When Yu-Gi-Oh! officially launched, John wasn't sitting idle. On one hand, the DLC "Snake Eater" for Metal Gear Solid: Phantom Pain was nearing completion under Luna's leadership, and he still needed to keep a close eye on the project's final stages. On the other hand, John was discussing the long-term development plans for Yu-Gi-Oh! with Armani.
Beyond the VR platform, Mobile and PC platforms were naturally part of the release roadmap. However, another crucial aspect of the strategy involved offline VR installations, which had become the primary focus of cooperation between PixelPioneers Games and Warwick.
"Warwick has already started deploying locations in several cities, but everything is still in the testing phase," Armani explained. "Whether it's Warwick or us, if the implementation isn't smooth enough, there's no point in rushing forward."
The plan was simple: first evaluate player feedback regarding the customized Yu-Gi-Oh! VR devices and offline experience centers. Only after confirming that the results were satisfactory would they move on to larger-scale expansion.
While countless players were paying attention to Yu-Gi-Oh!, they weren't the only ones watching. The entire gaming industry had its eyes fixed on the project.
Most people weren't merely interested in the quality of the game itself. What truly captured the industry's attention was a different question: Could Yu-Gi-Oh! actually make money?
The development resources alone were enormous. Combined with the anime adaptation, manga production, marketing campaigns, and promotional events, the total investment behind Yu-Gi-Oh! had already reached the level of a major AAA production.
Yet despite all that investment, the game itself was completely free. How could a game with no purchase price generate enough revenue to justify such a massive budget? That was the question everyone wanted answered.
Would it follow the same path as Resident Evil Resistance? Not really. The VR market still had a limited player base, and more importantly, Yu-Gi-Oh! wasn't a cosmetic-driven multiplayer game. Its core gameplay revolved entirely around card battles. And selling character skins or visual effects wouldn't be enough.
The real source of revenue had to come from the cards themselves. And that immediately created another challenge: How do you sell cards without destroying game balance? At their core, card games are all about value and balance; even traditional card games follow this principle.
Imagine a version where players could spend money to guarantee the strongest possible opening hand every match. If someone could simply purchase unbeatable cards, what would be the point of competing? Yet if new cards weren't tempting enough, why would players buy them?
The same dilemma existed in many online games. When a new weapon or hero is released exclusively through paid purchases, it is often deliberately stronger than existing options. Maybe not strong enough to dominate an entire battlefield alone, but certainly powerful enough to become one of the best choices available.
Complete balance was impossible. John understood that. In fact, no game developer in the world had ever achieved perfect balance. In competitive games, different skills, effects, attack animations, model sizes, activation speeds, and countless subtle factors inevitably create differences in strength.
Even if two characters dealt exactly the same damage, players would still discover advantages and disadvantages through experience. There would always be stronger choices and weaker choices.
The question was whether money alone could make a player stronger in Yu-Gi-Oh!, and the answer was both yes and no.
A player who spent a lot on cards but understood nothing about deck construction could still lose to a skilled player who never spent a single cent.
Spending money merely provided shortcuts. It helped players acquire powerful cards faster, but it did not guarantee victory.
For card rarity, John borrowed concepts from Hearthstone, dividing cards into four tiers:
- Common
- Rare
- Epic
- Legend.
However, rarity itself wasn't the most important factor. The true heart of the game lay in the connections between cards.
Card synergy.
Combo chains.
Strategic interactions.
John wanted players to experience the frustration and excitement of having the Dragon Flute and Dragon Master in hand, yet still being unable to draw the Blue-Eyes White Dragon they desperately needed. That feeling of being one card away from victory was what kept players engaged.
Only through endless deck experimentation, combo discovery, and strategic possibilities could players remain invested long enough to spend money willingly.
To further encourage spending without damaging competitive integrity, John studied numerous successful free-to-play games. One of his solutions was the Gold Coin Arena.
In this mode, every player could freely access all cards in the game when building a deck. Everyone started on equal footing, and players could earn 300 gold coins daily through missions without spending any money, providing enough opportunities to participate regularly.
Essentially, the mode acted as a giant testing ground where players could experiment with strategies and discover powerful combinations, and each player could participate six times per day.
Theoretically, a free player only needed to win twice to earn enough resources for all six entries, but competition created something more powerful than rewards, so excuses disappeared. In normal ranked matches, players could always blame defeat on expensive decks.
"My opponent spent money."
"His cards are better."
"My deck isn't complete."
Those excuses provided comfort, but the Gold Coin Arena offered none. Everyone had access to the same card pool, so victory and defeat depended entirely on deck-building ability and gameplay skill.
And most players hated admitting that someone else was simply better, especially when the difference between victory and defeat was razor-thin. That competitive instinct became one of the mode's strongest retention tools.
At the same time, duplicate cards could be dismantled into energy. Once enough energy had been accumulated, players could directly obtain card packs of specific rarities. For example, a Legend Pack guaranteed that all five cards inside would be Legend quality. This system gave unlucky players another path forward. A way to challenge fate using persistence or money.
Of course, if a player opened five Legend Packs and still failed to obtain the card they wanted... Well, perhaps it was time to change strategies and build a new deck around the cards they actually owned.
Meanwhile, on the streaming platform, Louis was having a terrible day. The smile on his face looked painfully forced, but the viewers in his stream couldn't have been happier. The endless flood of comments made that abundantly clear.
"Hahahaha!"
"Stone-cold proof of bad luck!"
"Certified Chief of the Unlucky Tribe!"
The chat was having a festival at his expense.
Taking a deep breath, Louis pointed excitedly at the field.
"Fifty-fifty chance! This is it! This is my comeback turn! The coin effect either destroys all monsters on the opponent's field or destroys all monsters on my field and deals damage equal to half their combined attack points!"
"Look at this board! They have a Dark Magician and a Dark Magician Girl equipped with support spells, but their hand is empty! Sure, they still have a trap card set, but I have this on the field! Neither player can activate trap cards! My Dark Magician and Dark Magician Girl are protected from monster effects!"
"This is our chance! After four failures in a row, I believe this time is when miracles finally happen!" At that moment, Louis was filled with confidence.
Four consecutive failures? Surely fate couldn't be that cruel. Right?
He pressed the virtual coin-toss button, and the entire stream held its breath. Seconds later, the result appeared. Instantly, the voice chat erupted.
"Good play."
"Sorry."
"Beautiful."
"Thank you."
The deliberately sarcastic comments from his opponent poured through his headphones. At the same time, the chat exploded like New Year's Eve fireworks.
Louis stared blankly at the screen. For a moment, surrounded by endless mockery and celebration from everyone except himself, he suddenly felt that the world had become a very strange place.