By the end of the second week of December, the numbers stopped climbing slowly.
They surged.
James sat at his desk, the faint glow of his second monitor reflecting off his glasses. Google Play's analytics page was open, the dashboard practically melting under the weight of the graph lines rocketing upward.
"Six-point-two million," Yuri said from behind him, her tone unreadable.
James didn't respond right away. He just stared at the monitor.
"Six point. Two. Million," she repeated.
Airi wheeled her chair over with a burrito in hand. "It's like a zombie outbreak but with installs. Asia, North America, Europe, Middle East… even Brazil. We're getting emails in Portuguese now."
James finally exhaled. "I thought we'd peak at two million. Maybe three if we got lucky."
"Nope," Sam said, walking in with a half-eaten donut and her phone. "You forgot to factor in Christmas break. Everyone's downloading games for their kids. Or their bored inner child."
"And FlapFlap Hero just broke a million installs too," Yuri added, tapping her tablet. "They're downloading everything we release."
James rubbed his face with both hands. "Okay. We need to talk infrastructure."
Yuri nodded grimly. "We're already getting error reports. Server lag. Timeout issues on older Android versions. Asset downloads are choking our CDN."
"Can we scale up?" he asked.
"I already emailed our backend provider," she said. "We're bumping to the next tier, but it's going to cost us. Our free credits are gone."
"Define 'cost'."
"Monthly bill's about to jump to… two thousand dollars."
"Two thousand dollars? Every download we earn about 0.99 cent, plus the ads inside the game. So I think we can afford it without thinking about the bill."
"Two thousand dollars? Every download we earn about 0.99 cent, plus the ads inside the game. So I think we can afford without thinking about the bill," James said, exhaling sharply.
Yuri raised an eyebrow. "You sound dangerously confident."
"Not confidence," he replied. "Just math. Even at half a cent in net profit per user, we're pulling in serious traction now. The Christmas update alone is gonna spike our ad revenue. We'll be fine."
Sam leaned against the doorframe. "So we're good on money... for now. But what about the users? We're getting a lot of support requests. Bugs. Device incompatibilities. Even some angry parents emailing us because their kids played too much."
"We'll need a community manager soon," Airi said, now balancing the burrito on her lap while flipping through a sketchpad. "Or maybe just someone who can speak four languages and doesn't mind getting yelled at."
"I'll draft a job post," James said, spinning toward his monitor. "But for now, let's triage. We respond to top complaints. Focus on stability, performance, and anything game-breaking."
Yuri nodded. "I'll update the bug tracker. We're still seeing edge-case crashes on Android 4.0 devices. Might need to drop support soon."
James frowned. "Not yet. Those are still a chunk of our Southeast Asia installs. Just patch what we can."
Sam chimed in again. "Also… I got contacted by an ad agency. Big one. They want to discuss placing custom seasonal campaigns in our games—like full-brand banner skins or in-game holiday tie-ins."
James blinked. "Wait, like… branded snowmen? Sponsored raccoon outfits?"
"Exactly. One of them suggested a fast-food collab," she said with a smirk. "Birds wearing burger hats."
"That's ridiculous," James muttered.
"But not unprofitable," Sam countered.
He leaned back, eyes narrowed at the ceiling. "Let's table it. Not now. We're not turning into a mobile ad circus just yet."
Airi raised her hand lazily. "Can I draw one bird with a burger hat, though? Just for fun?"
"Go for it," James said with a faint laugh. "But keep it out of the main build."
Yuri was already typing again, her tablet syncing updates to their Trello board in real time. "We need to consider database sharding. Right now, the global user data's in one cluster. If it fails, we lose everything. We need regional failovers."
"Agreed," James replied. "Split it by continent. Asia-Pacific, North America, Europe. Keep FlapFlap Hero data in a separate instance."
"And analytics?" she asked.
"Tag every user session by build version. We'll start segmenting feedback properly."
Sam walked over and tossed a folder on James's desk. "Here's the updated partner list. Unity is probably gonna reach out soon. Some of their evangelists are already tweeting about us."
James stared at the folder and gave a slow nod. "We're in deep now, aren't we?"
Yuri looked up. "James… we're not a garage project anymore."
He knew that. He had felt it brewing since the third million mark, but hearing it said out loud made it real. The startup dream was no longer a hypothetical. Espector was now a fully operational company with real pressure, real risk—and real opportunity.
"We'll need to incorporate officially," he said suddenly. "Get a proper accountant. Register everything legal. Bank account under the studio, not my name."
"Whoa," Airi said. "Big moves."
"Necessary moves," he answered. "We need to be legit before tax season hits. And… I want to start offering you guys contracts."
Yuri's eyes flicked up. "Contracts?"
"Full-time. With shares. I'm not building this alone. You've all been here since day one. I want you to own part of what we're making."
Airi blinked. "Wait—like real equity?"
James smiled. "We're not Facebook, but we can be something."
The room went silent for a moment.
Then Sam muttered, "Okay, I'm suddenly awake."
Yuri tilted her head, skeptical but intrigued. "We'll need to talk details."
"And we will," James assured. "Once the Christmas build goes live and the dust settles. But this—this studio? This isn't mine anymore. It's ours."
He meant it.
Espector had grown from a tiny office and a funny bird physics prototype into a global hit. And somehow, through the chaos of deadlines and late-night takeout and sleep-deprived bug fixes, they'd become more than just a dev team.
They were co-founders.
And they were only getting started.
A soft chime echoed from Yuri's tablet.
She glanced at it, then raised her head. "Uh… we just passed seven million."
Airi nearly dropped her burrito. "WHAT?"
James turned back to the dashboard.
The number ticked upward right before his eyes.
7,012,118 installs.
He didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then he looked up at the others, his voice low but steady.
"We need more chairs."
Yuri frowned. "Chairs?"
"For the new hires," he said.
Then he cracked a grin.
"We are going to need a bigger room."