After returning to her apartnt, Eri Nakagawa quickly changed into her ho clothes and sat down at her desk, turning on her computer.
Takuya's confident face and his astonishing ideas kept replaying in her mind.
Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she transcribed everything Takuya had explained, turning it into a detailed project proposal. The program's na was Cooking Master—yes, the title was Takuya's idea, a mischievous tribute to the famous series that had once introduced Chinese cuisine to Japanese audiences, even before the manga version existed.
As for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, Takuya suggested that Eri hold off on submitting it until Cooking Master succeeded. The preparation for Millionaire would be complex, resource-intensive, and expensive. With her current experience, she might struggle to manage such a massive production.
The next day, Eri went straight to her father's office—Nakagawa Jun, the president of Tokyo TV—and knocked on the door.
"Dad."
Nakagawa Jun didn't look up from the pile of docunts he was reviewing. He rely lifted his eyes briefly and gestured toward the sofa. "What's so urgent? Didn't I tell you to use my title while I'm working?"
Eri smiled and placed a freshly printed proposal on his desk. "Got it, Mr. President. This is a new show pitch. Please have a look."
He picked it up absentmindedly. As president, he reviewed a dozen proposals a day, most of them uninspired and repetitive.
But after glancing at the first page, his casual deanor disappeared.
Adjusting his glasses, he unconsciously sat upright. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of paper.
Eri sat with her hands clasped tightly, her palms sweating slightly—a mix of nervousness and pride.
Finally, Nakagawa Jun exhaled slowly and set the proposal down. He removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose thoughtfully.
"Collaboration with China's national TV network, per-episode cost under five million yen, international syndication rights, ho cooking tutorial series, celebrity housewives…"
Each keyword he read made his expression stranger.
"You ca up with this?" His tone carried a hint of disbelief.
He knew his daughter was talented, but the kind of sharp comrcial instinct shown in this plan wasn't sothing she could have developed yet.
Eri's face flushed. She nodded… then shook her head.
"The concept and frawork were Takuya's idea. I just organized and detailed it."
"Takuya?" Jun blinked, then realization dawned. "You two… made it official?"
"Mhm." Her cheeks reddened even more.
Jun fell silent for a long mont. Then he picked up the proposal again, reading much slower this ti. When he finished, he tapped it lightly against the desk.
"That boy's trying to take over the housewives' wallets and their TV remotes at the sa ti," he murmured, half amused, half impressed. "Brilliant idea."
He looked up at Eri. "You'll be in charge of this project."
Eri's head shot up.
"I'll reassign the best people from production to your team," he continued firmly. "I'll handle the budget departnt myself. Start forming your production crew imdiately, and I want a full preparation schedule on my desk next week."
He stood and walked to the window, gazing at the city below.
"This Takuya kid… interesting. Maybe it's ti you brought him ho for dinner. Your mother and I would like to et him."
Eri blushed and nodded, sticking her tongue out playfully as she left the office.
By late September, autumn had touched Tokyo—but Japan's economy was still blazing hot.
On September 25, Sony officially announced its acquisition of Columbia Pictures—one of Hollywood's eight major studios—for a staggering $5 billion deal, including $3.4 billion in cash and $1.6 billion in assud debt.
The news sent Japan into a frenzy.
Across the Pacific, however, the cover of Newsweek depicted Columbia's torch-bearing lady transford into a geisha wearing a kimono, under a glaring headline: "Japan Invades Hollywood."
While Japan celebrated what it saw as "buying Arican spirit," few realized a massive crisis was brewing beneath the surface.
After the controversy surrounding the Miyazaki Tsutomu incident, the video ga industry had finally quieted down. Developers kept their heads low, focusing on their next projects.
Inside SEGA's Tokyo headquarters, the boardroom atmosphere was suffocating.
A long mahogany table reflected the furrowed brows of every director present.
Ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts—evidence of a long, tense debate.
The topic was singular: a proposal from the new president of SEGA Arica, Tom Kalinske.
"After eighteen months of cost optimization, we've barely managed to bring down the cost of an MD console plus a Tetris cartridge to about $150. Now Kalinske wants to drop the retail price from $189 to $149!"
