Yoshikawa leaned back in his chair and exhaled a long sigh, his tone laced with mockery. "Kid, you're getting better at dumping problems on . Tell , what's next—a rally racing ga where I have to invite every automaker in the world and host a 'Sega Cup'?"
It was just a sarcastic quip, ant to poke fun at Nakayama Takuya's boundless imagination.
But Nakayama's eyes genuinely lit up.
"Hm?" He leaned forward, staring intently at Yoshikawa. "Director Yoshikawa, how did you guess my next project is a rally ga? I really am planning one. I'll probably need your help again when the ti cos. Unfortunately, the technology won't be mature enough for a proper rally title for a few more years. Sha."
Yoshikawa's smile froze solid.
He pointed at Nakayama, mouth agape, unable to utter a word.
He's got to be joking… No—those eyes. He's dead serious.
How did a throwaway complaint suddenly beco this guy's actual roadmap?
A brief, heavy silence filled the office. Yoshikawa felt his blood pressure creeping upward.
Finally, he waved a defeated hand.
"Fine, fine—you win. You scare ." He set the F1 proposal on the desk. "I know people at Honda. I'll reach out first. As for your rally ga… please don't give the details yet. Let breathe."
Working with this kid was murder on the heart.
Every insane sche paid off spectacularly in the end, but the ride was brutal.
"Then I'll count on you." Purpose achieved, Nakayama stood crisply, bowed, and left the office.
By the ti he returned from Yoshikawa's office, twilight was edging the windows.
He stretched, ready to grab his briefcase and head ho, when the internal phone rang inconveniently.
He answered. Tom Kalinske's trademark booming voice burst through, brimming with energy as if he'd chugged a liter of cola.
"Hey, Takuya! Got so news—might not be huge. Those NEC guys are pulling a stunt in North Arica."
Kalinske summarized: NEC and Hudson had ford a new company called Turbo Technologies Inc. and released an all-in-one unit called the TurboDuo, rging the console and CD drive.
"All-in-one? Convenient, I guess," Takuya remarked offhand.
"Convenient but pointless," Kalinske snorted. "Their distribution is a disaster, marketing a joke. This move screams desperation."
"TurboDuo…" Takuya paused, rummaging through mory until it clicked—the moribund PC Engine.
He laughed. "Tom, you're still watching that corpse? I thought we'd buried it already."
"Hey, just doing my due diligence!" Kalinske protested. "They bundled the CD drive, dropped the price a bit. Looks flashy on paper."
"Plenty of flashy garbage out there," Takuya replied, as casually as discussing the weather. "It's still overpriced. Without gas, it's an expensive plastic brick. We tolerated it once because it annoyed Nintendo. Mission accomplished. Don't waste another second on it."
Back in the ga Drive days, the PC Engine had indeed helped fracture Nintendo's third-party stranglehold.
But the landscape had shifted. It no longer even qualified as competition.
Takuya pivoted. "Save your energy. Send a couple more people to stake out Trip Hawkins' new outfit. You're all in California—close enough to crash for lunch."
"That na boils my blood!" Kalinske's pitch rose sharply. "Those EA bloodsuckers are getting greedier. They're back again, demanding another point off royalties! Their sports titles sell, sure, but this is blatant extortion!"
"Another royalty cut?" Takuya leaned back, fingers drumming lightly on the desk, voice betraying nothing.
"Let them squawk."
"What?" Kalinske thought he'd misheard.
"Tom, never forget: so wolves can't be dosticated. Feed them all the at you want—they'll still bite. When next-gen hardware arrives and soone bids higher, EA will defect first. It's in their DNA. Trip Hawkins still has deep ties there. The mont his Panasonic console launches, EA jumps ship."
"So we just roll over?" Kalinske grumbled.
"Of course not." Takuya chuckled. "Which is why we stop negotiating. Start scouting promising sports dev teams on your side. We'll build our own. Let Mark Cerny vet the talent. Short on budget? File a report—I'll sign it."
"And reach out to Visual Concepts. EA's kept them down for years. Give them a real shot, and they'll bite."
Three full seconds of silence, then Kalinske erupted in laughter.
"Hah! Knew you had a plan! Great call, Takuya. On it!"
Click.
Sony headquarters—executive conference room.
"That concludes the preliminary results of our talent acquisition initiative."
Ryōji Nakahata closed his folder. His delivery was asured, but the faint upward twitch of his mouth revealed quiet pride.
"Though we t resistance on a few top producers, we successfully brought in over one hundred seasoned developers from Sega, Konami, Namco, and others.
They crave a fresh, unrestricted platform to unleash their full potential."
Beside Norio Ohga, Nobuyuki Idei tapped the table lightly.
"Nakahata-kun, forgive the directness, but I reviewed the list. Not one na qualifies as an industry star. For this budget, we've assembled… a second-string battalion?"
The blunt question hushed the room.
Nakahata's smile faltered briefly before steadying.
"Idei-san, stars aren't born—they're forged by the platform. Provide a stage for miracles, and future stars will rise from these ranks naturally."
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