Winds of Change
What is a game that never dies?
The word dead is a little abstract, and its range is broad. There was never any precise number you could point to and say, this is how far gone a game has to be before it counts as dead.
If only a handful of players remain, is that a dead game? Or does a game only truly die once the operators shut the servers down for good?
Some people would call a title dead at a certain point; others would say the same title was still perfectly playable. The standard itself was always fuzzy.
So change the conditions. What about the so-called god-tier games?
Games players never leave. Games that sit year after year near the top of PC cafe market share. What traits do those share?
Outstanding gameplay. Enough fun to keep drawing people in. No superior competitor on the market. Hold even a few of those conditions and a game can earn a high reputation as a thriving hit.
But a game that conquers the world is different. A title that sits at the absolute summit, reigning high above everything else, has to be perfect in every respect.
It has to strive for perfection so it will not be shoved aside by new releases, so its throne will not be stolen.
Every patch brings improvements. Periodic major patches keep the game in motion. Change is constant.
A game that never changes, that simply drifts along, will eventually fall behind — whether because players grow bored or because newer titles outclass it.
Yes. Change. Without change, you only stagnate.
Abyss, which had held the industry's unshakable number-one spot for years now, knew this better than anyone.
They had the experience of nearly shutting down as a dead game, after all — and of rising to the top of the industry through radical change afterward.
Even rationally, it made no sense. A game so empty of players it had been days from server shutdown, not only coming back to life but climbing all the way to the industry's peak?
It deserved to be called a miracle. Yet even the people who might fairly be called the architects of that miracle — the staff at Abyss — were baffled themselves. They had no idea what element had suddenly seized the players.
Even so, they could keep the lucky streak going. Everyone involved with Abyss, from the developers on down, had thrown themselves into the game with one heart and one mind.
And that effort continued to this day — right here, at Eonics headquarters nestled among the towering buildings of the city.
"Director, I've compiled the materials you asked for."
"Good."
Oh Hong-gyun, Abyss's total director, received the report looking as haggard as ever, dark circles under his eyes.
The employee giving the report did not look much better. Gaunt face, lifeless skin, panda-like dark circles. Chronic sleep deprivation.
Overwork is standard in the game industry. Of course it varies by company, department, and team — but at Eonics right now, nobody was free.
A major patch was scheduled just a few weeks out.
During this period, Eonics ran at a frantic pace. The concept of clocking out vanished. Day and night lost all meaning.
That was how important the major patches — which came roughly every two or three years — really were.
Players would curse them. What kind of garbage patch is this? It changed too much, I can't even play anymore. But there was no denying that these very changes had carried Abyss to the top.
The staff at Eonics, sincere about the game, were still grinding through power naps and pushing forward.
"Ugh..."
Oh Hong-gyun — known among players as the Devil of Patches, the great man who discovered Camilla's underboob, and "Fucking Hong-gyun hyung" — stretched in his chair.
His bones cracked. His whole body screamed. His forced-open eyes felt gritty.
He sipped the coffee beside him and began reading the report his subordinate had brought.
"Hmm..."
The report was about the Supporters.
Come to think of it, it was time to rotate the Supporters again. Somehow the timing had lined up with the major patch.
The report included last year's Supporters and this year's candidate list, and Hong-gyun studied them carefully.
One way or another, change mattered. Especially to Director Oh Hong-gyun. Change, and innovation — the things he drilled into his staff every day.
He had stood at the center of Abyss's miraculous transformation. He was a living witness to that history. His usual philosophy was that you had to try all kinds of things, even if you failed.
Something's missing.
Looking at this Supporters candidate list, he felt it was a little lacking. Not bad, but not great either. Probably because there simply were no standout talents available.
In truth, Supporters did not do all that much.
Promote Abyss on personal social media. Preview upcoming skins. Report bugs if they found any. The program had been running for a while, but it was not a high-profile role. The work was light, so the pay was not great either.
That was why selecting Supporters never went through formal meetings the way important agenda items did. It was more of a seat-of-the-pants process — How about this person? This one's decent — and the list got filled out.
But this time was different. Hong-gyun was planning an official broadcast where Supporters would take turns appearing, reading patch notes, playing the game together to check the differences. He could not just pick random people the way he used to.
Someone who really knows the game... a fresh face that fits the new patch, someone who's never done Supporters work before...
And preferably with enough recognition that players would feel a sense of familiarity. The official broadcast for the major patch would be hosted by the Supporters and Director Hong-gyun himself.
A fresh image, but with name recognition. Even Hong-gyun knew that did not make sense. Maybe the sleep deprivation was frying his brain.
There's no way someone like that exists.
Hong-gyun was considering catching a short nap and thinking it over again when—
Flutter—
A sheet of paper slipped out from between the report pages.
"Hm?"
Hong-gyun picked it up with a questioning sound, and the employee who had brought the report stepped closer.
"Ah, sorry. Looks like some other materials I was organizing got mixed in."
At the top of the fallen page was written Abyss Partner Streamer List, and underneath, streamers' names were listed out.
Hong-gyun spotted someone's name among them and his eyes went wide.
"Aha."
The fog that had been clogging his head cleared in an instant.
At the very top of the list was the streamer Kayak's name.
"At least no one will call her a game noob..."
Hong-gyun muttered, not caring that the employee retrieving the paper was staring at him. In fact, some previous Supporters had been criticized by players for reviewing Abyss without even knowing the game.
Kayak was a symbolic player with real recognition inside Abyss. Her Challenger rank at the absolute top tier was one thing, but more than that — like Hong-gyun himself — she had stood right in the middle of Abyss's miraculous growth.
No. In some ways she might even surpass him. She had run herself ragged trying to save the game back when Abyss was dying.
She's basically an honorary employee, and the staff will all be happy about it.
A fresh image? Kayak's whole brand was already fresh. That face of hers was a perfect match for Camilla. And since Camilla had a significant share of the major patch, having her handle the Camilla patch notes would be perfect.
Why hadn't he thought of this sooner? There was no better Supporters candidate than Kayak.
Kayak loved Abyss as much as the Eonics staff did, so she would not turn down the offer. Of course, he would make sure the pay matched the work.
I'll figure out the rest later. First I need some sleep.
Hong-gyun headed for the break room and, for the first time in a while, fell asleep with a peaceful face.
"What?"
But the next day, the moment Hong-gyun arrived at work, he was hit with a bolt from the blue.
"She said she won't do it...?"
The news that Kayak had turned down the Supporters offer.