When it came to games like 'Yu-Gi-Oh!' and 'Pokémon', the real money wasn't in game sales — it was in building a player ecosystem and monetizing the surrounding merchandise.
The first step in that plan?
Sell the worldbuilding.
In this version of 'Yu-Gi-Oh!', Jing Yu had essentially integrated the entire first arc of the original manga: starting from Duelist Kingdom, moving into Battle City, and eventually reaching the Pharaoh's Memories in Egypt. All the major duels and legendary card archetypes from the original story were showcased.
Minor side characters? Filler duels? All cut.
Back when Jing Yu watched the original anime, he only cared about Yami Yugi pulling off dramatic comebacks, maybe watching Jonouchi (Joey) grow a little — anything else was a waste of time.
So, for the game, he ruthlessly trimmed the fat.
Surprisingly, the concern that the story might feel too long never materialized. This was a gold-standard RPG experience, one where even just watching Yugi flex his skills felt like being in a playable anime film. The duels, the twists, the card effects — it was a cinematic joyride.
As a result?
Just one day after launch, 'Yu-Gi-Oh!' sold over 900,000 copies worldwide.
That same day, forum after forum lit up with discussions. Out of every ten posts, at least six or seven were about 'Yu-Gi-Oh!'.
Great Zhou had never seen a game like this.
From Jing Yu's perspective, the game wasn't flawless. As an RPG, it had scripted moments — every boss battle came with a "Chosen One" feel. Whenever Yugi was cornered, the game would conveniently let you draw the perfect card. Once or twice? Sure. But every time? Eventually, players would notice the pattern.
But that kind of awareness only came after players were familiar with the full meta. You had to know that Exodia's five pieces = instant win. That fusing three Blue-Eyes White Dragons gave you the Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragon. Only once players understood the card mechanics did they start thinking, "Wait, the game's helping me a little too much."
New players, however?
Their reactions were more like:
"Whoa! Can these cards combo like that? That's sick!"
They'd be too busy enjoying the learning curve to nitpick.
So while Jing Yu felt the plot was sometimes heavy-handed, players were loving every moment.
Especially since no one in Great Zhou had ever played a game like this before — they had no prior benchmark.
The tidal wave of praise on Day One led to an even bigger Day Two.
By the second day, 'Yu-Gi-Oh!' sold over 1 million copies in a single day.
That figure?
Absolutely stunned the global gaming industry.
Sure, for gaming giants with decades of legacy, a million copies wasn't unheard of.
But for a company like Bluestar Media & Film, barely six or seven years old, this was absurd.
Even crazier?
This wasn't even their first blockbuster game.
Their 'Fate/Stay Night' title was considered a niche hit — great for fans, but not a threat to industry giants.
But then came 'Rurouni Kenshin'.
With stellar combat mechanics and rich storytelling, even AAA studios admitted, "This is legit."
And now?
'Yu-Gi-Oh!' was triggering full-on panic.
The sales were one thing — the hype was the real threat.
Whether in Great Zhou or overseas, gaming forums were dominated by 'Yu-Gi-Oh!' content.
Players weren't just discussing plot points. They were dissecting card combos, deck strategies, and dueling tactics. Some argument threads ran over a thousand replies, as players debated card meta while thousands lurked just to spectate.
On live-streaming platforms, dueling tutorials for 'Yu-Gi-Oh!' consistently topped viewership charts.
This wasn't just a hot game.
It had momentum.
But not everyone was convinced.
Some critics said the hype was temporary.
They claimed the game lacked proper balance — that winning duels was more about who had better cards than actual strategy. Give Kaiba or Yugi a starter deck, and they'd get stomped like anyone else.
The moment players realized this, they argued, the game's charm would vanish.
After all, once you understood the rules and memorized your opponent's deck, wasn't it just a numbers game?
What they didn't understand was...
'Yu-Gi-Oh!' was never about balance.
It was about spectacle.
In the original anime, it wasn't "fair." It was thrilling. Every boss had their own over-the-top signature card, and each new duel introduced something mind-blowingly cool.
That's why there were over 20,000 cards across the franchise.
Even the original creator probably couldn't remember everyone.
So what if the balance was off?
If the story is awesome,
If the gameplay is fun,
That's all players need.
