No Pay, No Gain

No Pay, No Gain. No one could deny that the heart of ID Entertainment was ID Software, regardless of what anyone said. Through aggressive moves like acquiring entire game development studios, it boasted the fastest hiring rate among all ID Group subsidiaries. None of the other affiliates had yet surpassed its scale. What had started with just six people now employed over a hundred pure development staff.

John Carmack, who led ID Software, had once believed only a handful of people were needed to make a game. As a self-proclaimed genius, he could produce one quickly with just a few assistants to support him. But the popularization of CD media, 3D accelerator cards, and high-end computer components had changed everything. In particular, after Future Electronics’ second factory began full operations at the end of last year and started mass-producing 16-megabit DRAM, new computers shipped with a standard 8 megabytes of memory—16 if the buyer was willing. VRAM on 3D accelerator cards commonly reached 4 megabytes. This age of memory abundance signaled the dawn of high-resolution, high-fidelity gaming.

Game developers rejoiced. They could finally realize artistic visions that had been impossible due to painful memory optimization or system limitations. The high-memory era had not appeared overnight; Future Electronics had accelerated it, but Ilsung Electronics had paved the way before them. Computer memory capacity and processing speed had been climbing steadily.

John Carmack naturally welcomed the change. It allowed him to translate the outlandish games in his head into reality far more faithfully. Yet as game scale and volume grew, he realized a small team could no longer cope and dramatically expanded the staff. The decision was not difficult. Every developer at ID Software drove a Ferrari or Lamborghini; the studio was the most successful game developer in North America. On top of that, it now enjoyed rock-solid backing as part of ID Group’s new subsidiary, ID Entertainment. Countless aspiring developers who dreamed of becoming the next John Carmack beat a path to their door. Even staff from other studios already absorbed into ID Entertainment applied the moment ID Software opened recruitment.

“They really are the icons of the entire industry.”

Yoo Jae-won clicked his tongue in awe as he reviewed ID Software’s current status on the flight to Texas. In the broader IT world, he himself was the ultimate symbol. But when it came to games, John Carmack and ID Software stood alone at the summit. From Wolfenstein to Doom 2, they had scored unbroken success and earned staggering sums. They had bought a massive building in Dallas, driven supercars, and completely transformed society’s image of game developers. The old stereotype of nerds had been replaced by visionary leaders who commanded cutting-edge technology and immense wealth—the most coveted profession of the age. Naturally, the pride of ID Software’s team was enormous, and they had gathered a large following.

With so many unconditional admirers, arrogance could easily have led to trouble. Yet the core developers—John Carmack and Romero—were completely absorbed in their latest projects, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so no major scandals had surfaced.

“Still, this is even more terrifying.”

Even after achieving overwhelming popularity and enough money to last several lifetimes, their burning drive to create came from genuine passion for games, but rivalry clearly played a part as well. It was a lopsided sense of competition, yet John Carmack was quietly blazing with it. The problem was that today, upon arriving in Dallas, Yoo Jae-won would have to deliver feedback that essentially dismantled Romero’s Return to Castle Wolfenstein. That burden weighed heavily on him.

If he were like the spoiled children of chaebols from his previous life, he could crush them without mercy and let someone else clean up the mess. No one would dare complain. But Yoo Jae-won had zero desire to act that way. It might improve his mood momentarily, but the most critical element—teamwork—would be destroyed. Simply gathering first-rate developers did not automatically produce a first-rate game. Without organic teamwork and deliberate synergy, the odds of failure skyrocketed. Hadn’t the collapse of teamwork been one of the main reasons for his business failure in his past life?

Besides, today’s event had been upgraded to a live broadcast across the entire ID Group. Feedback for ID Software was limited to ID Entertainment, but the subsequent announcement of the internal venture policy would reach every corner of the conglomerate. It was not a formal in-house broadcast system. The event would be streamed live over the internet; locations unable to watch live would receive recorded tapes. If the group grew larger, they might establish a dedicated internal station, but that stage had not yet arrived.

In any case, all eyes within ID Group were now fixed on ID Software because of this event. Acting like the third-generation chaebols of his previous life here would only lead to disaster. He had arranged to deliver feedback privately to each development team, yet secrets had a way of spreading.

“Is there a way to give proper feedback without hurting anyone’s feelings?”

