He had gone to the cafeteria to clear his head—only to come back shouldering a massive load.
—Please attend the meeting with Producer Takizawa as the provisional project manager for Monster Eater.
Normally, once a game is already live, Nexple’s Live Division takes total charge.
There are, however, a few exceptions: PD Choi Jonghak’s mobile hit that earned ₩600 billion, and the casual action RPG War Crying, which brings in nearly half of Nexple’s total revenue.
If Business Development succeeded this time, Monster Eater Online would become the third exception—because it boasted 1.9 million global users.
Kim Myungwook said that if the publishing deal closed, they would likely create a subsidiary to manage the title exclusively.
What am I going to do…
It was already quitting time. The few remaining staff had left right on the dot; Taeyeon was alone in the studio.
I asked for time to think, but…
He didn’t have much. PlayFuns’ business team was staking its life on this deal.
I need to decide fast.
The answer, in truth, was decided. He hesitated only because accepting meant obvious hardship ahead. His salary would not rise, yet if the service performed well he would receive a bonus.
“Still here, PD‑nim?”
Seona’s voice. She approached with an apologetic look.
“I feel like I dumped a burden on you because of me… I’m sorry.”
Taeyeon shook his head.
“It’s not your fault. Team Lead Kim only asked you for reference confirmation—he already had Directors Son and Lee in mind.”
“Oh…”
“So no need to be sorry. If anything, blame my own talent—I’m just too good.”
His joke made her smile.
“If you need my help, call me.”
Looking lighter, she left. Taeyeon chuckled and went back to work.
Next morning Taeyeon called Kim Myungwook.
“Let’s do it. Set up the meeting and let me know.”
“Thank you!”
“I’m really taking the plunge here—you know that, right?”
“Absolutely! Are you free for lunch today? I’ll buy you something great!” he laughed, loud enough that people stared.
Taeyeon rearranged his schedule—then pondered.
How do I persuade Producer Takizawa Satoshi?
His gaze deepened.
Unlike Seoul, Osaka was pleasantly cool.
Arriving early, they ate ramen, drank coffee, prepped; lunchtime passed swiftly.
“Shall we go?”
“Yes, let’s.”
Taeyeon and Kim entered the nearby building—the headquarters of Monster Eater developer Crying Soft.
Producer Takizawa was in another meeting—with a rival Korean publisher.
While they waited in an empty conference room, Kim whispered anxiously:
“He hasn’t decided already, has he?”
“We’ll see.”
Taeyeon kept a calm face but felt tense: coming all this way only to fail would sting. Success meant hard work ahead, but he still wanted a good outcome before flying home.
The door opened. A mid‑40s man with wind‑swept hair walked in—chain on jeans, white T‑shirt bearing the Monster Eater logo.
“I’m Takizawa Satoshi.”
“Game developer Yoo Taeyeon.”
A top Japanese star dev. They exchanged cards and sat. He looked a bit tired.
“You must be fatigued. Please take this—I use it myself; works wonders,” Kim said, handing over an expensive Korean tonic.
Takizawa gulped it in one go, then clenched both fists.
“Potion’s potent! HP fully restored!”
Taeyeon’s eyes gleamed—he shot the question:
“Are you by chance a Sword Master player?”
“Huh? How did you know?”
“I recognized the pose when you drank the potion.”
“You’ve played Monster Eater?”
“I own every limited‑edition from the very first release. When the online version launched in Japan I hit max level in two weeks.”
“Incredible!”
As Takizawa exclaimed, Taeyeon laid on the heartfelt flattery:
“My dream’s been to raid with you just once, Producer. If you could grant that wish sometime—honestly, I love your game. I postponed work just for the chance to meet you.”
It worked. Moved, Takizawa agreed at once.
“Why sometime? We can play now! One round?”
“Gladly!”
“Whoa, full Dragon‑Slayer Glory set! That’s a pain to obtain.”
“Your gear’s no joke either—Ancient Fiend Relics and even Behemoth’s Blessing ring. Don’t tell me you spawned it with dev cheats?”
“Of course not! Took me ages—burned vacation nights grinding.”
They chatted nonstop while playing. After the first raid Takizawa suggested:
“One more hunt?”
“Sure!”
Kim was forgotten; the two were in their own world. Taeyeon used his dev and reverse‑design experience to point out tweaks; Takizawa listened earnestly.
After an hour, Takizawa said, “Please handle the publishing!”
Done!
Kim nearly shouted for joy, barely restraining his quivering lips.
Taeyeon, too, couldn’t hide his broad smile as he shook Takizawa’s hand.
“Thank you for your trust—I’ll do my best not to disappoint.”
Before hiring staff Taeyeon set three rules:
- High familiarity with the Monster Eater series.
