Chapter 63: Adaptation and Rewards
Chapter 63: Adaptation and Rewards
It might have seemed somewhat excessive for a prototype, but since TLF already had a first installment, and MFN also contained many reusable resources, it was a feasible plan as long as they sacrificed some quality and hastily assembled certain parts.
After the prototype, there will probably be many parts we’ll have to remake, even if we reference previous resources.
The development office was filled with an extremely motivated and focused atmosphere.
It was not something Insu intentionally calculated from the beginning, but thanks to his clear plans, distinct vision, the work division abilities he developed while creating MFN, and his skill at driving team members forward, both the original team members and the new recruits had ended up running like racehorses without room for other thoughts.
How a development office established its atmosphere in the early stages was the most important thing.
If the early phase was properly established like this, even if problems arose later and the team temporarily wavered, the members would remember the earlier atmosphere and not stray too far. However, if the initial atmosphere was sloppy, then even if the leader later came to their senses and tried to tighten things up properly, it would be difficult to escape the inertia formed at the beginning.
From that perspective, the first project in the American development office could be considered to have started smoothly.
Eunha liked this atmosphere.
In truth, an atmosphere like this could easily become exhausting for team members who were not the leader. Most employees probably did not find joy in working itself.
Of course, living in a foreign country alongside unfamiliar foreigners was not easy for her either. But because she immersed herself in work like this, her anxiety gradually faded instead.
And she was not the only one.
The other team members who came from Korea felt the same way. Under Insu’s relentless prodding, they were running desperately enough that they did not even have time to think about anxiety or dissatisfaction.
Moreover, Eunha still possessed the adaptability of a teenager, so before she even realized it, she was quickly becoming accustomed to America, and to the city of LA itself.
MFN was not performing as explosively as its predecessor, but it was still proceeding steadily.
In America, perhaps because it continued drawing attention and discussion through its rival dynamic with Civilization, its early sales were showing a better trend than expected.
[…As a realistic simulation, Civilization is superior, but the character appeal born from the fantasy setting, the relationships with countless nobles, and the dense tension created by its fascinating combat system offer a type of enjoyment only MFN can provide.]
As usual, Insu bought gaming magazines that month and searched through them for articles about his own game. After reading the article, he tilted his head slightly.
My game doesn’t really have much character appeal, though.
Both MFN, which was a strategy simulation, and TLF, which was an RPG, used automatically generated characters, so the sense of “character” was very faint.
However, everything was relative.
Since fantasy itself was a genre consumed as fiction, even without Insu deliberately giving characters personality, there were already preexisting images learned elsewhere that naturally evoked certain character impressions.
So compared to Civilization, which was a reality-based simulation, it naturally felt more character-driven.
It was not that he was dissatisfied. He merely found it somewhat interesting.
But in Korea and Japan, the reaction was completely the opposite.
Naturally, they were comparing it to Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
First of all, MFN’s momentum had weakened somewhat. The Japanese game market usually peaked early before declining anyway, but this time the slope felt even steeper.
Still, I guess it’s fortunate it didn’t completely flop?
In Japan, sales seemed likely to fall about fifteen to twenty percent below initial expectations, while Korea was expected to decline by around ten percent.
Insu did not know the exact reason for the difference.
The most plausible explanation was that Japan had always possessed an especially strong preference for Romance of the Three Kingdoms, enough that Koei’s version had originally been released there. Meanwhile, Korea’s public sentiment toward Free China was poor, and there was especially strong resistance toward Chinese products.
And perhaps the fact that MFN was a domestic Korean game also played some role.
It was disappointing that the game’s momentum had been blunted after hitting a reef so early, but there was nothing that could be done. Even with its momentum reduced, it was still already considered a significant commercial success.
That was especially true considering it had been developed on a low budget.
He also obtained Korean and Japanese gaming magazines, and just as mentioned earlier, their reactions were completely opposite from the comparisons with Civilization.
[Compared to Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Medieval Fantasy Nobility suffers from weak character appeal and excessive realism. One wonders whether it became too obsessed with historical accuracy at the expense of gameplay.]
It was from a Korean magazine that had arrived at a bookstore in Koreatown. When Insu first read the article, his temper flared immediately.
Although MFN was losing to Romance of the Three Kingdoms, he did not think it was because its gameplay was inferior.
Of course, properly utilizing the strength of an IP was also part of gameplay appeal, but since Insu did not rate the gameplay of Romance of the Three Kingdoms particularly highly, he could not help becoming irritated.
It’s a turn-based strategy simulation to begin with. Does it even make sense to look for character appeal in a simulation?!
In truth, that was also a preconceived notion.
Still, from a general perspective, simulations were indeed genres that tended to exclude character-driven elements.
Well, MFN was developed more for experimenting with systems to include in an MMORPG than for aiming at massive commercial success anyway. And this level of success is already pretty impressive.
Insu forced himself to soothe his disappointment with this sort of rationalization.
To be fair, that really had been his mindset during the early development stage. But as development progressed, his expectations gradually rose, and after experiencing the tremendous success of TLF, he had completely puffed up with dreams that MFN might become one of the legends of turn-based strategy simulations.
Considering that, this was honestly closer to self-deception than rationalization.
In any case, Insu forcibly brushed aside his disappointment like this and focused on TLF2’s development.