Newcomers were lured in by the flood of praise, and once they entered the world of dueling?
There was no going back.
Blue-Eyes White Dragon.
Red-Eyes Black Dragon.
Dark Magician.
Dark Magician Girl.
Pot of Greed.
Monster Reborn…
One by one, players became obsessed with their favorite cards.
And the numbers proved it.
Just one week after launch, global sales hit 6.7 million copies.
On major gaming review sites, it scored no lower than 9.2 anywhere.
Even industry insiders were baffled.
"Is this game really that good? I just don't see the appeal."
"According to surveys, 60-70% of the players are teens and kids. Is this just a case of children falling for flashy stuff?"
"It's not even that complex! Yeah, the graphics are cool, but the combat is just monsters blasting lasers at each other. How is this selling 6 million copies?!"
"Then why don't you greenlight something similar?"
"Please. Designing a hundred monster cards with synergy is already hard. Yu-Gi-Oh! has thousands, and they all make sense."
"Exactly. It's not just the stats — there's monster design, story integration, soundtracks. Nitpicking is easy. But building an entire original card ecosystem with this much depth? That's crazy impressive."
They were right.
With such a complex system, you'd expect players to discover an overpowered combo eventually. Maybe even abuse the rules.
But not yet.
Despite millions playing, no one had found a "win-every-time" deck.
Jing Yu had already anticipated the problems from his past life.
In the original 'Yu-Gi-Oh!', the rules were patched over and over. Cards were banned, effects nerfed, loopholes plugged.
This time, he built his game from the ground up to avoid those mistakes. Bugs, overpowered cards, and exploits were removed before launch.
That's why even the most hardcore players couldn't find anything seriously broken — and even if they did, they were too busy having fun to care.
Then came the bombshell.
Just over a week after launch, Bluestar Media & Film issued a global announcement:
"Physical 'Yu-Gi-Oh!' trading cards will be released soon worldwide."
And just like that, the playerbase exploded with excitement.
"Wait, seriously?! We're getting real cards?!"
"OMG, Old Thief (Jing Yu's nickname), you genius! You really get us."
"Can we get real Duel Disks too? Like, the ones that project holograms?"
"Let's not get crazy. That kind of tech isn't available at a consumer level yet."
"Even just getting the cards is awesome!"
"You're telling me I'll be able to duel my friends in real life?!"
"I'm not sleeping tonight. Some jerk on the forums keeps flexing his unbeatable deck. I will find him IRL and destroy him."
"Wait, does this mean Blue-Eyes White Dragon will be a real card?"
"What about Exodia?!"
"Dark Magician Girl is MINE."
"What are the Egyptian God Cards?"
"Bro... you haven't reached that part in the game yet? The God Cards are insane."
"I only play 1-2 hours a day. Still haven't beaten Pegasus."
"Old Thief is a madman. Did he plan all this from the start?"
"If real cards are coming, I'll buy Blue-Eyes no matter the price."
"What if they only release four worldwide — like in the game?"
"Even better. Limited editions are the way to go!"
Players were ecstatic.
Meanwhile, the rest of the gaming industry?
They were shocked.
Industry veterans suddenly realized — this was the real business model.
Game sales? Sure, at ¥200 a copy and 8 million sold, the cost was already recouped.
But now?
Card sales were coming.
Real-life tournaments.
Possibly a live-action adaptation.
"Wait, so this isn't just a game?"
"He planned the whole IP ecosystem from day one."
"This is genius. He's not selling a game — he's selling a concept. Like poker. Once people fall in love with the gameplay, card sales never stop."
"You think this was a last-minute decision after seeing the game succeed? No way. This was planned from the beginning."
"Who is this Jing Yu guy? He's running laps around people who've been in the industry for decades."
"Everything in the game is basically screaming: I'm here to monetize this IP. And the fans are loving it!"
Jing Yu had the advantage of experience.
He didn't have to experiment like other studios.
He already knew what would work — because it had already worked in his past life.
He just had to adapt it for Great Zhou's players, preferences, and market conditions.
To outsiders, it all felt...
Perfectly calculated.
Borderline prophetic.
It wasn't just the public who felt this way.
Even Bluestar's internal staff started to feel it too.
"Our boss didn't just make a hit game..."
"He saw the whole path — before we even started."