The Blizzard Begins
Time flew by as Yoo Jae-won caught up on work above the skies of Ultima Online. He hadn't even finished reviewing the documents he'd downloaded for offline reading when the plane touched down at John Wayne Airport in Irvine, California. He rented a car straight from the airport and headed for Silicon & Synapse on Alton Parkway.
“Somehow, everyone I meet on this trip turns out to be a legend in the gaming industry,” Yoo Jae-won muttered to himself in the car, reflecting on the journey so far. It had started with John Carmack, moved on to Richard Garriott, and today it was Mike Morhaime. Tomorrow would bring Sid Meier at MicroProse, and then Will Wright at Maxis. The schedule was packed with the very people who had drawn bold lines across the gaming industry from the late '90s into the early 21st century.
That also meant these studios and developers had gathered under the banner of ID Entertainment. After the Android IPO, the company's deep pockets and aggressive offers had made refusals rare. Of course, these developers already commanded significant fame, so money alone hadn't been the deciding factor. Many had chosen ID Entertainment for the creative freedom and full support guaranteed to studios under its umbrella, including John Carmack's id Software.
Wall Street and the gaming press were in an uproar, claiming Yoo Jae-won had begun a serious acquisition spree, but he stopped after Maxis. He judged that the current lineup was enough to dominate the industry through the early 21st century. From the mid-21st century onward, blockbuster games would be built on capital and technology rather than star developers. His appetite for acquiring talent ended here.
“Chairman, we've arrived.”
“Already?”
The drive from John Wayne Airport to the Silicon & Synapse office wasn't far. Before he knew it, they had reached the quiet building beside the San Diego River. Waiting outside were legends like Mike Morhaime, Alan Adham, and Frank Pearce.
Yoo Jae-won received a warm welcome upon arrival. From Mike Morhaime down to a graphic designer hired only three months ago, he shook hands and signed autographs for all thirty-odd developers. Unlike typical chaebol chairmen, Yoo Jae-won carried genuine star power, and the reaction here went far beyond the usual. The more passionate the fans, the more likely they were the ones who had faced him in the closed beta's internet matchmaking and suffered crushing defeats. Many had fallen in love with his godlike micro-control and the relentless physicality that kept pumping out units even as others were lost. They had created the game, yet here was someone who understood it better than they did and could ignore unit matchups with sheer control. The result was that voicing his opinions at Silicon & Synapse proved easier than at other studios. Everyone was ready to listen.
Still, Yoo Jae-won had no new feedback on Warcraft itself. Among the closed beta versions sent by email, Warcraft had the longest playtime. He had played dozens of matches live and shared many thoughts through chat. He hadn't said everything, however. One piece of feedback remained, saved for this very moment.
“It would be good to add save and replay functions even in multiplayer. And the game should auto-save every minute without the player having to do it manually.”
“Huh? Saving multiplayer matches?”
Conceptually it wasn't difficult. If a player saved mid-match and wanted to resume later, they simply needed the opponent to be logged into Battle.net. “Just save the map, unit counts, positions, resources gathered, and remaining values, then load them back. As long as we use threads properly so the save doesn't cause even a tiny bit of lag, it won't interfere with the match.”
Save and replay functions were essential for building esports. What if the final match of a championship with hundreds of millions of won on the line suddenly shut down? With a save function, they could simply reload the most recent save and continue. “No need to implement it right away, so don't feel pressured. After the official release and everyone's taken their vacation, we can develop it gradually and release it as a patch.”
It was a feature for esports; casual players wouldn't find it particularly useful. There was no reason to delay the development schedule just to add saves. At Yoo Jae-won's words, Mike Morhaime and the other programmers let out sighs of relief. Easy to say, but the actual implementation would be extremely difficult, especially with the golden master deadline for Warcraft only days away. Computer games had the advantage of flexible patching, so they could take their time as Yoo Jae-won suggested.
“Ah, and this is just my personal opinion. Feel free to ignore it if you don't like it.”
Yoo Jae-won laid the groundwork before revealing his real reason for visiting. He had promised autonomy when acquiring Silicon & Synapse and worried the suggestion might come across as coercive. But with the golden master deadline so close, he could no longer postpone it.
