Hanging up after speaking with Director Hoshino, Nakayama Takuya rubbed his brow and was just about to get up and stretch when a soft knock ca at the office door.
"Executive Nakayama, you have an international package from the United States."
His assistant walked in carrying a stiff cardboard box, its surface covered in colorful customs forms and postage stamps.
Arica? Los Angeles?
Takuya took the package, his eyes landing on the sender's na—one he knew well: Michael Crichton.
A faint warmth softened the line of his mouth.
In his mind flashed the afternoon at Universal Studios: Spielberg's office, the California sun, and the mont he described the dinosaur story—along with the director's frozen expression.
So, the promise had been kept.
He slit the tape with a paper knife. The fresh scent of ink drifted out.
Inside lay a single book. The cover was striking—an enormous T-Rex skeleton against stark black, with a bold title across the top: JURASSIC PARK.
He flipped it open. The spine was new, marked "Second Printing."
Already reprinted? It hadn't been out long.
Not surprising for the novel that had ignited a global dinosaur craze.
He turned to the title page. A line of elegant English handwriting appeared—Crichton's signature.
To Mr. Nakayama Takuya:
Thank you for seeing the park that existed only in my mind.
I look forward to seeing you restore its glory on another continent.
—Michael Crichton
Takuya smiled despite himself.
The bestselling author certainly knew how to say things.
He closed the book and set it gently on his desk.
---
By afternoon, Tokyo's sunlight slanted through the blinds, casting scattered bars of gold across his desk.
Takuya picked up the phone and dialed Sega of Arica.
The line cleared after a brief hum, and Tom Kalinske's booming voice nearly burst through the receiver.
"Takuya! My friend! What's up?"
"I received a package from Los Angeles," Takuya said softly, tapping a finger on the shiny new Jurassic Park on his desk. "A gift from Mr. Crichton. So, Tom—sounds like the book is selling well in the States?"
There was a one-second pause.
Then Kalinske erupted.
"Well? Well?! Good God, Takuya—this is no 'selling well'! This is a storm tearing through the entire country! This is a damn T-Rex breaking loose from prehistory and stampeding across the North Arican book market!"
His excitent was impossible to contain.
"Number ONE on the New York Tis bestseller list! Bookstores can't restock fast enough! Yesterday I went to the supermarket and saw soone put TWO copies in their cart! I asked why. He said one was to keep, and one was to read until it fell apart! I swear to God, I've never seen a book sell like this in my LIFE!"
Takuya listened quietly, the smile at his lips deepening.
Kalinske paused to breathe, then his tone shifted to rueful admiration.
"Honestly, Takuya—I owe you an apology. After we left Spielberg's office that day, I was happy, sure, but also nervous. Licensing a book that hadn't even been published yet… I wondered if the California sun had fried your brain."
Another pause—full of dawning awe.
"But now? I get it. You weren't crazy. I was blind! Our legal departnt reviewed the contract yesterday. Those lawyers—those guys who normally nitpick commas—were looking at you like you were Moses coming down the mountain. They said if we tried to negotiate now, we'd have to add another zero to the price—and even then, Crichton and Spielberg might not give us the ti of day!"
"We basically bought a Cadillac for the price of a Chevy!" he declared triumphantly.
"I just had faith in a story that was imaginative and new," Takuya replied lightly.
"Oh, spare ," Kalinske snorted. "Your kind of faith is worth more than gold on Wall Street."
"Well, it only matters if we turn it into actual profit." Takuya's tone shifted. "Tom, the novel is only the first wave. We're going to push it higher. My plan: the first Jurassic Park ga will be an arcade title."
"Arcade?" Kalinske blinked—then slapped his leg so hard the phone picked up the crack. "Yes! Arcade! Before the movie drops, we hook everyone with the arcade ga! Let them feel the dinosaurs! That's brilliant!"
"Let players line up at theaters and, right next door, get chased by a T-Rex in a ga."
Takuya chuckled. "That's called building anticipation."
"No—that's called making a killing!" Kalinske yelled. "I can already hear Arican teens feeding quarters into the machine! Takuya, don't worry—once you finish the ga, I'll blanket every arcade in the country with it!"
"I'll count on you." Takuya hung up.
---
He imdiately dialed an internal extension.
"Director Takahashi."
A steady middle-aged voice answered, "Executive Nakayama, what can I do for you?"
"I need a developnt team," Takuya said bluntly.
A beat of surprise. "For what project?"
"I just secured the ga adaptation rights to an Arican sci-fi bestseller." His fingers tapped the hard cover of Jurassic Park. "Spielberg himself will direct the film."
"Spielberg?!"
Takahashi's voice jumped; even the background noise quieted.
That na carried weight in any entertainnt industry.
"I want an elite team," Takuya continued. "People good at side-scrolling action. Hard-hitting combat. Big, explosive set pieces."
Silence followed—thoughtful, focused.
"…What's the the?" Takahashi finally asked.
Takuya looked at the looming T-Rex skeleton on the cover.
"Dinosaurs. The Arican bestseller Jurassic Park."
Another brief quiet—but this ti, Takuya could almost feel the man's breath quicken through the line.
Spielberg. Dinosaurs. A hit novel.
Anyone could see what that ant.
"Interesting." Excitent crept into Takahashi's voice. "Let check the teams."
He set the receiver down. Tapping followed—fierce, rapid keystrokes like rainfall.
A full minute later, he picked up again.
"How about the Golden Axe team?" Takahashi suggested. "Those guys are used to big muscleheads smashing monsters. Give them dinosaurs—they'll probably howl with joy."
Perfect.
"They're working on Golden Axe II. It's in polishing stages now—mostly bug fixes. Earliest they can be free is mid-February."
"That works," Takuya said at once. "They're the ones."
"All right. I'll let their lead know so he's ready."
"No need," Takuya interrupted. "When the ti cos, have them co directly to my office."
Takahashi paused—then understood. Takuya wanted to lead this one personally.
"…Understood."
The office fell quiet after he hung up.
Takuya's gaze drifted back to the book on his desk.
Arcade?
No—
that was just the appetizer.
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