Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Contract
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“Nice to meet you. I'm Hudson, the president of AE.”
“Nice to meet you. I'm Seon Woo-hyuk, CEO of Savior.”
“Seon Woo-hyuk? Is that how you pronounce it?”
“Just call me Huck. Everyone around me does because the pronunciation is tricky.”
“Fair enough. Huck it is, then.”
It was unexpected.
I'd figured AE would come knocking to renegotiate the contract, but I hadn't anticipated the president himself, Hudson, showing up in person like this.
Hudson... Quite the figure, setting aside his notorious reputation.
Considering the towering presence AE would command in the gaming world down the line, the man sitting before me was nothing short of a heavyweight.
Even Nothing, the top Korean game company I'd worked for in my past life, was just another developer in AE's shadow.
“First off, congratulations. I hear this issue of CGW sold over two million copies.”
“That's what I heard too. But it's not really connected to me.”
A while back, Jamie had called me up, his voice buzzing with excitement, to share the news that CGW's print run had gone through reprint after reprint, hitting two million copies.
It was an astonishing sales figure, no doubt. But since CGW was just bait to lure in a deal with AE, the real game started now.
“To be honest, I was shocked. Who would've thought you'd release the demo for free as a promo tool.”
“I didn't expect the reaction to be this strong either.”
Even I, who had anticipated some ripple effect, was surprised—so how must Hudson have felt, knowing even less?
'Dead Hills Syndrome.'
Centered on teens, Dead Hills had spread like wildfire and become a hot topic across America.
- Are students skipping school because of a game?
The article in the New York Times a few days ago had sealed the deal.
It reported that truancy rates among students had spiked lately, and the culprit was addiction to a game called Dead Hills—sparking a massive uproar.
'Skipping school for a game? What kind of game is this?'
The Times seemed intent on warning about the game's dangers and harms, but unfortunately, it only stoked curiosity about Dead Hills.
Thanks to that, CGW sales, which had stalled at a million copies, skyrocketed geometrically, blowing past two million and now eyeing three.
'Factoring in bootlegs beyond the bundled mags, probably three million people have played the demo by now.'
The tables had completely turned.
The days of me cold-emailing publishers were over.
Lately, my inbox and phone hadn't stopped buzzing, to the point where the dorm manager warned me about the noise.
“We'll accept the terms you wanted. But we need the IP rights.”
Hudson spoke as if he were granting some grand favor.
“You've come all this way... but you'll have to head back empty-handed.”
“What?”
He clearly hadn't grasped the situation yet.
“Those terms were worth considering back then. They're not satisfactory anymore.”
This wasn't mere bluffing.
Other publishers had already offered better deals.
'Still clinging to the IP, huh.'
AE's stubborn obsession with IP rights was so on-brand.
“I'd be better off signing with Broderbund or Apogee on those terms. They're offering 30% royalties straight up, no strings attached.”
“...You have to consider that AE's distribution network is far superior. Our offer is unprecedentedly generous.”
AE was undeniably the powerhouse in distribution.
That's why I wanted to work with them if possible—but I couldn't let that show here.
I had to demonstrate I had options at every turn.
“By my estimate, the Dead Hills demo has spread to over three million plays.”
“That matches our calculations.”
“Have you figured out how many will buy the full version?”
“That's...”
Going by future standards, full purchases typically maxed out at one-tenth of demo downloads.
Conservatively speaking, official sales would hit...
“Over 300,000 copies, by my math.”
-Are you really okay handing this game to another publisher?
“Damn it!”
Hudson slammed his fist on the armrest with a curt curse.
Then he dropped his head, letting out a deep sigh, his face twisted.
Only now did he realize the person across from him wasn't some green newbie or passionate dev—but a cold, calculating businessman.
'Whichever of the Big 3 signs with me will dominate the top spot for a while.'
The current PC game sales pinnacle was barely scraping 100,000 copies.
If Dead Hills didn't just top that but tripled it, the shockwaves would rock the entire industry.
For instance, it could topple AE, the current tenuous Big 3 leader, in one fell swoop.
“Name your terms.”
“35% royalties. Savior keeps all IP copyrights. And...”
“There's more?”
“Throw in a million dollars.”
At my final demand, Hudson clamped his mouth shut, staring at me like I'd lost my mind.
'Two million might've been pushing it.'
I thought a million was conscientious enough.
'You'll definitely make it big.'
Hudson's parting words as we said goodbye.
True to a future corporate titan, he turned and left without a grudge.
The next day, a million dollars hit my account—proof of his bold streak.
'You'll profit plenty, so don't feel too hard done by.'
Of course, Hudson wasn't a sucker for tossing that cash.
“Think of the million as a signing bonus. Accept, and you'll give AE distribution on the next game too.”
A proposal others might've laughed off as pie-in-the-sky.
But after a moment's thought, Hudson took it.
'Looking back, if we'd accepted your first offer, we'd have reaped far more. Strangely, this feels the same. Am I exaggerating?'
Uncannily spot-on judgment.
Had he skimped on the million, I'd have demanded 50% royalties on the next one.
After that, production sailed smoothly.
AE went all-in on Dead Hills' hype, roping in a famous designer for the cover, securing factories ahead, and fast-tracking release prep.
'The quality's pretty solid.'
As expected of the top distributor. Speed and execution lived up to the hype.
It had been nearly a month since the demo dropped.
Time for the full game to launch ASAP.
Release while hype peaked to convert buzz into sales.
Any delay, and excitement would sour to disappointment overnight.
“We'll take this one.”
“Wise choice. A property like this—with the location and terms—is a rare find around here.”
Once I signed the contract, the realtor beamed.
I slowly toured my new building.
'Location's perfect. Though I'll need new networking, furniture, all that—money pits aplenty.'
Here in California, Silicon Valley anchored 51 of America's top 500 most valuable companies—the nation's industrial heart.
Not ready to plant roots smack in the Valley, I opted for the pragmatic Redwood City.
Home to AE, Oracle, and other IT giants, it boasted solid infrastructure—ideal for a mid-tier outfit.
680,000 dollars.
No small sum in '92, but snagging a whole building in Redwood City for that? A steal.
'Buying at the bottom—pure luck.'
The U.S. real estate market was in a downturn from recession aftershocks.
A few years on, this building's price would gain a zero. Massive win.
'So the company's really starting now.'
I'd incorporated Savior Soft already to smooth AE dealings.
But till now: solo staff, dorm address. More freelancer than firm.
Future games? Team efforts.
That meant hiring—and space for them.
'Still got runway.'
Building ate a chunk, but the AE advance left plenty in reserves.
Plus, Dead Hills royalties would roll in steadily—no short-term crunch.
Unless the sequel flopped, anyway.
'Fat chance.'
Next game's blueprint was done.
Never once doubted its success.
To accelerate launch, though, I needed 'people' now.
'Top priority: art director for graphics, manager for ops.'
I could handle planning and coding.
Graphics? Specialist turf—my dabbling had limits. Pros needed for quality.
As the company scaled, ops like finances and admin demanded a manager pronto.
Sound director? Nice-to-have, not must.
'Game audio's just SFX anyway, thanks to capacity limits.'
Graphics and management first; sound if bandwidth allowed.
This era's hiring: newspaper ads, interviews galore. Time sink.
Busy days ahead.
'Gotta take a leave from school.'
No more classroom time.
My place was the boardroom now, not lectures.