Zoey Parker was hyped!
Her first sub-project receipt, a fresh shot after three straight wins—PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds, Overcooked, Titanfall—but no losses!
Gus Harper tweaked the webpage.
Zoey prayed silently.
Please, let me take an L!
It'd been a year since her last loss on Left 4 Dead!
System, have mercy!
WindyPeak's barely two years old!
Half that time? Pure profit, not a dime lost!
This keeps up, the system's just decor!
I don't need billions in losses—just a few grand back would be sweet!
Zoey crunched the numbers and felt cursed.
No rebates in a year!
Her system was a tearjerker, breaking hearts left and right.
Bitterness hit; she was on the verge of tears.
Why's my system so different from novel protagonists? They get cash shoveled into their pockets!
Mine? Stiffs me cold.
Not all the system's fault, though.
Zoey side-eyed Gus.
This whale's the real culprit.
Every project? Bullseye.
System-wise, from Cat Rio to Apex, nine projects had wins and losses.
But commercially? WindyPeak's never bled a cent!
Not just breaking even—crazy profits!
Startup capital? $500,000.
Now? Last month's finance report to Zoey's desk: $675 million.
That's after dumping everything into Titanfall!
Two years. From $500,000 to $675 million.
A 1,350x spike!
No industry touches that growth!
A god-tier legend!
Even Parker Capital, with its sprawling industries and hundreds of subsidiaries, can't match that.
If Zoey didn't have a system, she'd build Gus a golden statue, burn incense, and bow thrice daily!
He's a cash god reincarnated!
No wonder devs drool over him.
He prints money!
Every game's a banger, birthing new genres—psychological horror, second-gen FPS, battle royale.
WindyPeak's under a billion, not yet mid-tier.
But its momentum and Komina's invite scream its rise.
Billion-dollar club? Incoming.
Still, Zoey's locked on rebates.
Sure, hitting a billion's cool.
But imagine all nine games tanking ideally:
Cat Rio: $10,000 cost, $100,000 rebate.
Who's Your Daddy: $100,000 cost, $1 million rebate.
Vampire Survivors: $200,000 cost, $2 million rebate.
Phasmophobia: $2 million cost, $20 million rebate.
Left 4 Dead: $10.8 million cost, 100x rebate, $1.08 billion.
PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds: $50 million cost, $500 million rebate.
Overcooked: $1 million cost, $10 million rebate.
Titanfall: $170 million cost, $1.87 billion rebate.
Apex: $50 million cost, $550 million rebate.
Total cost: $284.11 million. Total rebate: $4.0331 billion!
Billion club? Pfft.
Zoey could buy four.
And if she dumped that $4 billion back into games?
$40 billion in rebates!
Nebula Games, China's top dog? Two slaps, they'd shut up.
Ten games, she'd rule China's gaming scene, then topple Komina and others with a nudge.
Heh…
Zoey giggled, dreaming of that world line.
Too perfect, though.
Gus isn't a soulless game bot. That grind would've made him quit.
Living together months, Zoey gets him.
He loves games—sees them as art, a soul's utopia.
His passion, yeah, it tanks her losses.
But blame him? Nah.
Ignorance ain't a crime.
Plus, her system's upgraded—new loss model.
Even if Gus makes bank, he'll hit his design dreams, and she'll cash out.
When he's done, or she's loaded, they'll grab a yacht, sail the world, live large.
"What's that goofy grin?" Gus's voice snapped her out.
"Huh?" Zoey blinked. "Just… happy thoughts."
"You don't think Apex broke even in a week like our others, do you?"
Zoey raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Europe server, Kosnao Te!" Gus gawked. "You're dreaming! Free game, $50 million cost! Recoup in a week? What, you think it's a bank heist?"
To temper Zoey's hopes, Gus pulled up six months of free cabin game data on WindyPeak's platform.
Average paying player ratio for new free cabin games: 7.23%.
Fact: free multiplayer games build paying players slowly.
"Like League of Legends or CrossFire," Gus said. "Twelve, thirteen years running. Endless events, purchases, saturated markets, fewer newbies. That's why their paying ratios hit 87% and 92%."
He prepped Zoey. "It's been seven days. Our krypton points and events are slim, player base growing, tons of newbies. You see the hype, the praise, the whales. But the silent majority? They don't pay yet."
Gus scrolled the data. "New games? Paying ratios below 5%. A few hit 10%, rare."
"See? 1.7%, 3.5%, 4.2%, 6.6%... That's the free-to-play market. Paying bases grow through events, operations. Free games don't give instant edges."
He clicked Sort by paying ratio, high to low and refreshed.
"Even the top payers only hit… 58.2%?!"
"What the hell?!"
Page refreshed, a wild stat topped the list, crushing peers.
58.2% (Data too high, no reference value, excluded from average.)
Red, bold, screaming.
Game name: APEX.
WindyPeak's game, leading new titles in paying players.
58.2%.
Gus: ?
My question mark ain't my problem—it's yours.
Stats broken?
You saw this insanity and excluded it from the average!
58.2%—vetted by the platform!
"Goddamn!" Gus's eyes popped.
A bank heist!
He clicked the weekly profit page.
Zoey screamed, "Goddamn!"
The projection screen flashed Apex's seven-day sales: $62.44 million.
Zoey's pupils shrank.
Her mental math kicked in.
$62.5 million to profit after commission.
Ding! Time's up! Investment settled!
A crisp chime, then the system interface popped up.
Ding! Project loss detected!
Sub-project: Apex
Investment: $50 million
Settlement time: 7 days (+0 days)
Rebate rate: 11x (+0x)
Revenue: $49.952 million
Loss: $48,000
Rebate: $528,000
Remaining time: 0
Ding! Loss settled, rebate issued to host's bank card!
Her phone buzzed.
Your debit card, 1118, received $528,000 via mobile banking, August 24th. Balance: $533,775.68…
Apartment air froze for two seconds.
Then, Gus and Zoey's shouts stacked, low to high.
"Holy crap…"
"Holy crap!"
"HELL YEAH!"
"I CAN'T EVEN!"
Gus was floored—58.2% paying players! Mythic data!
Their pass + green krypton model? A smash hit.
A new, fair, healthy krypton path, rivaling their second-gen FPS feat.
Gus beamed.
He lived by a late Nintendo president's words: On my card, I'm president; in my mind, a developer; in my heart, a gamer.
Games were his utopia, a second world.
No "money first" here.
Real-world class gaps suffocate—his games wouldn't.
Tycoon or worker, president or student, all equal—players, pure and simple.
Bound by love, not wealth or status.
Gus was thrilled.
Zoey? Ecstatic.
Cash back! Cash back! CASH BACK!
Thank you, angel!
$48,000 loss? Small.
11x rebate? $528,000, instant!
Her annual salary's $500,000—this was a year's pay in a snap!
More—she rose again after a year!
This $528,000 wasn't just money—it was triumph!
Tears welled in her eyes.
In their hype, they locked eyes.
Zoey leapt, ready to tackle Gus. Gus, laughing, opened his arms.
But as they closed in, a weird vibe hit.
Zoey screeched to a halt. Gus froze, hands up.
Awkward silence.
Gus, face red, mumbled, "…High five?"
Zoey bit her lip, extended a hand. "…Yeah."
They reached out.
"Uh…"
"Congrats…"
"Congrats!"
"I…" Gus raised a hand. "Gonna smoke."
"Go, go…" Zoey coughed, eyes on the screen.
Back-to-back, they split.
But their matching grins betrayed them.