“It's fine. We're always open to your advice, Chairman. Please speak freely.”
Everyone nodded in agreement with Mike Morhaime. Every piece of feedback Yoo Jae-won had given so far had proven valuable, so they expected the same this time.
“This is outside the game itself. Have you considered changing the company name?”
The suggestion was a name change. To Yoo Jae-won, “Silicon & Synapse” felt awkward. Connecting the semiconductor material silicon with the brain's synapses had its own logic, but it lacked immediate clarity. Especially for a monumental title like Warcraft, having “Silicon & Synapse” on the box felt wrong. Still, the founders took pride in the name, so he had spoken carefully. The reaction was unexpected.
“Whoa!”
Frank Pearce, sitting beside Mike Morhaime, let out an exclamation and slapped his colleague's back with a loud smack. “Did you hear that, Mike? I told you we should change the name!”
“Yeah, Silicon & Synapse… reminds me of that wrong number I got once. Breast implants… Ah! Never mind, sir.”
Alan Adham, who had been agreeing with Frank, quickly stopped himself upon noticing Yoo Jae-won's presence. Still, everyone understood what he had been about to say.
“Ah, yes. As these two mentioned, we've been thinking about the company name ourselves. If you have any good suggestions, Chairman, we'd love to hear them.”
“How about Blizzard? Since you're under ID Entertainment, Blizzard Entertainment would give a nice sense of unity.”
With even Mike Morhaime endorsing it, Yoo Jae-won could comfortably say the word “Blizzard.”
“Blizzard?”
“Ooh, that has a ring to it.”
“Starting with Warcraft, we'll bring our own blizzard to the gaming world!”
All three founders liked it. They had originally chosen the name after flipping through an English dictionary, so the word clearly appealed to them. Having achieved every goal at Silicon & Synapse, Yoo Jae-won handed out cash bonuses to the staff as he had at the other studios, then moved on to his remaining schedule.
After visiting MicroProse, Maxis, and the rest of ID Entertainment's development studios, he returned to San Francisco around March 5th. He had been warmly received everywhere. As the parent company's owner, he never rushed anyone or played budget games, yet he delivered golden feedback. No one disliked him. His deep understanding of games made everyone reluctant to see him move on to the next appointment.
Upon returning home after the long tour of ID Entertainment studios, the first thing Yoo Jae-won did was go shopping.
“There's a place called Herman Miller that makes something called the Aeron Chair.”
“Herman Miller and the Aeron Chair, sir?”
“Yes. I want to replace every chair in the group with Aeron Chairs.”
He wasn't planning to visit a department store or mall. Ordering a single item in bulk meant he only needed to tell his executive secretary, Kim Dae-seok. Replacing chairs might seem like typical chaebol behavior, but it was something only Yoo Jae-won could push through. He had decided on the change after seeing how drastically working conditions varied across studios. Places like id Software, with their brand-new headquarters, enjoyed excellent environments. MicroProse, on the other hand, was quite dated. Developers spent long hours seated, and poor chairs quickly ruined their condition, which in turn hurt productivity. It was a vicious cycle.
Fortunately, Herman Miller had released a new product a few weeks earlier: the Aeron Chair. It used the latest mesh material, featured an ergonomic design, and included several convenient functions that reduced fatigue in the back and hips even after long hours. “We'll need to order at least five thousand units.”
“Understood. Though they may not suit the executives, so we should ask them first. Ah, and one for you as well, Chairman.”
“Got it.”
Yoo Jae-won spent most of his time at a computer, so the Aeron Chair was perfect for him, but presidents and directors might prefer the traditional leather “boss chair.”
“Also, some studios need their entire work environments overhauled. A few should move into brand-new office buildings or at least undergo remodeling.”
“Yes, Chairman.”
Checking development progress had been one goal of the tour, but inspecting working conditions had been another.
“Um, Chairman. Each chair costs over a million won. Even with bulk ordering, the discount isn't that large.”
Kim Dae-seok had already called to check prices and looked stunned.
“Yes, the brand carries a premium. Still, go ahead and place the order.”
Other office furniture companies would have offered it for far less, perhaps half the price. But Yoo Jae-won maintained the order. Office equipment purchases were tax-deductible in any country, so the burden would disappear once processed through taxes.
