Nexple Headquarters
In an empty reception room, CEO Kang Geon waited, visibly tense. The moment Director Lee Taeyoung entered he rose with a bright smile—though his face stiffened for an instant when he noticed Development Director Son Youngsang behind Lee. He quickly recovered and offered an enthusiastic handshake.
“It’s been two months, Director Lee. First time seeing you since I founded the company, right? You look well. Director Son, good to see you.”
Lee returned the smile; Son merely nodded. The three men sat facing one another, and Lee got straight to business.
“I’ll be brief. First, we’ve decided to proceed with the publishing contract as planned.”
Yes!
Kang clenched a fist under the table—but the real issue remained.
“Next, the investment amount…”
Gulp. Kang swallowed hard.
“We’ve settled on ₩1 billion.”
For a second Kang thought he’d misheard. Not a small sum, but far below expectations.
Only one billion? He forced out a shaky question.
“Th‑that’s the initial investment… correct?”
Lee only gave a cryptic smile. Flustered, Kang stammered on.
“W‑were you dissatisfied with the Pandemonium test results?”
“No. It’s a solid game, and Breakthrough is still performing nicely. Taking all that into account, this is the final figure.”
Lee’s friendly expression had vanished.
“Sign the contract and we’ll wire the funds immediately. What do you say?”
Kang was speechless. He had expected at least ₩8 billion, maybe ₩10 billion, based on earlier discussions after the alpha demo.
Why the sudden change…?
Reeling, he managed, “I’ll need time to think.”
Watching Kang leave, Lee asked quietly, “What do you think?”
“He’s stunned,” Son replied. “You’d talked about ten billion before, right?”
“Back then the game seemed worth that much,” Lee said, a chill smile on his lips. “Not anymore.”
“What if he shops it around elsewhere?”
Lee shrugged. “If he takes the deal, great. If not, the publisher dreams big, and we get front‑row seats to watch a competitor take a punch to the gut. Win‑win.”
Son clicked his tongue. “Cold as ever.” He checked his watch and stood. “Time. Let’s go meet our star.”
“The presentation wizard PD Choi keeps praising?” Lee grinned. “Can’t wait.”
They reached a small meeting room where a young man waited. Son nodded, wearing the faintest smile. A calm yet powerful voice rang out:
“Good afternoon. I’m game developer Yoo Taeyeon. I’ll begin the presentation for ‘Pantheon.’”
Taeyeon had dreamed of game development since middle school, sketching two vast, intertwined sagas:
- Pantheon of the Gods
- Pandemonium of Demons
Originally a single story, the lore grew so large it split into two starting points.
Son’s eyes gleamed. “Separate projects that eventually converge in one universe?”
“Exactly. Think of the way M‑Studios builds its hero universe.”
Having already tested Pandemonium, both directors trembled with excitement at the bigger vision. Lee asked, flushed:
“It’s brilliant. With Pandemonium’s gameplay, this has real potential. But what about the IP rights…?”
“No worries,” Taeyeon said. “I own them—and I haven’t signed them over to anyone.”
“You own the rights? How?”
Taeyeon explained that he’d once serialized the stories as e‑books.
“Here’s the contract.”
“Then what about your deal with Bless?”
“CEO Kang promised to respect my rights, but the paperwork kept getting ‘postponed.’ I guess even the small fee I asked felt too steep.”
Son snorted. “Sly man. At least you can keep working on Pandemonium under your own title. Shame about the existing assets, though.”
“No real loss,” Taeyeon said confidently. “I always wanted to switch to a cartoon‑rendered style using the new Unique Engine.”
“Cartoon rendering?” Lee’s business instincts lit up; Son, though calmer, was clearly intrigued.
The discussion grew ever more animated; even after the slides ended the trio traded ideas until evening. Finally Lee spoke:
“How about dinner?”
“I’d love to—though PD Choi keeps pestering me for news,” Taeyeon laughed.
“Then invite him! We’re practically family now, aren’t we?” Lee’s words carried weight. Taeyeon glanced at Son—known among developers as iron‑blooded—and saw a warm, neighborly smile.
“Gladly!”
Heart pounding, Taeyeon texted Jong‑hak. Two sleepless months of preparation had paid off.
Unable to accept Nexple’s offer, Kang shopped the game elsewhere—but investments and publishing deals aren’t struck overnight.
Should I just take Nexple’s terms…?
The uncertainty consumed him. He’d declared himself director, flaunting his “star developer” image while leaning on Taeyeon’s work. Now, with Kang frequently out courting investors and Taeyeon deliberately stepping back, development slowed.
Taeyeon watched with interest.
What decision will CEO Kang make?
Son’s calls became frequent.
“Free tonight? Let’s grab meat.”
Taeyeon happily left on the dot. At the restaurant, Son dropped all reserve.
“Good to see you often, PD Yoo. How’re you feeling?”
“Like I’m on a covert mission—keeping my profile low until things are final.”
They grilled pork, clinked glasses. Anyone from Nexple would have been shocked; Son was famous for never smiling. Midway, his tone turned serious.
“Investment: ₩10 billion (approximately $6.8 million). We’d like you onboard within a month.”
Ten billion?! Taeyeon gulped.
“Can you show an alpha in a year?”
“Absolutely!”
“You projected closed‑beta specs in about two years and five months—still valid?”
“Yes!”
“If you need anything, talk to me or Director Lee. And set your start date soon; the Chairman wants to have dinner with you.”
“The Chairman?” Taeyeon’s eyes widened.
“You know he started as a developer. He’s very interested in your project.”
Taeyeon downed a shot. “I suddenly feel indigestion coming on.”
Son laughed as Taeyeon poured another.
Can I really pull this off? he wondered.
With everything settled, Taeyeon stopped hesitating.
“I need to talk to you,” he told Kang.
Irritable, Kang agreed and led him to a café outside the building, arms folded.
“Well? Spill it.”
Taeyeon didn’t waver. “I’m resigning.”
“What?”
“I’m leaving the company.”
Shock turned to suspicion.
“Why? Did someone poach you with better terms?”
“I’ve done all I can here. I want to pursue my own goals.”
“It’s your project! Pandemonium is what you wanted!”
“It was mine—until you took it.”
Kang snarled. “You think I stole your project?”
Taeyeon silently showed him a compilation of articles: Star Developer Kang Geon Returns with New Game!—dozens of them.
“Just headlines!” Kang barked. “Biased journalism! Can’t you tell?”
His voice rose; a barista approached nervously. “Could you lower your voice, please?”
Patrons were already leaving. Kang ignored them, eyes locked on Taeyeon.
He’s completely lost it, Taeyeon thought, sighing. He stood and bowed slightly to the barista.
“Sorry. We’ll be going now.”
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