"On Whether the Battle.net Platform Can Be Profitable in the Future"
At some point, articles with titles like this began circulating online.
Some of them were written by so-called economists.
After Battle.net's traffic began to surge rapidly, these people set their sights on this new gaming platform.
Console users were considered "real" users—if you wanted to be a console player, you had to first buy a console, and then buy at least one game.
But on the PC-based Battle.net platform, there were no such barriers. As long as you had an internet connection, you could download the platform and play games.
So, in the eyes of these analysts, the reported concurrent user count on Battle.net seemed inflated.
After the internet bubble burst caused by YOO's collapse the previous year, the entire market had become wary of anything "internet-based." People treated internet business models with suspicion and even disdain.
...
Now they saw that Gamestar Entertainment, once known for its steady and grounded approach, appeared to be getting into the internet model too.
It left many baffled.
The very thing others were avoiding like the plague, Gamestar was diving into headfirst.
According to these economists' estimates, Gamestar had spent at least $10 million attracting all these free users.
That money was a direct expense—no immediate return. To these analysts, it looked like pouring money into a black hole.
But Gamestar Entertainment paid them no mind. They continued to expand Battle.net's servers, added more service channels, and further upgraded the Creative Workshop.
Within the week-long free period, the Creative Workshop was flooded with all sorts of mods.
At that moment, the imagination and creativity of players were fully unleashed.
It was a feeling of freedom.
And freedom itself can be a powerful form of attraction.
Although only a small number of mods could truly be called interesting, that didn't matter to players who simply enjoyed creating.
One unknown player, driven by curiosity, used basic tools to create a new gun model for Counter-Strike.
It was just a model, but within a day of uploading it, the mod had been downloaded over a thousand times.
The comments were overwhelmingly positive—most praising the model's appearance and expressing their liking for it.
That player experienced a sense of fulfillment he'd never felt before.
The feeling of being praised and appreciated was totally different from the satisfaction of beating a game.
It sparked something in him. He began obsessively creating more mods, hoping to bring joy to more players with his creations.
And with that, a positive feedback loop was formed.
Among those who benefited most from this new Creative Workshop model were the trio: Kazumi, Aiko, and Oto-chan.
Thanks to Kazumi's whim, their Farm Defense gameplay was ported into Counter-Strike as a mod.
Since she uploaded it early, it became one of the first CS mods on the platform, giving it extra visibility.
Soon, players gave it high ratings.
Then, they discovered that the original Farm Defense game was available on Battle.net as a standalone title—priced affordably at just 1,000 yen (about $10). Even kids could afford it with a bit of saving. So they bought it without hesitation to enjoy the full experience.
During the free week of Counter-Strike, Farm Defense saw a massive spike in sales. A game that previously only sold a few thousand copies suddenly shot up to 100,000 units sold.
At 100,000 sales, with Battle.net taking a 30% cut, the trio earned around $700,000 in just a short period.
The three girls were absolutely stunned.
Even Oto-chan, who often argued with Kazumi, had nothing to say. Kazumi enjoyed her well-earned moment of triumph.
Time quickly passed, and the free week came to an end.
Before that, many internet experts had predicted that user numbers would drop sharply once the free trial ended. After all, people who had tasted free content were unlikely to pay afterward—just like people who binge pirated shows even when they're excellent.
Few, they believed, would pay for something they had already enjoyed for free.
But reality hit them hard in the face.
Yes, concurrent player numbers dropped once the free period ended—but not nearly as much as expected. Instead of being cut in half, the player base remained high.
Counter-Strike, for instance, still had 700,000 concurrent players even after the trial ended. That was probably due to the game's already large sales base—but it still demonstrated strong retention.
The same was true for other games.
And that proved these were real users.
If concurrency stayed high, then actual users were likely more than 10 times that figure.
For a moment, those same skeptical economists were left speechless.
What the hell?
Why didn't their "years of experience" apply to Battle.net?
Why didn't people abandon the platform after the free trial ended?
To Takayuki, this was just laughable.
Why were these people wasting their time analyzing his strategy? They were still stuck in the mindset of their era. They didn't yet understand the simple truth:
Free is the most expensive.
Free was the foot in the door. It showed players that only by owning a legitimate copy, even a free one, could they fully experience the best of the Creative Workshop.
Sure, mods could technically be pirated.
But Takayuki had made sure that Battle.net's Creative Workshop was so well-optimized and enjoyable to use that no one would want to give that up.
Besides, Counter-Strike and StarCraft weren't expensive to begin with. In fact, to promote esports, both games had gone through several rounds of permanent price cuts.
So why wouldn't people buy the official versions and enjoy the best experience?
And all of this?
It was just a side effect.
Takayuki's real goal was to inspire a new generation of aspiring game developers through modding.
And based on Creative Workshop feedback from several games, that goal was already being realized.
Some players, after receiving attention and praise for their mods, had started to develop a genuine interest in game development.
Among them were some truly talented individuals.
Takayuki wasted no time in extending an olive branch—inviting them to develop games on Battle.net. His team would provide the full engine and development tools. As long as their revenue didn't exceed $1 million, Gamestar Entertainment wouldn't even take a cut.
All this… just to get them to take root on Battle.net and become deeply tied to the platform.