Who is he? Why do you look so surprised?”

“Just someone who’s good at games.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

I put aside my delight and moved my fingers.

Right below was a post explaining how James Han had beaten the challenge.

To sum it up, his method was exactly what I would have expected from him.

“I dodged and hit it until it died.”

It perfectly showed his trademark approach: overwhelming mechanical skill that an ordinary person couldn’t hope to copy.

Tap, tap.

I sank into thought.

‘I never thought we’d make a connection like this...’

We’d never even met, but this connection between developer and gamer could prove useful someday.

In the future gaming industry, a major streamer like him playing a game once would have the same effect as a large promotional campaign. How could that not tempt me?

I wanted more.

What if I could deepen this connection in a way that benefited us both?

I didn’t think about it for long.

‘A private message.’

I had nothing to lose.

There was no reason to be afraid.

I sent a message straight to James Han’s inbox.

* * *

At a house in California, America.

In a room filled with boxed games, a young Asian man named James turned on his computer as usual.

He planned to write a post revealing the Easter egg reward from Hellic, the game that had been setting the community on fire.

That was when he found the message.

‘What’s this?’

The sender was “studio rewind.”

James narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. Then he sprang out of his chair with an “Ah!”

“Hellic’s developer!”

“studio rewind” was the developer’s name shown on the intro screen.

He’d heard they were a Korean developer. Why were they contacting him?

Of course. They must have seen the community post!

James grinned.

He had always loved attention, and this situation delighted him.

To gamers, developers were both close and distant.

Close because gamers constantly consumed their content, yet distant because they had no way to form a personal connection.

Getting a message from a developer, especially the developer of a game attracting so much attention, made him feel like someone important.

With a strange sense of anticipation, James opened the message.

『Hi james.』

That was how the long letter began.

His heart pounding, James read on. The praise that followed the greeting brought a broad smile to his face.

Then, at a certain point, his smile turned to confusion.

‘What does this mean?’

Frowning deeply, James read the message carefully several times.

In short, it said this.

『Have you heard of live internet streaming? If you’re planning to reveal the Easter egg reward, I thought you might like to do it on a live stream.』

Live internet streaming.

He knew what it was, but he had never taken much interest in it.

And now they were suggesting he try it.

‘Reveal the reward live?’

James pictured the scene.

Himself, appearing on countless people’s monitors.

‘...That sounds fun.’

His interest was stirred.

* * *

In 2009, the internet streaming industry was still in its infancy.

That was true even in Korea, whose internet speeds were unmatched anywhere in the world. Conditions overseas were a little worse.

‘Its commercial value hasn’t been proven yet.’

In America’s case, the terrible streaming conditions were the problem.

The internet infrastructure needed to cover that vast stretch of land wasn’t even complete. Naturally, systems that transmitted data live had plenty of flaws.

That was where internet streaming stood in America at the time.

A small hobby for a tiny number of internet-savvy people who liked being in front of an audience.

Even donation systems had yet to be properly established. Internet streaming was clearly a niche market.

That was why James Han wasn’t streaming yet.

No, to be precise, he knew next to nothing about the streaming industry.

He had once said so on a stream.

“When did I really get interested? Around 2011, I guess? After a platform dedicated to game streaming came out. If I’d known about this industry sooner, I would’ve started years earlier. It’s not so much about the money. I just like streaming.”

If he had become interested sooner, he would have started streaming sooner.

So I was giving him a push.

He would benefit by discovering the industry early, and I would benefit by becoming the person who had helped him.

Wasn’t that a win-win?

I read his reply.

『Ok.』

A short answer.

But it achieved my goal, so that was enough.

I immediately suggested the necessary software, a streaming schedule, and ways to promote it.

We went back and forth for a while and eventually settled on a date.

‘The stream will be in a week.’

Exactly three days before the next sales tally.

That was the best timing to draw as many viewers as possible, boost sales, and get feedback right away.

『See you then.』

After sending the last message, I looked at the clock. More than two hours had already flown by.

Only then could I step away from the computer.

Han Seorim spoke with a fed-up expression.

“What are you typing away at so hard?”

“Promotion.”

“What kind of promotion? On the community?”

“Something like that. More importantly, get off that community. How come you’ve been staring at it again ever since you got here?”

“You’re so strict.”

Han Seorim pouted and closed the community page.

It would be a problem if Han Seorim got addicted to that.

As I watched Han Seorim, Han Seorim changed the subject.

“So, we’re taking a break for a while now?”

“More precisely, we’re taking a break from work.”

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“Plans have changed.”

I tapped Han Seorim’s monitor.

With the community page closed, the Steam sales rankings were visible.

We had already climbed to 91st place.

“It looks like we’ll make money sooner than I expected. I’m going to start preparing for the next game.”

Money was the main reason we had taken a break in the first place.

But now that problem was being solved sooner than expected, and much more easily.

I didn’t know how much more successful we would become before the next sales tally. But now that we had made the rankings, if things went as I intended, we would earn enough money to fund our next steps.

‘The next game needs a lot of preparation.’

So there was no time to rest.

Han Seorim’s eyes lit up, apparently pleased by what I’d said.

“Great. I was getting restless anyway. What do we do first?”

I answered.

“Study.”

“?”

“You need to do some studying.”

Han Seorim went blank.

I explained in a little more detail.

“We’re making a 3D game. You need to learn 3D modeling.”

Sales Tally