On Monday, Sega's headquarters buzzed with an unusual atmosphere.
The corridor to the executive eting room echoed with denser, hastier footsteps than usual, as polished shoes clicked against the floor.
The upcoming "team leader-level ga developnt seminar" was clearly a cut above the norm. The eting room, modest in size, felt cramped as developnt team leaders and rarely seen, sharply dressed senior executives filed in. So had to sidestep to let others pass.
The air carried a faint tobacco scent, mingled with the sll of paper, stale air conditioning, and a subtle undercurrent of tension.
Most team leaders appeared calm, flipping through docunts for routine reports, but their sidelong glances kept drifting to a corner seat.
There sat Takuya Nakayama. The young man, in a crisp suit, sat upright, his face betraying little emotion, as if he were just a student auditing the eting.
The senior executives' reactions varied. So cast scrutinizing looks, lingering briefly on Takuya before turning away, whispering with a faint smirk. Others were purely curious, their eyes probing, eager to see what the president's son, fresh off Tetris's success, would unveil next.
A few older, haughty managers leaned back, arms crossed, chins raised, exuding a detached air of rely humoring the president. Their exchanged glances seed to say, "See? Just a kid making noise."
Whispers about Takuya had already spread within Sega. Tetris's explosive success had elevated "Takuya Nakayama" beyond just a title.
But importing a hit ga was one thing; leading a new, resource-heavy original project was another. It demanded not just vision but solid developnt concepts and execution.
Skepticism lingered, only temporarily quieted by Tetris's sales figures.
Hayao Nakayama sat at the head, his face calm as still water, fingers lightly tapping the glossy table, producing faint clicks. His gaze swept the room evenly, lingering on no one, not even his son, as if he were just another host and Takuya just another new developer.
Takuya felt the complex gazes—expectation, doubt, curiosity, and unmasked disdain or amusent at potential failure. His hands on his knees tensed briefly, then relaxed. His heart wasn't without ripples, but it brimd with confidence to reveal his carefully prepared cards.
The eting began thodically.
Yuji Suzuki went first, standing with vigor and announcing Hang-On's completion, now in final testing and pre-production. The rising star producer's voice radiated confidence, tinged with a sharp edge.
Polite but enthusiastic applause followed. Many executives nodded, satisfied with the tangible achievent.
Other team leaders followed, briefly reporting on sequels or technical research, their tones flat and uneventful. Clearly, the room's focus wasn't on these routine matters.
Executives occasionally whispered, exchanging knowing looks, their gazes flickering toward Takuya.
The atmosphere, like water nearing a boil, simred with subtle tension.
Finally, the new project discussion arrived.
The host cleared his throat. "Next, Takuya Nakayama will present his new ga proposal."
This ti, there were no competing proposals—just Takuya's.
All eyes snapped to the corner of the room.
Takuya stood, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle on his collar, his movents deliberate yet calm, and walked confidently to the center, before the projector screen.
He bowed slightly, addressing the room. "Thank you, seniors and executives, for taking ti from your busy schedules." His voice was clear, humble, fitting for a junior before company veterans.
But then he raised his head, his gaze sweeping the room, sharp and forceful, as if he'd beco another person.
"Today, I'd like to introduce a new ga genre and a proposal built around it."
He clicked the controller, and the projector flared to life, displaying a bold title—
Proposal: K
Beneath, in smaller text: Fighting Ga Concept Proposal
"Fighting ga?"
"What's a Fighting Ga?"
Murmurs erupted, barely suppressed, as confusion and doubt spread across faces. Even seasoned developers found the term unfamiliar. What wordplay is this kid up to?
"The so-called fighting ga," Takuya began, his voice brimming with unshakable confidence, "centers on simulating direct combat between two characters, controlled by players, using fists or lee weapons."
"It emphasizes precise character control, millisecond-level reactions, and perfect timing for offense and defense."
"Our goal is to deliver a direct, intense, skill-driven competitive experience, letting players feel the visceral thrill of every blow and the unmatched satisfaction of defeating a strong opponent on a small screen."
His description was concise, powerful, each word landing firmly, sketching a ga brimming with raw competitive allure.
So team leaders, initially just going through the motions, leaned forward, their eyes glinting with thought. The concept sounded intriguing.
To make the abstract idea concrete, Takuya signaled his assistant to play prepared footage.
The room dimd, and the projector displayed a carefully edited clip—not of a ga, but from a Hong Kong kung fu film, Drunken Master, that had caused a sensation years ago.
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