Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: AE
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California Institute of Technology, commonly known as Caltech, had a remarkably small student body despite its towering reputation.
The total enrollment was just around nine hundred—far fewer students than you'd find at a typical elementary, middle, or high school.
Yet that tiny number was precisely why it could maintain its status as the world's top university.
It filtered through an overwhelming pool of talent, selecting only the absolute elite, whom the world's finest professors then taught in small, intensive classes.
Rumor had it that at Caltech, winning the lottery was harder than snagging a Nobel Prize.
Thanks to that, most Caltech grads dove straight into grad school for research or got snapped up by America's biggest corporations in bidding wars.
Among those grads, though, one had chosen an unusual path.
"The future will definitely be an era where games take center stage in media."
Greg, a Caltech Computer Science graduate, turned down grad school and offers from countless megacorps to join AE—a fledgling game developer and publisher just getting off the ground.
The game industry had once seemed full of promise but crashed and burned after the Atari Shock.
AE was one of the first companies shoveling fresh dirt into that grave, specializing in game development and distribution.
Even with explosive growth, it was still a mom-and-pop shop compared to the giants. When Greg announced his choice, his family, classmates, and even professors tried to talk him out of it.
But he was dead certain about his prediction. He joined AE anyway, rocketing up to head the support division soon after.
"Didn't go well on your trip?"
"Nah, the old man's too damn stubborn."
Back from an outing, Greg vented to his waiting secretary.
"If Professor Jonathan had consulted on the physics engine, this sports game could've been revolutionary..."
"It was a long shot from the start. Someone like him's probably swamped with research requests from IBM and the other dinosaurs. No way our pitch caught his eye."
Greg nodded in agreement with his secretary.
He'd gone to beg his former mentor—still a full-time professor in Caltech's CS department—for help building a game physics engine.
He knew it wouldn't be easy, but getting shot down flat left him drained.
Professor Jonathan was undeniably a titan in computer science, with unmatched achievements and clout. Still, Greg found him hopelessly stuffy.
'Greg, you're a computer science scholar too, aren't you? Computers are tools for advancing the future—not mere playthings.'
Greg agreed up to a point, but he couldn't stomach calling games "mere playthings."
'The game industry's clawing back into American living rooms after a decade in the wasteland. This isn't just fun—it's got the potential to become part of life itself!'
In Greg's eyes, the gaming world brimmed with limitless potential.
"Haa... another mountain of 'em."
"Do you really need to check every one? Couldn't the underlings handle the screening...?"
"Ellie, this is my job. If I miss a diamond in the rough, I won't sleep at night."
Compared to the tech behemoths, AE was still mid-tier at best. But in PC game distribution, it ranked at the very top.
That meant dozens of game proposals flooded in weekly, begging for distribution deals. The support team's job was to sift out the ones worth backing.
Normally, a division head like Greg would only review what his staff had pre-filtered.
'I can't let this go. That rush when you uncover a real gem? That's why I do this job.'
Once Ellie left the office, Greg dove into the stack on his desk.
'This one's trash. Just a single floppy with the install files?'
Ninety percent—no, ninety-nine percent—of the games that landed on his desk were utter garbage.
Lots of outfits hadn't shaken off Atari-era dev habits, shipping half-baked junk that belonged in a dumpster.
Understaffed teams churned out sloppy incompletes all the time too.
Most came with zero planning docs, manuals, or controls guides—just a lonely floppy disk.
Greg chucked those straight into the bin without even peeking at the contents.
'A game made with real love and effort wouldn't show up like that.'
After weeding out a few more, five remained.
Standard drill now: skim the proposal, gauge hit potential, then run a quick thirty-minute test.
'Alright, let's start with this one.'
And the first to catch his eye among the five was a game called Curse of Los Altos Hills.
"Huck! This a game?! It's just random dice rolls!"
"Jason, here to gripe again?"
"Listen! How's Tommy—that guy who started after me—already hitting day 14?!"
Lately, my dorm room had turned into Grand Central for uninvited guests.
Jason was the ringleader.
He'd barge in daily, ranting that Curse of Los Altos Hills was a luck-based disaster and demanding a patch to axe all randomness.
'Crazy? Randomness is what makes it fun.'
Of course, I'd half-expected reactions like his.
The poor guy's luck was abysmal—every random starting character was a dud.
And the zombie hordes always spawned near max numbers, weirdly enough. No wonder he felt screwed.
'I thought it was a bug at first too.'
Hell, I'd double-checked the randomizer code myself because it seemed off.
But nope—code was flawless. Jason was just cursed with shit luck.
Meanwhile, Tommy pulled an epic M60 machine gun right at the start and breezed to day 14. Fair point: the game leaned hard on luck.
But that was by design. No plans to tweak it.
Defense games without randomness turn into rigid math puzzles—maniacal, sure, but zero dopamine rush.
'Skill-based, yeah. But no thrill, no highs.'
Over-relying on luck flops too, obviously.
The trick was balancing luck and skill just right—and I knew I'd nailed it.
Couldn't have done it without my past life as Forgarden's main director, the guy behind its online pachinko fame.
"Hey, what've you been staring at?"
"Email."
Jason finally gave up on his tirade when I didn't even pretend to listen. His eyes drifted to my monitor.
'Frustrating as hell. Only three companies even use email?'
Email wasn't mainstream yet—just some universities and big corps.
A week ago, I'd finished the Curse of Los Altos Hills demo and shipped it to every distributor I could find.
Now I was waiting on replies.
'Five positives so far, but the terms suck.'
A few pushed hard for immediate contracts via mail, but the deals were garbage.
One wanted to deduct packaging costs from revenue. Another offered a flat five grand for full rights.
The decent ones slashed royalties to ribbons. The generous ones were too small to distribute properly.
'AE, Broderbund, or Sierra would be perfect...'
I had total faith in the quality. Even with few testers, their reactions had been ecstatic.
Pair it with the right publisher, and it'd smash expectations. That's why I was dying for a bite from the big three PC distributors.
This era had no Punk-style digital storefronts yet. Physical box sales ruled everything.
Take Nendo's JRPG masterpiece, the Gaias series—inspiring countless games later. Picked the wrong publisher and tanked.
Its North American partner botched the marketing so bad, it bombed stateside unlike in Japan—doomed cult classic.
"Oh yeah, Huck. Mind if I show this to someone?"
"Huh? Show who?"
I was poking through the barren inbox when Jason spoke up. I started to say no, cautiously.
Leaks could torpedo future deals.
"My cousin works at a game mag. Ever hear of CGW?"
"CGW? You're shitting me?!"
"Dead serious. That's how I get free copies every week."
I jolted upright at his words.
CGW—Computer Gaming World.
A powerhouse in PC gaming now... and in the future.
Most mags back then fawned over Nendo and Seton console titles.
CGW? Pure PC focus. Every PC gamer subscribed, period.
'This is a golden opportunity.'
A shot at promo in the one outlet that mattered for PC? The old Forgarden director in me stirred to life.