Planning My First Game
“Student. Really want to rent out a room? No. Who would cancel a room lease before even moving in and paying the full deposit!”
“I’m sorry… I know I’m in a difficult situation, but our family home has suddenly collapsed financially….”
“What?”
“My family is saying they have to sell the ancestral home. How am I supposed to live in such an expensive one-room apartment? Could you just give me a little leeway?”
The apartment owner’s expression, which had been boiling with anger at the student’s words, softened into something almost sympathetic.
“Student. Your family situation is really that bad?”
“Yes. My father was scammed while running his business… My dorm was taken away, so if you return the deposit, I’ll move into a cheap basement unit. I have to be frugal with every penny if I want to help at home.”
“Haa… Student. I really can’t, but I feel sorry for you, a student. Tell me your account number and go. I’ll deposit the money right away.”
Seven million won arrived in his account.
‘Mom, I’m sorry.’
The guilt of failing to support his family in this life faded away as he secured the trifecta of scholarship, deposit, and laptop—the 3-king of debt.
The total in his account was now 16.5 million won. After deducting the deposit and monthly rent for the new basement apartment (100 + 22), 15.28 million won remained.
The laptop? No plans to buy it. At this point, every won had to be saved. His mother had already brought the broken one home, claiming it was damaged, but it still worked fine.
“About 15 million… I have to be extremely frugal with this money.”
This was his entire capital.
The reason he lied to his mother to acquire it was, of course, for game development. From now on, he would create games while living in a snug basement one-room, training like a monk.
Knowing the future, why not invest? There were good reasons.
‘I don’t know what to call it at this time.’
Stocks that would explode later? He knew. Cryptocurrencies that would make money later? He knew. Regions with sky-high land prices? He knew.
‘But I don’t know the exact timing…’
He knew land would eventually skyrocket, but not soon. Long-term investment was ideal, yet he had no such money now.
The money he had right now was barely enough for game creation. He wanted to start developing as fast as possible.
15 million. And the 650,000 won monthly stipend from his mother for rent.
This was capital that would make developers run screaming, saying, “You’re kidding? We’re done!” He had to multiply this money wisely. Fortunately, he was a programmer-turned-director.
His coding skills hadn’t rusted, and he had the basic skills needed for art and sound to coordinate across teams.
Since he planned to solo-develop as much as possible, labor costs could be minimized.
Game development was bound to face difficulties from the start. His current situation was already poor, but the capital constraints were only the beginning.
He also had a time constraint.
‘If Mom finds out, game development will be over for a while.’
Originally, the house he and his mom had contracted was for one year. He had planned generously for two semesters, but if Mom showed up even once during this time, game development would be completely over.
He would be forced to return to school, and worse, he might be called back to the family home and have to waste three hours daily commuting by subway just to get to school.
‘Still, that’s better than nothing. Mom rarely comes to my studio apartment.’
The only thing he needed to avoid was the situation where Mom got suspicious and visited him.
Capital ready. Development deadline set.
Now it was time to decide on the game.
Normally, you write the plan, raise capital, then set the development period. But he did the opposite. In his situation, this order made sense.
The reason was simple.
‘Too many ideas swirling in my head.’
He wanted to make too many things.
Countless genres flashed through his mind.
‘FPS, RPG, simulation, rhythm, fighting, healing….’
A normal developer would have been shocked. But the ideas kept coming.
For now, let’s set aside the genre and think about the hardware the game will run on.
‘PC or mobile.’
The only platforms he could choose right now.
PC was already a mainstream hardware platform. In 2010, Storm was steadily expanding its influence, making it the most accessible and convenient choice.
The second option was mobile.
Its popularity didn’t lag behind PC, but the game industry still considered it a smaller market compared to PC. Game studios back then often chose stable PC platforms over mobile.
Giving up the safe, high-potential PC for an unstable, seemingly high-risk mobile was no easy decision.
However, he knew how quickly the mobile market was about to explode. The timing was perfect.
‘2010 is the turning point.’
Casual games like Furybird were breaking the industry’s perception that mobile games had low potential.
“Let’s go with mobile.”
Now that the hardware was decided, it was time to plan the specific game.
‘Casual games have the highest chance of success.’
And it fit his situation best.
Casual games are defined by their idea. They are technically easy to implement and, in a way, their success or failure hinges on one idea alone.
