In Kyoto, upon the desk of Nintendo President Yamauchi Hiroshi lay only a single thin fax sheet—yet the numbers printed on it weighed as heavily as a mountain.
"Two million five hundred thousand—"
He exhaled a ring of smoke. His voice wasn't loud, but standing beside him, Miyamoto Shigeru could clearly sense the barely contained satisfaction beneath it.
"President, this already far exceeds even our boldest estimates," Miyamoto said. He was proud of the success achieved by the Mario he had created, but only to an extent—what mattered far more to him was the experience players would have once they finally held the ga in their hands.
Yamauchi didn't look at him. He tapped the page with his knuckle. "Estimates? My estimate was far more than this."
Then, his tone turned cold.
"What did the production line say? Why did the second week's shipnt fall? Tell them I want machines. As many as possible."
"President, the suppliers…" A departnt head swallowed hard. "The economy is terrible this year. They… they don't dare stock large quantities of materials. The financial risk is too high. Unless we pay everything upfront—"
"Useless idiots!" Yamauchi crushed his cigar into the ashtray. "A bunch of fools who can see no farther than three inches ahead! Can't they see how big this business is?"
The office's atmosphere plunged to freezing.
No one dared speak.
Everyone knew the president's temper—he cared only about results.
And right now, the result was: the market was starving, and they had no stock to feed it.
anwhile, the entire Japanese gaming industry was shaken to its core by Nintendo's performance over these past two weeks.
Major gaming magazines rushed to reprint issues overnight, plastering the most exaggerated headlines to describe the "Mario phenonon" sweeping the country.
Analysts appeared on television, proclaiming that Sega's era was finished and that Nintendo, riding on the SFC, was about to begin a new, unshakable reign.
This wave of frenzy crashed rcilessly upon everyone inside Sega headquarters.
Whatever confidence the staff had restored thanks to Nakayama's encouragent evaporated instantly before the terrifying number of 2.5 million units.
In the hallways, employees no longer wore their usual smiles. Voices dropped to murmurs. No matter how the conversation circled, it always returned to that red-letter na.
"Did you hear? Latest numbers—already two and a half million."
"God… and it's only been half a month."
"The MD is probably… cough…"
When the assistant entered Nakayama Takuya's office with the latest summary report, his palms were sweating. It felt less like a report and more like a formal declaration of defeat.
"Executive Director."
Nakayama was standing by the window. Hearing the voice, he turned back, his expression as calm as ever.
"Speak."
"Nintendo's SFC has sold over 2.5 million units in just half a month." The assistant's voice was dry. He quickly added, "But—according to the analysis, their second-week drop wasn't due to lower demand. It's purely a production bottleneck."
He watched Nakayama's face carefully, terrified of seeing even the slightest shake.
But Nakayama only nodded, taking the report from him.
"Production…" he murmured, then suddenly smiled—a strange, knowing smile. "So, the aftershocks of the bubble burst are worse than I thought."
The assistant blinked in confusion.
"Nintendo's suppliers are all dostic companies. After the crash, every factory owner beca as jumpy as a startled bird. If they still have money in their pockets, they clutch it for dear life. Who would dare risk buying materials or expanding capacity?"
Nakayama's finger traced the downward curve on the chart.
"He wants the horse to run, but forgets the horse needs grass. And now, the grass is gone."
He tossed the report aside and looked at the assistant.
"This proves my judgnt. Yamauchi's entire foundation lies in Japan. But Japan itself is sick."
The assistant's eyes brightened.
Of course—he had said this before: Japan was no longer the most important battlefield.
The assistant quickly added, as if rembering sothing:
"Right—about the third-party developers, there has been so movent."
"Oh?"
"A number of mid-to-large companies have purchased SFC developnt kits from Nintendo. Even Bandai—though since we have a stake in them, they notified us beforehand." The assistant spoke cautiously, afraid this would irritate Nakayama.
But Nakayama only chuckled. "Let them buy. Unless they try it themselves, how will they understand how optimized our MD developnt environnt really is?"
The assistant finally relaxed and even laughed along.
"You're right. And… so are as stubborn as ever. Square's President Miyamoto Masafumi and Director Sakaguchi Hironobu refuse to join the frenzy. They didn't buy anything."
"Good." Nakayama nodded with satisfaction.
"I didn't misjudge them."
A single sentence—worth more than a thousand words of praise.
At last, Sega, too, had allies who would not waver.
"I still don't understand," the assistant admitted, scratching his head. "Nintendo has all the advantage. Why do they act so high and mighty about developnt kits? I heard buying one now costs a fortune, and you need connections, qualifications—practically like praying to a god."
"Because in Yamauchi's Kyoto, he is a god."
Nakayama lifted his teacup and blew gently.
"For decades, everyone has worshiped him. He's used to it. He doesn't need to court developers—he demands their loyalty."
The assistant was stunned.
"But we…"
"We are different." Nakayama set down the cup. "We crawled out of hell. We know how precious every ally is. Rember our developnt-kit policy?"
The assistant straightened imdiately and recited:
"Yes! Any ga company whose past titles have sold over ten thousand units can apply for an MD or GaPocket dev kit. The first one—we provide for free!"
"The only requirent is to launch their first title within eighteen months. Otherwise, we take back the kit."
"And?"
"And!" The assistant's eyes shone. "As per your instructions, for early supporters—the ones who stayed with us before the big third-party shift—we refunded Konami the full cost of their first developnt kit, offsetting it from their royalties!"
He couldn't help grinning.
"Executive Director, you should've heard it. Konami's finance manager called personally and asked three tis if it was a mistake. Probably the first ti in his life he's seen soone voluntarily give money back."
A light, cheerful laugh filled the office.
Nakayama leaned back, tapping the armrest lightly, enjoying the rare mont of ease.
He understood perfectly: Yamauchi wasn't incapable of diplomacy—he simply disdained it.
In that Kyoto elder's worldview, there were only rulers and the ruled.
Third-party developers were rely bearers of his palanquin. Whether the palanquin remained steady depended entirely on the whip in the rider's hand.
Whether the bearers were exhausted, whether they wanted another path—that had never once crossed his mind.
This arrogance, embedded deep in his bones, had built Nintendo's empire…
and would one day beco its fatal weakness.
To be fair, the bla did not rest solely on Yamauchi.
Across Japan, how many business leaders were any different?
Each one wished to treat partners like vassals and employees like expendable fuel, squeezing profit from every stage until the last single yen was theirs.
Vision? Nonexistent.
Nakayama could even imagine: had this happened back in the old Sega days, forget refunds—even a minor royalty discount for each company would've required Nakayama Akira's personal approval.
Please Support by becoming my patreon mber and get 30 chapters.
[email protected]/Ajal69
change @ with a
Thank You to Those who joined my Patreon
User Comments
0 comments from readers