Chapter 9: Twice the Delight
1146 Words
Though no one harbored any real expectations of the boss’s so-called “great news,” once Adam laid out the details, their disappointment deepened anew.
This so-called grand announcement turned out to be Adam’s plan to have employees embark on “internal entrepreneurship.”
Whether individually or as teams, they could contract to operate one or more servers for the new game Angels and Demons.
Of course, should anyone possess sufficient confidence—and capital—they could even contract the entire game outright!
Technical support, operational infrastructure, distribution channels—everything was already in place. All they needed to do was handle marketing, attract players, and generate revenue.
In other words, if you took on a server, as long as you remitted the fixed monthly revenue quota to the company, any profit beyond that would belong entirely to you.
Wasn’t that thrilling, astonishing, heart-stirring?
Alas, the vast majority of employees demurred, murmuring they dared not venture into such a gamble.
“Later, Alexander from the tech department will come up to give everyone an overview of the game,” Adam continued earnestly. Take a look at the game’s quality yourselves.
Anyone who feels confident can speak with the tech manager after the meeting for a deeper understanding.
If you’re convinced of the game’s potential—and can shoulder the cost—come see me directly to discuss contracting.
Opportunities like this don’t come twice; if you wish to succeed, seize the moment!”
Adam went on, his tone earnest and coaxing.
…
When Adam finished, Alexander stepped up.
After some bustling about with his laptop and the projector, he began showcasing the new game.
The gathered employees, all seasoned professionals in the gaming industry, were no strangers to mobile games.
Truth be told, Angels and Demons wasn’t terrible; its quality was passable.
But to call it outstanding would be a stretch of the imagination—it was, at best, a mediocre mobile title, indistinguishable from countless others saturating the market.
Any hope of impressive revenue would rest entirely on the marketing budget, the caliber of operations, and, frankly, divine intervention.
Yes, the mobile gaming market had become so fiercely competitive that even superstition felt like a necessary strategy.
Even products from juggernauts like Activision Blizzard stood a significant chance of sudden demise.
Let alone a small outfit like Aaron’s company—whether the new game would earn anything at all was pure fate.
…
Once the meeting concluded, the staff dispersed swiftly, leaving only Adam and Alexander staring at each other in the now-empty conference room.
“Alexander, do you think any of our employees might be interested in this game?” Adam inquired.
“I suppose it’s possible,” Alexander replied diplomatically. “Your speech was truly rousing—I almost felt like rushing to contract a server myself.”
“Really? Then, by all means, feel free to take one on. "There’s no rule against management participating,” Adam said, eyes gleaming with hope.
“Oh, no, no!” Alexander protested quickly. "I have little interest in profits; my passion lies in game development itself. "My only strength is my devotion to technology,” he added, shaking his head with a rueful sigh.
Yet inwardly, he scoffed:" Only a fool would take this deal.
Others might be oblivious, but he knew full well what Adam was scheming—after all, he himself had overseen the project. Contracting the game would be like leaping eyes-wide-open into a pit.
…
Why, then, had Adam decided to offer the company’s newly developed game to employees for a contract at all?
After all, the technical team—twenty-odd engineers—had poured over a year into its development, incurring significant costs.
With existing distribution channels, operations, and customer service, Adam could have easily launched and operated it himself.
But he had been inspired by the wave of “re-skinned” games flooding the market.
Some mobile games, after launching and failing to attract enough players, simply collapsed.
What then?
They couldn’t just shut down entirely, lest the company swallow the loss.
So some “clever” companies hit on a solution: slap a new name on the game, commission fresh promotional posters, and relaunch it as a “brand new” title.
Adam had a revelation: why wait until the game was on the verge of death to re-skin it?
Why not, even before launch, brand it with two different names and market it as two separate games from the outset—thereby doubling the chances of success?
Wouldn’t that be twice the delight?
But he balked at bearing double the marketing costs. His plan: operate one version himself through the company, then contract out the re-skinned version—earning stable income from the partner’s payments.
One had to admire Adam’s shrewdness in business.
Yet pulling the wool over Alexander’s eyes was impossible. Knowing the inside story, Alexander promptly declined the boss’s “generous offer.”
Seeing Alexander’s resolute refusal, Adam could only sigh in regret. “What a pity, such a golden opportunity. ""Let’s see if any other employee proves lucky enough,” he murmured, hands clasped behind his back as he strode from the conference room toward his office, ready to await whichever ambitious soul might come knocking.
…
Back at their desks, Aaron and his colleagues were deep in discussion about the boss’s proposal.
“This whole thing is so strange,” Abigail fretted. Why would the company offer a game we’ve spent over a year developing to employees? Could it be a sign of financial trouble—will they start delaying our salaries?”
Aaron couldn’t help but marvel at her imagination—leaping from internal entrepreneurship to bankruptcy and wage arrears was quite the mental leap.
“Don’t overthink it,” he reassured her. The company’s not thriving, but revenue’s still steady enough; your pay is safe.
But contracting a game like this is far beyond what ordinary employees could realistically consider. Everyone knows—even if the game’s decent, the real challenge is letting players know it exists.
Without sufficient promotional resources and the right channels, no game can take off.”
Alice, with her longer tenure, saw matters even more clearly. “Game development alone isn’t enough,” she said, cutting straight to the heart of the issue. Of course, quality matters, but it’s far from the decisive factor.
In this world, even the finest wine can languish unnoticed in the depths of an alley.
Dozens, even hundreds, of new games appear every day, giving players an overwhelming array of choices. How do you ensure they see—and pick—yours?
First and foremost, you must have the power to place your game where players will actually see it.
And that power depends on one thing: your marketing budget—how much you can afford to spend.”
- Writer
