John had kept an eye on Gemtechs' and Ansoft's during their early development. As for how the two projects performed afterward, however, he didn't spend much time following their progress.
Part of the reason was that John was completely absorbed in the development of Warcraft. The other reason was much simpler: regardless of how fiercely Gemtechs and Ansoft competed with one another, PixelPioneers had no intention of entering that particular battlefield. Their games weren't direct competitors, so there was little reason to monitor every move the two companies made.
Inside the offices of PixelPioneers, John was discussing the latest plans with Armani.
"In Yu-Gi-Oh!, we're officially introducing a competitive mode," John explained. "Players can purchase a seasonal Championship Pass every month to enter the Championship ladder."
Although most of John's attention had shifted toward Warcraft, and many of the core members from the original Yu-Gi-Oh! team, including Sequoia and Koch, had already completed the handover process before joining the Warcraft project, that didn't mean the card game had been neglected. It simply meant the project had matured and entered a stable stage of operation, something common throughout the gaming industry.
"The Championship Pass will cost this much. Players who complete its missions will receive extra card rewards, exclusive card backs, unique voice packs, and other cosmetic bonuses. The pass also serves as an entry ticket for Championship Mode. Of course, players who don't want to purchase the pass still have two alternative ways to qualify. They can either spend 1,000 in-game gold coins for a ticket or earn entry by achieving more than seven consecutive victories." John spoke while Armani carefully noted down several important keywords in a small notebook.
"Mr. John, should we also establish a dedicated User Experience Department?" Armani asked. "A team specifically responsible for studying player habits and preferences?"
Hearing the suggestion, John glanced thoughtfully at him. He was, of course, very familiar with the concept of a User Experience Department. There was a subtle but enormous difference between creating a game that players genuinely enjoy and creating a game based solely on what players say they enjoy. The difference might seem like only a single word, yet the philosophies behind them couldn't be more different.
The former was the pursuit of excellence. A truly outstanding game could be called a work of art. Whether through its music, story, gameplay, visual presentation, atmosphere, or the harmony of every element working together, it captivated players and delivered unforgettable experiences. That was why games had gradually earned the reputation of being the "ninth art."
The latter, however, was built almost entirely around satisfying player demands through data analysis.
If players wanted a social game, developers made a social game.
If players wanted a title that required little effort, letting them tap a few buttons while the game automatically farmed resources, then developers designed exactly that, usually combined with aggressive monetization and endless progression systems.
It was a completely commercial approach to game development. There was nothing inherently wrong with that. After all, markets only existed because there was demand.
John personally disliked games driven purely by numbers and monetization mechanics, but he had never looked down on them or the people who played them.
Many gamers mocked players who enjoyed card games, heavily monetized mobile games, or browser games. They called them fools, wondering why anyone would spend so much money on games they considered shallow instead of paying far less to experience a critically acclaimed AAA masterpiece.
Others insisted those players lacked artistic appreciation or assumed they had never played high-quality games before. They enthusiastically recommended prestigious titles to friends and even complete strangers, convinced they simply hadn't experienced "real games."
Yet they overlooked one important truth. For those players, games were merely one entertainment option among countless others.
For enthusiasts like themselves, however, games were a passion.
A compelling narrative felt like reading an unforgettable novel.
Stylish combat and spectacular action sequences felt like starring in a Hollywood blockbuster or embarking on an epic science-fiction adventure.
Brilliant level design challenged the player's creativity and rewarded thoughtful exploration.
To passionate gamers, these were the experiences that defined great games and kept them coming back for more.
But to many casual players, games served entirely different purposes.
They were items for socializing with friends.
They were convenient ways to fill fragmented moments throughout the day.
Sometimes they were simply luxury hobbies for people with disposable income, satisfying a desire for collection, status, or personal vanity.
These players rarely cared whether the story was emotionally moving, whether the gameplay mechanics were exceptionally deep, or whether the level design demonstrated remarkable craftsmanship.
Instead, they focused on far simpler questions. Was the game popular? Were lots of people playing it? Could it help them spend a few spare minutes? Or could it satisfy their desire to show off rare collections and exclusive cosmetics?
"Of course we'll establish the department," John replied after a brief pause. "But not just to analyze player habits or preferences. What I want them to study is something different."
He looked directly at Armani. "I want them to analyze which kinds of players don't enjoy our games, and more importantly, why."
Armani nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, we won't develop short-lived, heavily monetized mobile games that damage our reputation just for immediate profits," he said with a smile. "Even if doing so could earn us dozens of times more revenue in the short term, it wouldn't be worth it."
"Our greatest asset isn't a single successful game," Armani continued confidently. "It's the PixelPioneers name itself. That brand will be worth far more than any short-term profits we could ever make."
A smile appeared on John's face as he listened. He had never objected to building a User Experience Department as blindly trusting big data might allow developers to produce games players statistically "liked," but it could never produce masterpieces capable of astonishing the industry.
On the other hand, completely ignoring player data was equally dangerous. Developers could unknowingly spend years walking in the wrong direction, drifting farther and farther away from what players actually wanted without ever realizing it.
Big data itself wasn't good or bad. Just like any tool or weapon, its value depended entirely on the hands that wielded it.
"By the way, Mr. John," Armani suddenly added, changing the subject, "I heard Warcraft has started recruiting actors recently?"
"That's right," John answered, giving him a puzzled look. "Why do you ask?"
"Connections matter just as much as talent," Armani replied seriously. "To a certain extent, both you and Mr. Baker already have ties to the performing arts community."
John blinked. "What exactly are you getting at?"
Here we go again...
"I know several professors at drama academies," Armani explained earnestly. "We could recruit some of their students to join the Warcraft production. Even if they're only supporting actors, building good relationships now will be extremely valuable in the future when we work on projects like Resident Evil or Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain."
Film and television? Everyone was already thinking about adapting PixelPioneers' IPs into live-action productions? John stared at Armani in stunned silence. Once again, he found himself completely unable to keep up with Armani's train of thought.