Free and Membership
The ice cubes clanged against their teeth, and the two exhaled a long breath of cold air, adopting an attitude of "bring it on, I'll listen as long as you don't die of exhaustion."
"What are the current ICQ avatars?" Nakayama Takuya pointed to the screen. "The default cat, dog, or landscape pictures are just a few dozen pixels."
"We want to create an ICQ Show."
Nakayama Takuya casually drew a stick figure, then added a few strokes next to it, "Giving each user a virtual avatar. Not just an avatar, but a complete, full-body digital avatar. We want to sell clothes to them."
"Sell... clothes?" Frank frowned deeply. "You mean mail-order T-shirts?"
"No, it's selling images." Nakayama Takuya laughed, a laugh like the serpent tempting Eve. "Selling virtual jeans, sunglasses, even a pair of angel wings. These things have zero marginal cost; they only need an artist to draw them once, and you can sell them to a million people. Moreover, it represents individuality. On the internet, nobody knows you're a dog, but if you're willing to pay, you can be a cool dog wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses and a leather jacket."
Frank's hand, holding the pen, froze in mid-air. With his background in finance, he instantly calculated the numbers. Almost no cost, pure profit, exploiting humanity's most primal instinct to flaunt.
"But this is only the first step." Nakayama Takuya gave them no chance to breathe. "Now that we have an image, we need a stage to showcase it. Just showing our faces in the chat window is a waste. We need to add a game lobby to ICQ."
Tom Kalinske became interested. "How about we port Sega's games up?"
"No, the network can't handle that right now, and it's too hardcore. After all, the overlap between computer users and gamers is too low. What we need are games that anyone can play, that can be played anytime, and that can be stopped anytime." Nakayama Takuya wrote a few words on the paper: [Poker], [Bridge], [Chess].
"These games have no copyright issues, and the rules are universal. Users can directly challenge friends in ICQ, or—and this is important—send the game room link directly to the group chat. We need one more player, come join us!" Click the link to join.
"And at the card table," Nakayama Takuya emphasized the stick figure with the tip of his pen, "The virtual avatars they paid for—that expensive suit, those sparkling sunglasses—would be displayed perfectly on their seats."
If you win, your virtual character can clap; if you lose, it can cry. This is how the true value of virtual goods is seen.
Frank felt his breathing become heavy.
This is no longer just a chat tool; it's a playground, a social arena for fame and fortune.
"Finally, to get gamers to spend money, we need to introduce a privileged class," Nakayama Takuya's voice deepened, "We'll call it memberships."
"Give paid users a special mark—their names turn red, or they get a red 'V' icon. In the game lobby, this prevents them from being kicked out of the game room, allows them to spectate in full rooms, and even provides them with a smarter auto-play logic to manage their play when they time out. We're going to 'sell' them unfairness."
"Wait a minute," Frank said with some concern, "Won't this anger free users? If the privileges are too strong, regular players will leave."
Nakayama Takuya leaned back in his chair, looked at the ceiling, and uttered that famous quote that would later be revered as a golden rule, yet also evoked mixed feelings of love and hate among countless gamers.
"Do you see any of the privileges I just granted that affect the fairness of these card games? Frank, you need to remember one thing."
He withdrew his gaze, fixed it on the two men's eyes, and said, slowly and deliberately, "Free players are not just our customers. They are also part of the gaming experience we provide to paying players."
The conference room was deathly silent, with only the faint hum of the air conditioner vents.
That statement is both cold and insightful.
It directly tore away the veil of warmth and affection from the internet, revealing the bloody business logic beneath.
Frank opened his mouth, as if he wanted to refute something, but then swallowed the words back.
He pondered the words carefully, the moral struggle in his eyes gradually fading, replaced by an almost fanatical worship.
"Paying players spend money to buy enjoyment, while free players play along, contributing activity points and becoming the backdrop for that enjoyment." But card games themselves are completely fair, which guarantees the most basic gaming experience for free players. Frank muttered to himself, almost breaking the pen in his hand, "My God—this is a perfect closed loop."
"Of course, don't be too greedy," Nakayama Takuya chimed in, pulling the game back at just the right moment. "The basic functions must always be free and easy to use. We need to make sure free players have fun too, so they'll willingly stay and become part of that large user base. After all, without the supporting cast, no one will buy the main attraction."
"As for the future—" A sly glint flashed in Nakayama Takuya's eyes, "When we hold an online chess and card tournament, we'll waive the registration fee for members, or give them two tickets to the offline finals. We'll make them feel that the few US dollar they pay for membership each month are well worth it."
Upon hearing this, Frank's eyes flashed with the bright green US dollar sign once again. He stared at the sketch in his notebook, as if he could already see countless tiny figures in virtual suits lining up to drop coins into Silicon Valley Online's piggy bank.
Tom Kalinske leaned back in his chair, watching Frank frantically taking notes, and couldn't help but joke, "Frank, I think you should bring a voice recorder to the next meeting, instead of testing your shorthand skills here."
Frank didn't even look up, his pen scribbling rapidly on the paper as he muttered, "A voice recorder won't help me calculate the expected return on ICQ Show. God, treating free users like paying users—this is a devilish idea."
"Don't rush to praise the devil; the gates of hell have only just opened a crack." Nakayama Takuya tapped his fingers lightly on the table, forcibly drawing Frank's attention back. "ICQ is just social networking, and the website navigation I mentioned earlier is merely a transitional product."
Frank paused, pen in hand, then looked up abruptly, his face filled with astonishment. "A transitional product? You just said it was a money-printing machine!"
"It does print money, but it has a ceiling." Nakayama Takuya stood up, walked to the whiteboard, erased the navigation category map he had just drawn, leaving only a huge question mark. "Frank, how long do you think it can last to collect and categorize websites by manual editing? A thousand websites are no problem, but what if it becomes ten thousand next year? A hundred thousand the year after? Are you planning to hire the entire population of San Francisco to help you copy and paste links?"