Yoo Jae-won had wrestled with the same question for days, but no elegant solution had presented itself. A few ideas had surfaced, yet they all felt too shallow.

“I’ll try it first. If it doesn’t land, I’ll call them in separately and explain properly.”

He set the worry aside. Further rumination would not yield better answers. Trying first and, if necessary, pulling people aside for thorough explanation seemed the wiser path.

With his thoughts settled, Yoo Jae-won closed the Shell Book and shut his eyes. Everyone else had fallen asleep on the early morning flight, but only he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had remained awake, wrestling with these concerns. One clear benefit after his transaction with the Absolute Being was the complete disappearance of insomnia. Even better, when sleep finally came he fell into dreamless, profoundly deep rest. This time was no exception. The moment he closed his eyes, Yoo Jae-won slipped into darkness. As expected, it was a deep, dreamless sleep.

With the booming introduction, Yoo Jae-won stepped onto the stage. Thunderous applause and cheers filled the small auditorium prepared in one corner of ID Software’s Dallas headquarters. At most sixty-seven people sat inside, yet the volume of their applause and roars made his ears ring. The sheer goodwill directed at him was sky-high, so he answered with a bright smile and a wave instead of a frown.

“Good to see all of you. I’m Yoo Jae-won.”

He began with a simple greeting, voice steady and condition perfect. That was only natural; he had delivered announcements for the Egg series and Android OS in front of hundreds or thousands. Sixty-seven people felt almost intimate.

“First, I must offer my sincere thanks to General Producer Romero and every member of the development team.”

The moment he expressed gratitude, fresh applause and cheers erupted.

“After playing the beta of Return to Castle Wolfenstein you sent over, I couldn’t hold back an exclamation. What an innovative system. I was genuinely surprised.”

Yoo Jae-won had changed only one syllable—from a sigh of disappointment to an exclamation of admiration. Adding a growth system and storytelling was excellent, yet implementing them in such an unengaging manner was itself a kind of skill. The sigh that had escaped him in private had to become praise here. Straight talk had always been his trademark. He had spoken without reservation to former presidents, President Kim, rival chaebols, and even the press. Only now did he realize how difficult it was to deliver unfiltered criticism to people who shared the same roof.

“It reminded me of something I had momentarily forgotten. While running the group I overlooked it, but I was originally a game developer myself.”

The story of ID Group’s origin—the typing tutor game Keyboard Warrior—was already famous. The series continued, and a remake was in production through a small studio under ID Entertainment. The new version combined the stories of the first two games but updated them for the 3D era. No matter how times changed, new users always appeared. They needed to learn keyboard layout first, yet the original Keyboard Warrior now felt dated. The educational software market had also expanded dramatically, producing many superior typing tutors. Hence they were creating a full remake—Keyboard Warrior 3D. Its learning tools were flawless, and its gameplay, armed with spectacular graphics that fully exploited 3D accelerator cards, would let anyone master the keyboard in just days.

It was undeniably Yoo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jae-won who had created that original Keyboard Warrior. Both Romero and the newly hired developers increasingly saw him as a fellow game developer.

“Incorporating story and a growth system into an FPS was truly groundbreaking. But the truly outstanding feature is the selectable classes in multiplayer. I guarantee this will be a massive hit. I can confidently declare it will change the entire trend of future FPS titles.”

Applause exploded the instant he finished. The team had already suspected multiplayer would be fun, but hearing Yoo Jae-won place the final period on that thought filled them with joy.

The interesting reaction came from General Producer Romero. He clapped enthusiastically, yet his energy was slightly lower than at the start. What he had poured his heart into most was the single-player campaign, yet Yoo Jae-won had lavished praise on the multiplayer component. Romero’s face never hid his emotions, so the shift was obvious. Still, Yoo Jae-won pretended not to notice and continued.

His presentation strategy was layered praise, directed not only at Romero but at the entire Return to Castle Wolfenstein team.

“While playing, I could feel every meticulous detail you attended to. It rekindled my own forgotten passion for games. It even made me greedy—to make Return to Castle Wolfenstein even more perfect. What I’m about to show you is the fruit of that passionate reflection. I won’t force anything on you, so please take a look.”