"He's insane!" the finance director snapped, slapping the report in front of him. "That's below cost! What are we supposed to tell the shareholders when profits plumt?"
"Exactly! Our console division is the backbone of this company—we can't afford such reckless moves! We've just begun turning a profit after months of losses!"
"But the North Arican market has massive potential," another executive countered. "Kalinske's proposal might be risky, but maybe it's the breakthrough we need."
The room filled with overlapping voices—argunts, sighs, tension.
In the middle of it all, Takuya Nakayama remained quiet, lazily flipping through a report with an unreadable expression.
It detailed Kalinske's recent investnts in several Arican studios: Broderbund, creators of Prince of Persia, and Westwood Studios, which had just launched Dungeons & Dragons for the MD.
"Smart moves," Takuya thought to himself.
At the head of the table, SEGA President Hayao Nakayama—Takuya's father—sat expressionless, eyes sweeping across the room before settling on his son.
The noise died down. All eyes turned to Takuya.
He sighed quietly, setting the report aside.
"Gentlen," he began, his calm voice cutting through the tension. "I've been listening for a while. You're all worried about losing money from a price cut. But before we talk numbers, I'd like to show you sothing."
He picked up the latest Newsweek magazine and laid it on the table.
On the cover, the geisha version of Columbia's torch lady stared out with a stiff smile beneath the headline: Japan Invades Hollywood.
"Sony's purchase of Columbia Pictures caused quite a storm in the U.S.," Takuya said. "And as you all know, Aricans aren't taking it well."
The directors exchanged uneasy looks.
"Right now," Takuya continued, "Arican sentint toward Japanese companies is terrible. They think our products are stealing their jobs and industries. And now that we've bought one of their cultural symbols, resentnt is growing."
He leaned forward, his tone sharpening.
"So this price cut isn't just about beating Nintendo. It's a statent—a show of goodwill toward Arican consurs."
"We need to remind them that SEGA isn't an invader—it's a friend. We're not taking jobs; we're bringing entertainnt. And lowering prices isn't exploitation—it's generosity."
The room fell silent.
"This move," he said, "is how we humanize our brand in the U.S."
Then he paused. His next words carried a cold edge.
"Also, I've confird that Nintendo has finished developing the CPU for their next-gen console, the Super Famicom."
"Our window of opportunity? Maybe one year."
He glanced around the table.
"Are we just going to sit here and watch them launch it? Do you want a repeat of the SG-1000 days—when we were crushed under the Famicom's ten-million-unit lead?"
Old executives grimaced, the bitter mory resurfacing.
"This ti," Takuya said firmly, "we'll make Nintendo feel what that suffocation is like."
The fire returned to their eyes.
Seeing the mood shift, Takuya delivered his final blow.
"Thanks to so… efforts, we've obtained SFC's design specs."
"In graphics, it's powerful—dual PPU system, 32,768-color palette, 256 on-screen colors, dynamic palette shifting. But it has a fatal flaw: its CPU can't handle high-speed scrolling."
He paused for emphasis.
"And our next ga will exploit that weakness completely."
He smiled faintly.
"Sonic the Hedgehog."
"This ga will push the MD's 'speed' to its absolute limit—sothing Nintendo can't replicate."
He looked around.
"My plan is simple. A one-two punch."
"Next month, once Sonic is complete, we launch it imdiately."
"At the sa ti, we drop the MD price to $149 and release a limited edition Sonic bundle."
"The price cut builds our player base before SFC launches. Sonic becos our technological wall—a must-play title that defines our console."
"When Arican players already own an MD and have felt Sonic's speed, they'll hesitate to buy Nintendo's new console. Why spend another few hundred dollars?"
"The more we sell now, the harder Nintendo's launch becos."
He leaned forward, both hands on the table.
"Our goal is simple—rip out Nintendo's roots, piece by piece."
"When the dust settles, the licensing royalties will pay back every yen."
Hayao Nakayama glanced around the table, saw the resolve in every eye, and nodded.
"Enough talk," he said, tapping the table once. "Let's vote."
One by one, hands rose—without hesitation.
Unanimous.
Hayao turned to his son, pride flickering in his gaze.
"Takuya, you'll coordinate directly with Tom Kalinske in Arica."
Takuya nodded lightly.
The eting adjourned.
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