The two foundational revenue models for online games—subscription time-cards and in-game item purchases—had remained largely unchanged even in the interstellar era of the Star Rail. They were the most reliable anchors for long-term operational profit.
Not every intellectual property could be like Pokémon, which generated a massive portion of its wealth through merchandise and media rather than the raw code itself. But transitioning into a persistent galactic online space was a different beast altogether.
If Julian set the price of the time-cards too high, he would throttle the influx of new players. Even though anyone who owned a high-end virtual console wasn't poor, a steep recurring fee would still act as a psychological barrier.
In his long-term roadmap, the buy-to-play iterations (FireRed and Gold/Silver) were merely testing grounds for individual features. The data transfers and cross-region travel between Kanto and Johto were handled by mid-tier bridging software—essentially a disguised loading screen that booted one game module while closing another. It wasn't a true, seamless universe.
But if he priced the subscriptions too low, the astronomical server and energy overhead would consume him. While he didn't mind using merchandise profits to subsidize the online platform initially, it was an unsustainable business loop.
Paid microtransactions were even more treacherous. Where should the monetization begin, and where should it end?
Julian's baseline vision for the full online version was strict: it had to feel like a living, breathing reality. Consequently, special Poké Balls, evolution stones, and rare held items would become vastly scarcer. Encountering a pseudo-legendary like Dratini or Larvitar would no longer be a matter of hitting a specific encounter rate in a localized patch of grass; it would be a true expedition. Pokémon breeding, stat training, and dietary development would require genuine dedication.
Every single one of these bottlenecks could be monetized, but finding the exact equilibrium between an immersive simulation and a balanced economic model was a monumental design challenge.
Now that the hurdles of raw computing power and energy had been partially cleared via the impending acquisition of the Emperor's Scepter, it was time to design the blueprint. Julian opened a blank holographic document on his terminal and began to type.
The Technical Summit
A week flew by. In that time, Topaz had finalized her high-level negotiations with the Sky-Faring Commission, officially securing the Xianzhou Alliance's diplomatic blessing. The contract between Arceus Studio and the IPC Strategic Investment Department was signed, sealed, and in effect. Within a week, the IPC's massive logistical network would begin pushing Pokémon into hundreds of star systems.
Julian, however, was already looking past the horizon. He gathered his data and established a secure, encrypted channel with his two technical advisors: Silver Wolf and Stephen Lloyd.
"Julian, when are you going to pay off the matches you owe me?" Silver Wolf demanded the instant her avatar flickered into view, blowing a casual bubble with her gum. "Let me make one thing clear: I'm not writing a single line of optimization code until my link-battle debt is settled."
"I wanted to bring this up last time, Julian—you can't be biased!" Stephen's suited cartoon avatar chimed in, suddenly breaking away from his own research notes. "I want to experience the Soul Link projection too! Silver Wolf has been bragging about it for days, and I haven't even had a turn yet."
"Hmph, you weren't even playing seriously during our last test match," Silver Wolf shot back, narrowing her eyes. "If you actually try, I might consider letting you have one of my scheduled slots. But I have plenty of chances left anyway."
"Don't worry about winning or losing, Stephen," Julian interrupted, his lips twitching. "The joy of the game is spending time with your partners. And besides, I can set up a custom instance for you later. Let's not let Silver Wolf hoard all the slots."
Silver Wolf clicked her tongue. "Tch. Couldn't even fool the kid."
Julian shook his head inwardly. Silver Wolf was treating a member of the Genius Society like an uneducated toddler. Granted, Stephen was young and socially detached, but his intellect was still cosmic.
"Alright, you two, focus," Julian said, straightening his posture as his expression turned solemn. "I've called this meeting because it's time to talk about the baseline architecture for the Pokémon MMORPG. We need to evaluate the core design theories and see what works when we scale up to a persistent galactic ecosystem."
He transferred his planning document across the split screen. The playful banter vanished instantly. Both Silver Wolf and Stephen leaned in, their gamer instincts overriding their eccentricities. They had both read Julian's initial proposal months ago and knew that a seamless, interconnected world was his ultimate dream. It was the sheer audacity of that goal that had prompted them to offer their genius practically for free. The interstellar gaming market was stagnant and corporate; Pokémon had soul, and Julian had ambition.
"The technical mechanics will be rolled out in isolated batches later," Julian explained as they reviewed the charts. "What we need to nail down today are the systemic shifts required for a massive multiplayer environment. Specifically: item scarcity scales, the purchasing power and influx control of in-game currency, the global economic loop, the long-term progression curve for Pokémon training, and the logic parameters for city NPCs."
Point by point, Julian laid out his thoughts. The discussion quickly turned into an intense, collaborative debate that stretched from morning until the digital sky of the Luofu turned into a deep twilight. Every variable was pulled apart, analyzed, and reconstructed.
Yet, as they reached the end of the document, an fundamental roadblock emerged.
"Arguments over theoretical math will only get us so far," Julian said, cutting through a heated disagreement between Stephen and Silver Wolf regarding currency inflation. "Without field data from a live population, we can't prove which economic model holds up. So, let's move to the final item: how do we run an isolated, large-scale stress test for an online version without breaking our current market?"
"We could launch a closed-beta module and hand-pick a select group of testers within the Luofu's internal grid or the Herta Space Station," Stephen suggested immediately.
"No, that won't work," Silver Wolf countered, shaking her head. "You're ignoring the scale problem. An economic and network stress test needs thousands of active players to generate meaningful data, but a standard closed-beta with that many users is a sieve. The data leaks would be everywhere."
Stephen frowned, understanding her point. The experimental changes they were proposing—some of which completely upended the mechanics of the traditional buy-to-play versions—needed absolute confidentiality. If the broader player base saw incomplete, volatile systems, it could fracture the brand's reputation before the MMO even had an official title. But without a large pool of testers, the economic simulation was useless.
"I actually have an idea," Silver Wolf said, a mischievous, sharp smirk spreading across her face. "Why don't we try doing something in real life that we can't safely pull off in the game code?"
Julian and Stephen stared at her projection, both of them deadpan.
"Huh?" Julian blinked. "Are you sure you didn't just mispeak?"
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