From Trash Game to Masterpiece (1)

Public relations. Literally, it means improving something's public reputation. The definition itself is simple, but the steps required to achieve it are anything but. After all, a reputation can only exist if there is some baseline level of public awareness. And what was the public perception of Epic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of Seven? Abysmal. There was no other word for it. So, how do you fix an abysmal reputation? First, you have to engrave those three words, Epic of Seven, into the public consciousness. In other words, I had to use marketing to drag its rock-bottom awareness kicking and screaming into the light...

"But that's easier said than done."

Traditional marketing wouldn't cut it. The return on investment would be atrocious. Honestly, it would be cheaper and easier to just launch a brand-new game. But what if the marketing was driven by a narrative? There was no need to even think about it—it would work. When it comes to image-making, the power of a good narrative is absolute. Marketing seasoned with a compelling story is invincible.

And the narrative I had crafted was steadily snowballing. An individual buying a game company because he didn't like the game—what a perfect, sensational headline. The public was undoubtedly shocked by my bizarre, unprecedented move. And now, they would be anticipating what came next. They would want to see the blueprint I had drawn up for Epic of Seven. The very first step of that blueprint would be a massive overhaul of the business model.

Inside a conference room at the Leon Play Headquarters.

"What do you all think is the biggest reason for our player bleed?"

There were six people in total. Seated around the table were the heads of planning, marketing, graphics, operations, and distribution, with me occupying the head seat. It was a modest crowd, but numbers didn't matter. The core pillars who had kept Leonplay afloat all this time were gathered in this room. Of course, the head of operations was a fresh face, hired after the recent purge.

"I suspect it's due to the endless, unproductive pay-to-win events..."

"The lack of updates definitely played a part as well."

"I also think the lack of new content is the biggest issue..."

"Because the concurrent player count is so low, we've received a massive number of complaints from users who can't even enjoy the multiplayer content properly."

Oh. Every single one of their opinions pierced straight to the heart of the game's issues. They truly deserved to be called the loyal retainers who had stubbornly kept the game running despite the previous management's tyranny.

"Exactly. And if you synthesize all those points, you arrive at a single conclusion."

"Player bleed begets more player bleed."

Excessive monetization, lack of new content, zero updates. What do the remaining players think when they watch others leave because of these issues? Do they criticize the deserters and stay loyal to the game? I could guarantee you, with absolute certainty, that they never do.

"If the reasons for quitting are entirely justifiable, the remaining players will eventually jump ship as well."

It was textbook mob mentality. The game's management was garbage, making the play environment miserable enough as it was. If the remaining player base started evaporating on top of that? Every single one of them would lose heart and follow suit.

"Then what about the reverse?"

Reverse thinking. My plan stemmed from the contrarian idea that a game suffering from massive player bleed could also experience a massive influx of players, provided they were given the right catalyst.

"If we give them a good enough reason to return... or to start playing in the first place."

I slowly swept my gaze across the five department heads sitting in the conference room.

"I believe we can trigger a massive wave of new and returning players."

My task was clear. Create a catalyst that would draw people in. Turn Epic of Seven into a full-blown social phenomenon. To do that, I had to completely tear down and rebuild the rotten foundations that were still eating away at the game.

"To start, we are going to completely overhaul Epic of Seven's monetization structure."

The head of the planning department, who had been listening intently, spoke up.

"When you say overhaul, what exactly do you mean...?"

"First and foremost, we will make all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quality-of-life cash shop items completely free."

In this insane game, if you messed up your skill points, you had to buy a cash shop item worth nearly forty dollars just to reset your skill tree. Even basic, essential quality-of-life features—like account vault expansion, inventory weight limits, and equipment repairs—were locked behind paywalls. And that wasn't all. Boss-dropped unique items were put up for auction among players, meaning anyone without deep pockets was left sucking their thumbs. Fixing just these issues would make the players rejoice with open arms.

"But how will we compensate the players who have already purchased those items? And above all, our revenue will plummet."

