In just two weeks, the dollars earned from these few lines of code were enough to buy a decent single-family home in Tokyo.
The phone on the desk rang.
It was Frank, CEO of Silicon Valley Online.
"Takuya! Did you see the operational data email I sent you today about the Card & Board Hall?" Frank's booming voice erupted through the receiver, accompanied by the popping sound of a champagne cork in the background. "My God, those users are insane! Yesterday, some guy dropped five hundred dollars in one go to complete the 'Golden Gambler' set! Five hundred dollars! Just to make him look like a glittering lightbulb on that pixelated card table!"
"My hearing's fine, no need to shout." Takuya Nakayama pulled the receiver slightly away, his tone relaxed. "Looks like our value-added services are selling well."
"More than just good, it's practically a robbery—and the victims are lining up to be robbed!" Frank sounded breathless. "Those guys at Goldman Sachs nearly fell out of their chairs when they saw these numbers. They're a lot more humble now than when we first approached them."
"Stay calm, Frank. This is just the beginning."
Takuya Nakayama took a sip of coffee, his gaze settling on the user feedback statistics at the end of the report. "The numbers are great, but don't get carried away. This thing is essentially preying on users' vanity. If the service can't keep up, it'll collapse just as quickly."
The frantic laughter on the other end of the line subsided somewhat. "Service? The Technical Department is already scaling up servers to ensure smooth performance."
"Not just the servers."
Takuya Nakayama slid his mouse, circling a few negative reviews in the document. "I've seen plenty of suggestions about game balance and features in the Silicon Valley Online BBS and our feedback portal. Remember this: we need to treat these suggestions differently."
"Treat them differently?"
"Exactly," Takuya Nakayama said, leaning back in his chair. "Implement a filtering mechanism for the feedback channels. For free users who haven't spent money, we can selectively listen to their suggestions. As long as their complaints don't risk causing a mass exodus of free users, we don't need to worry too much. But for VIP users—those with red names and expensive suits and sunglasses—we must meticulously analyze every complaint, even if it's about the card animation being 0.1 seconds too slow or the chat bubbles not being cool enough."
"You mean... prioritize serving the rich?"
"We're serving our core assets," Takuya corrected. "Free users want to play. Paying users want to enjoy. If a high-paying user feels dissatisfied, that's the real crisis. Create a dedicated VIP customer service team to monitor these whales 24/7. If anyone spends over $100, have our support team proactively email them to check in and ask, 'Is our esteemed patron enjoying their experience?'"
Frank fell silent for a few seconds on the other end, then the sound of a pen rapidly scratching across paper could be heard.
"Damn, Takuya, sometimes I think you're even better at squeezing every last cent out of people than those Wall Street vampires," Frank said with genuine admiration. "VIP-exclusive customer service—that's a fucking brilliant idea. Make them feel like they're the emperors of the internet, right?"
"Exactly. Not just emperors, but emperors who are adored by all," Takuya Nakayama replied, his eyes gleaming as he watched the tiny figure in a virtual suit on the screen. "If we keep these guys happy, Silicon Valley Online's revenue will be solid. When we go public, the stock price will skyrocket."
"Alright, let's put the money-making aside for now," Takuya said, his tone shifting as he finished reading the report from the email. "Anything new in Silicon Valley this week? Any bright sparks in their garages cooking up something that could put us out of business?"
Frank lowered his legs from his desk and reached for a file folder on the top shelf of the bookcase.
"Hold on, I need to dig through the weekly report from the Intelligence Group."
For this intelligence, Frank had specifically assembled a five-person special team.
These guys didn't write code or run sales. Their daily work consisted of hanging out in bars around Stanford, Homebrew Computer Clubs, or spending all day online.
In this era of wild growth, information asymmetry was gold.
Though Frank sometimes seemed carefree, his business instincts were sharp. He knew all too well the bitter taste of being left behind by the times—just look at Atari today.
Frank flipped through the documents quickly. Most of the so-called "competitors" didn't even register as threats in his eyes, at best mere ripples in the vast ocean of the Internet.
As he opened the folder, the first page caught his attention.
"Several browser teams are experimenting with forum communities based on the HTTP protocol," Frank said as he flipped through the pages. "This reminds me of the plan you shot down during your last visit to the United States."
Back when the Silicon Valley Online BBS was experiencing a surge in traffic, Frank had considered moving the entire BBS system into the browser.
But when he presented the idea to Takuya Nakayama, it was met with a cold drenching.
"Until HTTP solves its statelessness and encryption issues, anyone building a web community is essentially running naked."
Takuya's words had been stark.
Though Frank didn't understand the technical details, the risk assessment report on "session hijacking" and "plaintext transmission" sent a chill down his spine.
In an era when the concept of firewalls was still unheard of, putting millions of users' account passwords on a webpage was practically serving hackers a buffet.
"Looks like these competitors haven't grasped the severity of the problem," Frank said, a hint of schadenfreude in his voice as he glanced at the report detailing several emerging small websites.
His movements froze when he reached a presentation slide bearing a blue logo.
"There's a company called Netscape. These guys just left NCSA and released a beta browser in September called Mosaic Netscape 0.9," Frank said into the microphone. "It's still pretty crude, but I have to admit, they've got some interesting ideas about graphical interfaces."
Takuya Nakayama's voice came through the phone almost without pause: "Is that the same company that released the L2.0 protocol in February?"
Frank raised an eyebrow. Takuya's technical acumen always surprised him. "That's them. This browser claims to be ten times faster than Mosaic and they're heavily promoting that encryption protocol."
"Speed isn't the point. The protocol is," Takuya said, his tone turning serious. "Keep a close eye on Netscape."
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