"Darry, I'm telling you, The Binding of Isaac is actually pretty good. Today's the release day, and it's only $19.90—super worth it. I already pre-ordered it. You should try it too. You can play it on a Gamestar handheld; either of the last two generations works."
Darry was sitting in the very last row of the after-work shuttle, chatting casually with his coworker.
As a game enthusiast, his favorite topic was always video games.
At the same time, he was a staunch supporter of big-budget titles.
Big investment in games meant good products—at least, that's what he believed.
Gamestar Electronic Entertainment was the perfect example. Every time they poured massive resources into a project, the results were outstanding.
Other game companies were similar. Under Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's leadership, the industry hadn't fallen into a collective slump. Everyone was trying to improve the appeal of their games. If you were even slightly subpar, players would tear you apart online. At the very least, you had to create something distinctive.
Because of this, Darry firmly believed that only big productions were truly fun.
Indie games? He didn't even bother paying attention to them.
But this indie game was a bit different.
After all, it was made by the "god of games" himself—so it was at least worth a brief look.
The Binding of Isaac, huh?
Darry remembered the name.
When he got home, he went to the kitchen fridge, grabbed a few beers, then headed straight to his computer.
Living alone, his life was a simple two-point routine.
Work, home. Home, work. Over and over again.
But he didn't find it boring at all, because he had something that brought him joy—video games.
He opened the Battle.net platform and glanced at his game library, now filled with over five hundred games of all sizes. A deeply satisfied expression appeared on his face.
This was a collector's habit unique to players.
Some people collected music albums, others collected sports cards, some collected antiques—he collected video games.
In truth, he hadn't played more than half of those five hundred games. Some he bought and never touched again.
He simply enjoyed watching the number in his library grow. It gave him a strong sense of accomplishment.
Another thing he liked doing was leveling up his Battle.net account.
Battle.net had a user level system. It didn't really mean anything—just a reflection of how active you were and how many games you owned.
But Darry loved it.
Some people even joked that Battle.net itself had become a video game—a game that required constant interaction and spending money to "play."
Every day, Battle.net granted a fixed amount of account experience. To earn it, players had to post on the forums or engage in frequent interactions.
He was about to click into a game page to complete today's interaction tasks when something caught his eye.
On the side of the Battle.net interface was a very prominent advertisement.
Crowdfunded game "The Binding of Isaac" now officially released—players welcome to try it.
The Binding of Isaac?
Oh right—his coworker on the shuttle had mentioned it earlier. He'd almost forgotten.
What really caught his attention, though, was the small line of text beneath the ad.
Purchase The Binding of Isaac during launch to receive 200 experience points.
That was almost enough to raise his account level by one.
And if he posted a game review within a week of playing, he could get an extra 50 experience points.
If the review was selected as a featured review, he could earn even more experience.
This kind of benefit was rare.
Darry immediately became interested. Without hesitation, he clicked into the game's page.
Whether it was fun or not didn't matter—he'd buy it first.
That way, his account level would go up again.
Level 628.
At that level, he had already surpassed 95% of users on Battle.net. After leveling up, he noticed the percentage tick up by another 0.003%.
A wave of satisfaction washed over him.
Because of this game, his level had increased again, which gave him a bit of goodwill toward it.
Only then did he realize—he hadn't even looked at what the game actually looked like.
Might as well check now.
When he bought The Binding of Isaac, he'd done it almost reflexively—click, buy, pay—without even glancing at the visuals.
Now that he finally looked, his brow furrowed.
This game's art style…
It was ugly.
To put it bluntly, the artistic style was downright painful to look at. Why was it such a bizarre aesthetic? It looked like a child's doodles.
The character design consisted of a round head and extremely simplistic limbs.
And on top of that, the characters gave off a faintly unsettling vibe.
"This… was made by the god of games?"
He couldn't help but feel doubtful.
Just judging by the visuals, the game looked incredibly crude—completely at odds with his impression of Gamestar Electronic Entertainment.
In his mind, a leading figure like Takayuki could only produce games that were pure works of art.
Every one of his games was flawless in every aspect.
Graphics, effects, gameplay—everything was polished to near perfection.
But this Binding of Isaac game shook that belief.
Looking at the visuals alone made him not want to play it at all.
You could say the first impression alone was enough to scare him off.
He couldn't help but regret not taking a closer look at the art style earlier. If he had, he probably wouldn't have bought it.
Of course, he could still refund it—but thinking about the experience points he'd already gained made him reluctant.
Ah, whatever. It was only twenty dollars.
That's nothing.
He comforted himself like that.
As for the game itself, he had no desire to try it anymore.
He might as well leave it to gather dust. He figured he'd never open it again.
So he exited The Binding of Isaac's page and turned to play Counter-Strike, a game he'd been playing faithfully for years.
This first-person shooter was easy to pick up but had an incredibly high skill ceiling, always drawing him back in.
By now, he'd logged over a thousand hours in it, yet it still felt endlessly engaging.
Perhaps that was the true charm of competitive games.