"Compensation is not something you need to worry about right now."

The game was on the verge of ruin; the heavy spenders wouldn't care about that. In fact, the whales were the ones loudest in demanding free quality-of-life features and the abolition of the auction system. And even if the whales did complain, I had absolutely no intention of leaving these toxic, deep-seated evils untouched.

"And you don't need ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to worry about revenue either."

I smirked. It felt silly to even point it out, but who was I? I was a third-generation direct heir of Taewung Group, with liquid assets hovering close to one trillion won. Money was the least of my concerns.

"A massive investment will soon be coming in through the Taewoong Culture Foundation."

Only then did the anxiety fade from the department heads' faces, replaced by bright smiles. I was sorry to burst their bubble, but this was only the beginning.

"Making quality-of-life items free and abolishing the auction system is just the start."

The highest tier of gear in Epic of Seven was Mythic grade. To farm Mythic-grade gear, players had to spend a specific currency called 'Goddess's Invitation' to buy tickets to enter the farming dungeons. The problem was that even this ticket currency was a cash shop item. And it was disgustingly expensive. Yet, if you couldn't farm Mythic gear, you couldn't even touch the semi-endgame content, let alone the actual endgame.

"We are going to completely overhaul the Mythic gear farming structure. The Goddess's Invitation? I plan to erase it without a trace."

"Character avatars are also targeted for this overhaul. Avatars, which were originally created for cosmetic customization, have completely lost their purpose."

Character avatars. They had started as simple cosmetic costumes for players to dress up their characters, but now, the bonus stats and attributes attached to them were so absurd that having an avatar or not created a massive gap in power. To make matters worse, the avatars themselves had grades, with prices and stats varying wildly based on rarity. Why was this a problem? First, it caused a severe balance collapse. Second, it ruined the in-game economy. The market was in shambles because of the scalpers and hoarders who flipped these avatars for profit.

"We will keep the character avatars. However, we will standardize the bonus stats and attributes across all avatars."

"Instead, we will differentiate existing Rare-grade avatars by giving them special visual effects during attacks and movement. Avatars will reclaim their true essence as purely cosmetic items."

To all those scalpers who made a living off flipping avatars: go screw yourselves. My proposed overhauls must have been incredibly shocking. Everyone sat frozen, their jaws practically on the floor. The head of the planning department was rubbing his temples, letting out a low groan. Haha, you guys had it easy for too long. Now it's time to work your fingers to the bone. For a long while after that, I passionately ranted about every single aspect of the game that had ever annoyed me. I had never felt so vindicated in my entire life. Buying Leonplay was the best decision I ever made.

My name is Kim Su-hyun, an internet streamer widely known as Suming. Lately, the internet hadn't had a single quiet moment thanks to a massive piece of drama that had recently exploded. Sung-woo, the man at the center of it all, was so busy that our communication was limited to the occasional text message. Ever since Epic of Seven announced its massive upcoming update and overhaul, the official Epic of Seven online community had been bursting at the seams with a flood of new users. I, too, was constantly refreshing the community page, and this entire process was being broadcast live on my stream.

"Ugh, when is it going to be posted?! This is driving me crazy!"

The attention focused on E-O-Se was like a social phenomenon. No matter where you went—YouTube or various online communities—everyone was talking about E-O-Se and Hot Potato. I was also actively riding the wave on my stream, keeping the hype alive. Above all, since Sung-woo was the one running the show now, I wanted him to succeed, so I took it upon myself to promote it. Perhaps because I used to main E-O-Se back in the day, my viewers' reactions were quite positive too.

"It's up!!!!!!!!"

Finally, a new post appeared on the official E-O-Se community page.

"Whoa, insane..."

It was absolutely unprecedented. From the eligibility requirements to the prize money, nothing about this was ordinary. And they were going to host this crazy contest every single year?

Lost for words, I stared blankly at the text on the screen, completely dumbfounded.

You've really gone all out, haven't you, Sung-woo?