“Casual… casual…”
Suddenly, an idea brushed past his mind.
‘At this time, were there no snake games on mobile?’
No matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t recall any. Only after digging deeper did he understand why.
‘The snake genre craze was recent.’
The “recent” he was talking about was before his regression—2020. He remembered the snake game boom that exploded in the 2020s.
Snakebird Survivor. A game so representative of the snake genre that it was called snake or snake-like.
Snake games were simple by design, matching casual games: automatic attacks, roguelike random ability choices, and movement as the only control.
Technically easy to implement, and great for saving money.
There was no reason not to make a snake game.
But one issue bothered him.
The plagiarism problem that any creator can never escape.
This hesitation had him stuck.
Nothing is created entirely independently, as the saying goes, “Plagiarism is the mother of creation.” Especially in games, developers know that similar genres are often tolerated with blurry eyes.
But this was a matter of conscience.
Of course, as a regressor, he had pride. He had no intention of copying a future successful game and releasing it as his own. That wasn’t success to him.
But if he developed a game suited to the trending genre and meta he knew, would Snakebird Survivor ever be released?
In a way, it might be more unforgivable than plagiarism. Plagiarism steals the pie from the original, but if he made this game, Snakebird Survivor would never even get a chance.
‘This is the dilemma of a regressor.’
Since he hadn’t bought furniture yet, he sat on the floor and thought for a long time.
Clearly, from a timing perspective, it wasn’t plagiarism.
No one would accuse him of plagiarism. Since the plan wasn’t even complete, no one would point a finger at him as a thief, and no legal battle would arise.
‘But I know something.’
After a moment of hesitation, he made his decision.
‘Sorry, but die for me.’
As a game planner and developer, if he couldn’t make what he wanted to make, he might die from a fit of rage.
From now on, log-like top-down shooter games would be called by his own title, not snake.
His mind cleared.
With a settled heart, after deep thought, any game that would be created in the future would become the soil for new games.
‘In my case, the future would become the soil of the past.’
He wiped away the only hesitation from his mind, unfolded the cardboard box he had saved when moving, and set it as his desk, placing the laptop on top.
Tack, tack, tack.
His ten fingers danced across the keyboard.
‘The genre is snake… no, log-like top-down shooter.’
With the genre decided, the next step was the concept.
Casual games must be casual not only in gameplay but also visually.
‘It has to be a concept that is mainstream yet fits the genre well.’
Animals? Fantasy? Wuxia? Or fictional creatures?
As various concepts flashed through his mind, a single one hit him like lightning.
“Hero.”
And the gate.
Monsters cross through gates, and the hero blocks the alien army. It was a cliché, but clichés survive even after being boiled down to the bone.
As he went further, the idea became more concrete.
From protecting the game world to progressing by crossing gates to eliminate enemies, the stages could be varied.
Graphics would be pixel art.
Concept: hero and gate.
The speed of typing on the keyboard increased.
On a white background, black letters appeared and disappeared. The more he typed, the clearer the game he would create in his mind.
Tap.
His hand stopped.
“Title.”
It wasn’t blocked.
The plan was complete.
The only thing left was naming the game itself, like completing the dragon in a picture, a single dot in an empty eye.
He thought for a moment, then pressed the keys again.
**Dot Hero**
It was a title he liked.
*
“Big brother.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Yihan has been a bit strange lately… Do you know anything?”
Jo Yi-hyeon’s eyebrow twitched at his sister’s words, who was quite a bit younger.
“About Yihan?”
“Recently, I don’t know where his mind has wandered. He doesn’t answer the phone, doesn’t come home to study, and I can barely see him. A few days ago, he came to the family home when I called, but there was a strange smell on his body. I was shocked.”
“Hmm. I’ll talk to him.”
“Is he so busy studying that he forgets to even bathe? Big brother, how was school for you? Was it hard?”
Jo Yi-hyeon recalled his past for a moment and nodded.
“There is no easy learning.”
“That’s how it is? I told your father, but actually, if you’re focused on studying, you should just leave the kid alone. Mom can worry about her son.”
“That’s right.”
“Should I secretly visit to see how well he’s living?”
It was a certain day in May, three months after Jo Yihan had plunged into game development.
From a place he didn’t know, the words exchanged were shocking enough to make him jump in fright.