The projector came to life. The presentation Yoo Jae-won had prepared appeared without titles or indexes, diving straight into substance. The first slide displayed artwork commissioned from a concept artist who charged a thousand dollars a day. From there poured every shortcoming he had noticed while playing the private beta, along with concrete solutions. Replacing text-heavy quest lines and planned video cutscenes with in-engine 3D modeling, thorough historical accuracy for terrain, costumes, and items, recording real firearm sounds for authenticity, and using orchestral or metal scores for background music—every suggestion was included.

Had ID Software and Romero not been family, this would have been a merciless barrage of facts. Instead, Yoo Jae-won kindly explained how each change would produce a far more complete and entertaining game. As each slide advanced, the expressions of Romero and his team shifted constantly. They had believed their work was the best possible, yet Yoo Jae-won’s vision stood a clear step above. Proposals such as motion capture for event scenes or recording actual gunshots for sonic realism were ideas they had never even considered.

Romero and the developers could only marvel. The fear that they might react with extreme sensitivity to criticism of their creation proved unfounded; there was no resistance at all.

Yoo Jae-won thought he might not need private follow-up sessions. Yet while Romero remained calm, someone else had turned deathly pale.

“Th-then… the development budget will increase dramatically, won’t it?”

It was the accountant responsible for the entire Return to Castle Wolfenstein project. The sum required to implement everything Yoo Jae-won suggested was beyond imagination—motion capture, dozens of voice actors for full dubbing, real firearm recordings, orchestral music. The costs were staggering.

“You’re worried about the budget?”

Yoo Jae-won tilted his head. Doom 2 was racing toward six million copies sold. Though it had been on the market for some time, multiplayer remained constantly active. The included map editor had spawned countless variants, keeping both single-player and multiplayer fresh. It had become a steady seller moving tens of thousands of units monthly. After ESD.com launched with massive discounts, sales surged again. On top of that, 3D accelerator manufacturers had chosen it as a bundled game, driving another sharp increase. According to the latest figures checked before boarding the Texas flight, Doom 2 had surpassed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠six million copies. Exact revenue would require final settlement, but ID Software’s share would easily exceed two hundred million dollars.

A single game had generated that much profit. The current market was far larger than when Doom 2 first launched. Affordable high-performance PCs were selling millions of units monthly worldwide. The United States led in adoption, but Europe and Asia followed at impressive speed. If Return to Castle Wolfenstein fixed every beta flaw and polished every detail, it had a genuine chance of becoming the first title to sell ten million copies.

“Then I’ll simply open my own wallet.”

Even if development costs rose several times over, if it became a burden he would gladly cover it. He would recoup the investment several times during final settlement; there was not the slightest hesitation.

“Let’s create something truly great!”

At Yoo Jae-won’s concluding flourish, spontaneous cheers and thunderous applause filled the small auditorium. The electric atmosphere carried straight into the feedback session for Quake.

Unlike Return to Castle Wolfenstein, which had drawn numerous points of criticism, Quake required little comment. Its core design was elegantly simple and faithful to the original concept. He offered minor suggestions: adding dynamic lighting for next-generation graphics cards, varying enemy footstep sounds by distance to enhance audio gameplay, and encouraging future maps to move beyond monotonous symmetrical layouts. For map design, he recommended scouting renowned amateur creators who had displayed astonishing creativity using Doom 2’s map editor.

John Carmack, despite his high self-regard, accepted every point without offense and promised to implement them. He even agreed to meet amateur map makers and consult with Romero. Later, word spread that Romero had grown rather smug over the matter. Objectively, Wolfenstein had received heavy criticism while Quake had only three minor notes, yet Romero seemed to interpret events differently. Having received direct praise from Yoo Jae-won and a personal request from John Carmack, he apparently felt he had finally taken the lead.

After completing the feedback, Yoo Jae-won moved to the final item on his ID Software schedule: the announcement of the internal venture company fostering policy. The venue remained the same small auditorium. What had been quiet earlier was now packed shoulder-to-shoulder. While the earlier feedback session had been restricted to development staff, this policy announcement was open to every ID Group employee, dramatically increasing attendance. Cameras and lighting rigs that had not been present before were now set up to record the internal broadcast.

Once everything was ready, Yoo Jae-won reappeared. The projector flickered to life, and the title filled the screen.