Ever since he stopped going to school and spent every day inside the development office, each day seemed to pass quickly. At the same time, the amount of time and effort devoted to development increased, so progress was also rapid.
Honestly, the Korean team members who followed him to America felt somewhat burdened by the fact that their team leader spent the entire day inside the development office.
Even though Insu was still young, the abilities he had shown so far and the way he led the team were far from lenient, so they could not feel completely comfortable around him.
However, they also had to pay attention to the newly hired recruits and adapt to the American environment, so they did not even have room to complain.
Moreover, the significantly increased salaries after arriving in America suppressed whatever dissatisfaction might have slipped out.
“Oh!”
At first, Yoo Juyeon found it rather unfamiliar seeing a check written in English inside his pay envelope. But the moment he saw the number, his expression immediately changed.
[$2,400]
One dollar is 720 won, so… 1.72 million? That’s 1,728,000 won?
America truly felt like America.
When he first joined Parallel Soft, his salary had been around one million won. Even right before moving to America, it had only reached 1.2 million won. Yet now it had instantly increased by nearly fifty percent.
And considering we’re even using company dormitories for free…
In truth, Insu was not being particularly generous with salaries. He was simply paying the American industry average. But from Yoo Juyeon’s perspective, the actual cost of living felt lower while his pay had risen, so he could not help feeling grateful.
As long as Insu continued properly acknowledging experience and achievements while raising salaries accordingly, that kind of loyalty would likely continue.
Of course, they also planned to provide MFN performance bonuses.
There was no strict rule about exactly when or how much to pay in bonuses like this, but usually they were distributed once a game’s initial sales surpassed a certain threshold after release.
“How much are you thinking of giving?”
Usually these matters were handled by Mom and Dad, but because Insu was effectively the true owner of the company and worked alongside the team inside the development office, Hyein occasionally asked for his opinion.
“We should probably give around fifteen percent, shouldn’t we?”
He was referring to a percentage of the initial total profits.
Naturally, he had not simply decided that amount on a whim. Some of it came from things he had learned while studying development in his previous life, and after coming to this world, he had also based it on information gathered from magazines and PC communication networks.
Insu absolutely was not the type to recklessly hand things out.
To be completely honest, part of him even thought, We’re already paying salaries, so why do we also have to share this much of the profits?
However, from a developer’s perspective, if a game succeeded and nothing really came back to them while only the company owner grew richer, motivation would inevitably decline.
Moreover, once a developer had worked on a successful game, that became career experience, and other development teams would naturally want them. There was a real possibility of losing developers they had worked hard to cultivate.
That was why performance bonuses were not simply for generosity. They were a form of risk management cost.
“That’s right. Apparently that’s the standard. Then after taxes, it was roughly three million dollars.”
Fifteen percent of three million dollars was four hundred fifty thousand dollars. Divided among five developers, that meant around ninety thousand dollars per person.
Suddenly, Insu’s stomach hurt.
“We should just round it up and give them one hundred thousand dollars each.”
But Seongcheol went one step further.
Naturally, there was a reason for that too.
“The point of performance bonuses is to make it feel like achievements are being distributed fairly. So people usually explain how much the total profit was and how it was divided.”
“Ah… Right. If I, who own the company shares, also receive a performance bonus from that, it would feel a little awkward.”
“Exactly. So when we give out the bonuses, we’ll say your original team leader’s share was redistributed to round everyone up to one hundred thousand dollars.”
After hearing Seongcheol’s explanation, Insu unconsciously showed an expression of admiration.
As expected of Dad.
The four people who came from Korea were not only experienced, but individually very capable, so losing them from the team would be a significant blow. Of course, for a while they would likely stay due to the unfamiliar environment, but once they adapted, there was definitely a possibility they could be tempted by headhunters.
America was the center of the computer industry, so while there was a large amount of talent, there were also many companies trying to poach that talent.
Five digits definitely have more impact than four.
Already convinced, Insu did not deliberate long before agreeing with Seongcheol’s opinion.
A few days later, Seongcheol personally called the team members who had come from Korea and arranged a separate gathering.
[Everyone’s been through a lot after coming to America, right? I’m grateful you all followed us here, and I also wanted to see whether you’ve been adapting well.]
“Ah, yes.”
While resting at home, Yoonsu was initially rather confused after receiving the call.
That was understandable. Until now, for the sake of adaptation and teamwork, the Korean members had never met separately among themselves. From simple meals to company dinners, every company event had always involved the entire team together.
But suddenly, only the Korean staff were being gathered separately, and Seongcheol even emphasized that they should absolutely not mention it to the American employees, which gave Yoonsu a strange feeling.
However, after hearing Seongcheol’s explanation, it immediately sounded reasonable and understandable, so he readily agreed to attend.
Honestly, he was grateful for the consideration.
Life in America had not been terribly difficult, but it was still a foreign land, so he could not deny the lingering sense of emptiness.
The gathering was held at a Korean barbecue restaurant called Samcheonri Bulpan in the busy district of Koreatown.
“This really feels similar to Korean barbecue restaurants back in Korea.”
“Right? Though it feels slightly more modern. Maybe because the ceiling’s higher?”
He met Lee Suhyeon right in front of the restaurant, and the two entered together.
This was an era without smartphones—without even mobile phones—so people had no choice but to set meeting times in advance. It was not easy to coordinate on-site by saying things like “Where are you now?” or “I’m almost there.”