Publishing It

Inigo leaned back in his chair, heart still racing from his last Flappy Bird run. The game was polished—simple yet addictive, just like he remembered. Every element, from the pixelated graphics to the frustratingly precise hitboxes, was in place.

Now came the real challenge.

Publishing.

The year was 2010. Mobile gaming was still in its early boom, and the app stores were a gold rush waiting to happen. Unlike the oversaturated market he had once dominated in his past life, this world's mobile space was still fresh—untapped potential just waiting to be seized.

He cracked his knuckles. Time to make history.Before he could upload anything, he needed to get an official developer account for distribution.

First, he tackled Google Play Store.

Back in his past life, the Google Play Developer Console required a one-time $25 registration fee. Cheap compared to Apple's steep $99 annual fee.

But this version of Inigo was broke. He barely had enough to pay for tricycle rides, let alone register as a developer.

He grabbed his old, tattered wallet and counted the bills inside.

₱400. 

Inigo stared at the crumpled peso bills in his palm. ₱400. Not even close to what he needed.

For a moment, frustration bubbled in his chest. Back in his old life, throwing away $25 was nothing. He had spent more than that on overpriced coffee in high-rise boardrooms. But here, in this version of his life, ₱400 wasn't just small change—it was survival money.

He exhaled sharply, shutting his wallet with a quiet snap.

If he wanted to make history, he needed capital.

And there was only one person he could ask.

Nanay Lina sat in the dimly lit living room, sorting through a pile of freshly washed clothes. The hum of the old electric fan barely made a difference against the heat, but she worked without complaint, her worn hands carefully folding each shirt with practiced patience.

For a moment, Inigo hesitated.

She already did too much. Asking for money, even a small amount, felt selfish.

But this wasn't just about him—it was about their future.

He cleared his throat. "Nay?"

His grandmother glanced up, her warm, tired eyes meeting his. "Oh, Inigo. You're up. Have you eaten?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Not yet. But… I wanted to ask you something first."

She set the clothes aside and patted the seat next to her. "Come. What is it?"

Inigo sat down, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "Nay… I need to borrow ₱1,200. I promise I'll pay it back in a week or two."

Her brow furrowed slightly. "That's a lot of money, apo. What do you need it for?"

He exhaled, already prepared for the question. "I want to publish a game. On the app store. But I need to pay for a developer account first."

For a long moment, Nanay Lina didn't say anything. She simply watched him, as if studying his expression.

"Is this for your school project?" she asked gently.

Inigo pondered for a moment. If he told his grandmother that it would be for his school project related to his course, then she might be able to lend him money. But if he were to tell her that it's for business, then she might become reluctant and won't give a dime to him.

In this case, he had to lie.

"It's for the school project," Inigo continued, maintaining eye contact with his grandmother. "It's a requirement for one of my IT subjects. We need to publish a functional mobile application as part of the final project."

Nanay Lina pursed her lips, eyes scanning his face. She wasn't a fool—years of hardship had made her perceptive. Still, she trusted him, and more importantly, she had always believed in his potential.

After a long pause, she sighed. "Are you sure this will help your studies?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes, Nay. And I promise, I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

Another moment of hesitation passed before she stood up and walked over to a wooden cabinet. She pulled out an old tin box, the kind used to store emergency savings. Carefully, she retrieved a few folded bills and placed them in his hands.

"This is ₱1,500. It's all I can spare," she said softly.

A pang of guilt shot through him. She had given him more than what he had asked for. He should have been upfront.

But this wasn't just for him. This was for her, for Leila, for their future.

He swallowed his guilt and took the money with both hands, bowing his head. "Thank you grandma. I'll make this count."

Nanay Lina patted his hand gently. "I know you will. Just don't overwork yourself, okay?"

Inigo nodded. "I promise."

***

Thirty minutes later, Inigo remitted the money his grandma lent him to his bank account. He was glad that he has a bank account, otherwise he won't be able to proceed without it.

Back in his room, he carefully opened his laptop and began.

Navigating to the Google Play Developer Console, he filled out the registration details, heart pounding in his chest.

One-time registration fee: $25 (₱1,200).

With a deep breath, he entered the details, linked his bank account, and confirmed the payment.

A second later, a notification popped up.

Payment Successful. Welcome to Google Play Console!

A wave of relief washed over him. It was official.

Now, all that was left was to prepare for launch.

He typed without hesitation.

Flappy Bird

As for the description, he thought of it being short, provocative, and intimidating. 

"Think you have what it takes? One tap—just one. That's all you need to keep your bird in the air. Sounds easy, right? Wrong. You'll fail. Again and again. Your high score? Pathetic. But you'll keep coming back. Because deep down, you know you can do better.

Prove it. Download now and show us how far you can go. Or quit like the rest."

He opened Photoshop and designed a clean, eye-catching app icon. A simple pixelated yellow bird on a blue sky background—minimalist yet memorable.

He then took gameplay screenshots, making sure to highlight the game's simple mechanics.

Since the game had no violence or mature themes, he marked it as "Everyone."

Now for monetization. While Flappy Bird was free-to-play, the real money came from advertisements.

Using the Google AdMob SDK, he implemented Banner Ads, which is a small ad at the bottom of the screen and the Interstitial Ads, which is a full-screen ad that appears after every five game overs.

More deaths = More ads = More revenue.

Once ads were integrated, he ran a test to ensure they worked properly. A small Google AdSense test banner popped up at the bottom of the screen.

Perfect.

Now it was time.

Inigo clicked "Upload APK."

His heart pounded as the progress bar slowly filled. The file wasn't large—just a few megabytes. Within seconds, the upload was complete.

A confirmation message popped up:

"Your game has been submitted for review. It may take a few hours to go live on Google Play."

He exhaled, leaning back in his chair.

It was done.

Flappy Bird was about to hit the world.

Now came the hardest part—waiting.

He refreshed the page over and over again, but the status remained the same: Pending Review.

His foot tapped impatiently against the floor.

What if it got rejected?

What if there was a problem with the ads?

What if—

Ping!

A notification popped up in his email.

Google Play Support:

"Your app has been approved and is now live on Google Play!"

His stomach flipped.

It was live.

Flappy Bird was officially available for download.

Now, he needed users.

Back in his past life, viral games weren't just about good gameplay. Marketing mattered.

But he had zero budget for ads.

So he turned to the old-school method—forums and word of mouth.

He logged into gaming forums, Facebook groups, and tech blogs, posting about his game under different usernames:

"New mobile game just launched! Try it out and see how far you can go!"

Then, he posted a link to the Google Play Store page.

Within minutes, the first download appeared on his dashboard.

Then another.

And another.

As the hours passed, downloads slowly increased.

It wasn't thousands yet, but it was growing.

The real test came the next morning.

When he woke up, he checked his Google AdMob earnings dashboard.

Estimated Revenue: $0.02

It wasn't much.

But it was proof.

Proof that it worked.

A grin spread across his face.

This was just the beginning.