Several programmers reported back loudly, their voices tinged with barely concealed excitement.
In his previous life, when Battle.net first launched, it had severely underestimated the players' enthusiasm. Combined with insufficient optimization of the underlying code, the servers crashed repeatedly. Players complained bitterly, and it nearly spiraled into a public relations disaster.
But in this life, everything was different.
After Sega of North America invested, they not only provided an extremely ample amount of research and development funding, but more importantly, they acted as a bridge, allowing the top-tier technical team from Silicon Valley Online to get deeply involved in the development of Battle.net's underlying architecture.
Silicon Valley Online had years of experience leading the industry in handling high-concurrency network requests and low-level data packet processing.
They helped Blizzard completely rewrite a portion of the network synchronization code and provided more stable and reasonably distributed server nodes.
"The bunch of technical maniacs Sega sent over are absolute geniuses—" David muttered to himself as he looked at the steady data. "The underlying logic they've built could hold up even if the number of users doubled."
"What's the situation with Customer Service?" Mike set down his paper cup and let out a long sigh.
"The phones haven't stopped ringing," the Customer Service Manager said, walking over and rubbing his temples in exhaustion, yet a smile still tugged at the corners of his mouth. "But it's basically none of our fault. It's all players complaining about disconnects caused by their own unstable dial-up connections. And some are asking how to get a good price for their blue items."
Mike finally let out a breath of relief, feeling the cold sweat soak through his shirt—the tension of the entire night had finally broken.
"Tell Customer Service to be patient with the answers," Mike said, smiling as he clapped the manager on the shoulder. "And for the network issues, just shift the blame straight to the ISPs."
David Brevik leaned back in his chair, exhaling in sheer relief.
"We did it, Mike," David said, his eyes reddening as he stared at the screen filled with flashing green operational data. "Battle.net held up. We've made history."
Mike turned to the clock on the wall.
11:55 PM.
"Alright, everyone!" Mike clapped his hands loudly, drawing all eyes to him. "Five minutes until 1997! Nobody's going home to hug their wives tonight. Keep your eyes glued to these servers—don't let up for a single second!"
A wave of exhausted yet ecstatic cheers instantly erupted in the office.
"Once tonight is over, I'm taking everyone out for the most expensive steaks in Los Angeles! Sega's paying!" Mike announced loudly, raising his cup of cold coffee.
Outside, a few New Year's fireworks burst in the night sky, their brilliant light reflecting off the glass curtain wall.
A new era of PC gaming was quietly unfolding in this seemingly calm server room, accompanying the pulsating data, as the grand curtain rose.
The first week of 1997.
Akihabara, Tokyo.
The glass doors of the "Video Game Sun" retail store were plastered three layers deep with festive red promotional posters.
"Buy One Get One Free!" "New Year Super Value Lucky Bag!" "Limited-Time Half-Price on Major Titles!"
In previous years, the store would have been packed shoulder-to-shoulder with students clutching thick envelopes of New Year's money and office workers who had just received their generous year-end bonuses.
Everyone would be sweeping the shelves of new games like hungry wolves.
But today, the manager sensed a strange, unsettlingly quiet atmosphere.
The most prominent spot on the shelves was reserved for a few major RPGs and hardcore action titles released by third-party giants late last year.
Huge red-and-yellow "Bundle Sale" signs hung above them. Even with the developers and distributors absorbing some of the cost, the prices were so low that the manager himself winced at the sight.
A few college students pushed open the door. Their eyes were sunken and dark-rimmed, their hair so greasy it could fry an egg. They stumbled in, looking like exhausted laborers who had just escaped a coal mine.
The manager's eyes lit up. He rushed forward, pointing to the sale section. "Gentlemen, New Year's special! These blockbusters are all on sale. Buy a new game and get a discount voucher for an old one. Don't miss out!"
The young man leading the group followed the manager's finger. His face instantly drained of color, as if he'd seen something foul. He waved his hands frantically, backing away.
"No, no, no! Take it away!" he groaned, clutching his forehead. "Just looking at a cover with a story-driven dialogue box and a complex skill tree makes my brain feel like it's being stabbed with needles." He marched straight toward the casual gaming zone in the corner—a section usually ignored by everyone. "Manager, do you have anything that requires zero brain power? Something where I can just mash two buttons and the plot is non-existent?"
His companion let out a deep sigh of agreement. "Don't even get me started," he groaned. "I just beat Final Fantasy VII after pulling over a dozen all-nighters. Now, I could pull off Cloud's Omnislash blindfolded with a broomstick. The mere sight of swords and magic makes me want to puke, and labyrinths make me want to smash my controller. All I want right now is some mind-numbing game so I can just drool on the sofa like a vegetable."
The group spent a long time picking through the games in the corner before finally grabbing a copy of Nintendo's Mario Kart 64 and two obscure, childish-looking puzzle games. They paid and left without another word.
The manager stared at the receipt on the counter, then flipped through his thick inventory ledger, gasping in shock.
The big-budget titles were selling terribly, as if they'd been frozen in place.
Meanwhile, the small-scale games—even the party and puzzle titles that usually gathered dust in the corner—were selling surprisingly well.
Mario Kart 64, in particular, had already been restocked twice in the last few days and was about to run out again.
At the same time, in Chuo Ward, at the Konami Headquarters Building.
President Kazumasa Kozuki sat behind his massive desk, gripping a sales report for the New Year holiday.
The further down he read, the darker his expression became, his brow furrowed so deeply it could have trapped a fly.
Konami had gone all-in for this New Year window, pouring massive resources into marketing. To clear inventory and recover capital, they had even slashed prices by 30% more than last year's promotions.
Yet the figures on the report were so abysmal they made him want to scream.
The few flagship titles they had bet everything on hadn't just failed to ride the holiday wave—their sales were worse than a typical weekend!
Kozuki tugged irritably at his tie, snatched the landline receiver from his desk, and dialed Capcom President Kenzo Tsujimoto's number.
"Tsujimoto, Happy New Year," Kozuki said, barely containing his rage as he got straight to the point. "Are Capcom's New Year sales figures out yet?"
There was a two-second silence on the other end, followed by the crisp click of a lighter.
"They're out," Kenzo Tsujimoto's voice was heavy with exhaustion and helplessness. "It's a disaster. All the major titles we'd pinned our hopes on completely flopped, not even reaching a third of our projected sales."
Please Support me by becoming my Patreon member and get 30+ chapters.
[email protected]/Ajal69
change @ with a
Thank You to Those who joined my Patreon