“Understood.”
Once Kim Dae-seok left to handle the order, Yoo Jae-won began his real work. First, he powered on the phone he had kept in his study drawer. Its design had changed significantly from the early prototypes. This was the final version of the Tiffany Phone, now ready for mass production. He had left it in the drawer because the CDMA network was only active in San Francisco. Without network coverage elsewhere, it was little more than a portable game console, and he hadn't wanted the final design leaked by paparazzi during the trip.
When the phone turned on, it vibrated nonstop. A considerable number of text messages and missed calls had accumulated. Important calls from Tiffany or others had been routed through the internet or Kim Dae-seok, so Yoo Jae-won glanced at the notifications and cleared them all.
Next, he booted up his computer and logged into ID Talk. The real work began now.
“What? Already over a hundred emails?”
The first thing to greet him was a full inbox. Spam had already been filtered, leaving over a hundred genuine messages. Most were business proposals from countless ID Group employees responding to the internal venture policy he had announced days earlier.
“I don't remember saying it was first-come, first-served.”
He had only asked for proposals in ID Office format with solid revenue models. No deadline had been set. Any good idea with a clear revenue model would be approved whenever it arrived. The internal venture policy wasn't meant to ride the IT boom or make a show of support. It was a genuine measure to prevent talented people from leaving the company. Even if they grew large enough to spin off later, ID Group would still hold equity and keep them within the broader family.
“Well then, let's take a look.”
Yoo Jae-won settled in and opened the emails, downloading attachments. ID Talk's email management allowed bulk handling with just a click or two, opening documents without manual downloads.
“Hmm.”
After nearly two hours of reading, a hint of disappointment settled over him. None of the employee proposals had cleared his threshold. The most common idea was making games, followed by search engines, internet community sites, and secondhand goods shopping malls. Games at least had an obvious revenue model once sold, satisfying his emphasis. Yet the proposed titles were all the currently trendy 3D FPS genre. A demo would have earned more consideration, but none of the proposals included one. The scenarios lacked originality, and the technical capabilities weren't superior either.
The search engine and website proposals were the same. No distinctive features or outstanding business models. Still, they weren't complete failures.
“Huh? This one… is it eBay?”
The best proposal was for a secondhand trading brokerage site, submitted by a team leader at Nextcom who had managed the secondhand trading bulletin board. Noticing that section's high traffic, he proposed building a dedicated secondhand marketplace. Yoo Jae-won examined it closely, surprised, but the plan fell short of true eBay level. There was no innovation in letting buyers and sellers upload their own descriptions and photos. It was essentially the same as a free bulletin board. Most importantly, the submitter's name was not Pierre Omidyar, eBay's founder. Yoo Jae-won wanted to reject even this one, but in the end he selected two proposals: the FPS game and the secondhand goods shopping mall. Partly to demonstrate that the bar wasn't impossibly high, and partly to treat it like scratching lottery tickets. He also wanted to observe what practical issues arose while running the internal venture teams so he could prepare responses. With that preparation, when a truly big idea arrived later, he would be ready to support and operate it properly. For that purpose, even if each twenty-million-dollar initial investment went up in smoke, he wouldn't regret it.
Having finished reviewing the employee proposals that had intrigued him most, Yoo Jae-won took out the Shell Book he had used during the trip to synchronize and back up its data.
“This is surprisingly tedious.”
If he didn't update the offline work to the online version, confusion could arise later, so he handled it in advance. He also transferred important documents stored on the Shell Book to his main computer. With so much work lately, he had neglected backups, and that was how disasters happened. Chiding himself for growing lax, he diligently moved the files.
While transferring files, he paused upon discovering a new directory.
“Huh? What's this?”
Opening it in the file manager revealed its contents. It was a backup file created when he had upgraded Jeon Myeong-heon's phone during his recent visit to Korea. Selecting the upgrade automatically generated a backup, and the computer used at the time had been his Shell Book. Yoo Jae-won moved to delete the backup file but hesitated. If the phone had an administrator password, the backup would carry the same password. Yet with his abilities, he could still access it. His gaze lingered on the file manager screen as his thoughts deepened.