- Average status‑window score at least “Intermediate.”
- Must communicate smoothly.
Since this wasn’t Universe Studio, he kept standards broad.
No need to be too picky—finish the job fast.
One month after the contract:
- Kim Myungwook was promoted to CEO of Nexple Plus, a new subsidiary, for securing Monster Eater and another Crying Soft online IP. Salary‑man president, but still a leap.
- Taeyeon, as Development Head, hired 70 dev and ops staff for localization—using the status window to snag quality people. He raised GM salaries to entry‑level dev levels so they could focus without resenting low pay; greedily demanding loyalty while paying peanuts was, in his view, vile.
Kim and both directors approved.
Localization—translation, VO recording—progressed, with tight feedback to the Japanese team.
Taeyeon could phone Takizawa anytime; they joked freely. On a recent Korean trip, Takizawa stayed at Taeyeon’s home for four days—trust solidified.
“Please let players select Korean, Japanese, English text and voice,” Taeyeon said.
“Might not be hard, but is it necessary?”
“There are many who want to enjoy global content in the original. As the ultimate fan, I thought you’d understand best.”
“…You’re right. Let’s do it. Anything else?”
“Server‑stress issues—I think some can be addressed at the design level…”
He wasn’t just localizing; he offered design ideas and alternatives. With ten years of dev under his belt, Taeyeon’s online‑service expertise exceeded the Monster Eater team’s. He even flew to Japan to lead meetings. Many of his ideas were slated for a future global patch.
Kim Myungwook publicized this, boosting hype for Korean launch and bringing the once‑little‑known Yoo Taeyeon to the surface.
The Pantheon team had grown to 25.
The programming‑lead headache solved itself when other Nexple devs requested transfers—some seasoned staff finished with previous launches.
Joo Hyunyoung, 20‑year‑veteran programmer, became lead: versed in server and client, mid‑40s, mother of two, still passionate about sharpening her skills. Reference checks praised her.
In earlier teams she’d been “Mom,” staying up nights to crack problems and blending well with other disciplines.
Taeyeon picked her, then, guided by status windows and personality, filled out the programming team.
“All set,” he said. Next step: build an alpha, run an internal demo. If feedback was good, scale up to ~70 devs and push hard.
While arranging timelines, someone approached.
“PD‑nim, the students are waiting.”
Deputy Manager Cho. As she appeared, the studio’s bachelors peeked and fidgeted. Rising, Taeyeon asked,
“Where are today’s visitors from?”
“Media & Communication Department, Daegu University.”
“Feels like I’ll meet every university in Korea at this rate.”
The meeting room soon filled with dozens of undergrads.
Taking the mic, Taeyeon smiled.
“Hello. I’m game developer Yoo Taeyeon. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re really on a roll these days.”
Taeyeon was stiff—he was alone with Chairman Yoo Jinseong.
Just before quitting time the chairman had summoned him for dinner, taken him to an upscale Japanese place on the outskirts of Pangyo, and poured him sake.
“Someone said Yoo Taeyeon might be the most‑reported‑on figure in Korean gaming this month.”
True: interviews and articles had flooded out. Japanese outlets quoted Takizawa, and the Korean press picked it up—Taeyeon was becoming famous.
Why call me here now?
Does he want something?
While Taeyeon churned inside, the chairman spoke.
“I hear you’ve practically taken charge of the tours and external lectures.”
“Ah—well, not in charge, it just happened.”
“I wanted to thank you. I personally planned that program to shift public perception of Korean gaming.”
Taeyeon already knew from Seona. He listened quietly.
“I even created a dedicated Talent‑Management team—something other firms lack. But once it started, response was lukewarm… disappointing.”
Seona had said the same: without a core developer to lead, they felt deflated; some wondered why they even stayed.
“But after you stepped in, everything changed. Lectures are high‑quality, satisfaction’s up, inquiries won’t stop.”
“I don’t think it’s thanks to me—I only shared what I know. The praise belongs to Deputy Manager Cho; she works so hard.”
“She does. I’d had my eye on her even before hiring.”
The remark puzzled him, but vanished when Yoo refilled his glass.
Draining it, the chairman continued:
“Keep it up—for Pantheon, for Nexple Plus, and as a lecturer.”
“I’ll give it my all.”
“I love seeing developers who are talented, passionate, and pure. Lately they’re rare… but you look different, at least to me.”
A meaningful smile.
Walking back alone afterward, Taeyeon thought:
I absolutely must make Pantheon succeed.
The chairman now favored him. He had scored many points, but if development stumbled or the launch underperformed, that favor could flip into double the wrath.
Trust is hard to build, easy to drop.
Heavy pressure.
His steps felt leaden as he headed home.
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