He strolled in, his gaze sweeping over rows of noisy arcade machines before heading straight for the densest crowd.
As expected, four brand-new *The King of Fighters* arcade cabinets stood side by side.
To accommodate more spectators, the owner had deliberately spaced the machines far apart, even leaving a large empty area behind them—a luxury in Tokyo's ga centers, where every inch of space was precious.
A young man who clearly looked like a student was frantically shaking the stick, having chosen Kyo Kusanagi. On the screen, a raging inferno sent his opponent, Terry Bogard, flying into the air.
"Whoa—!"
The crowd behind them erupted in gasps.
"See that? That's the basic three-stage super combo! Normal punch into 75-style modified, then land with 108-style Great Serpent Slash!" A player who looked like an upperclassman boasted to his companion, spit flying everywhere as he flaunted his gaming knowledge.
"Is this for real? It's so complicated!"
"This is nothing! I heard so characters have combos that can wipe out a whole health bar in one go! And you can't just focus on one character in this ga—you have to consider team synergies!"
Takuya Nakayama stood on the outskirts of the crowd, listening to these eager, youthful discussions, the smile on his face growing wider.
This was a new era of fighting gas, far removed from the era of *Fatal Fury* where a single character could dominate the screen. This was a new era of strategy, depth, and spectacle.
He saw the player who had just lost, his face etched with stubborn refusal to accept defeat. Instead of cursing, he imdiately pulled out another hundred-yen coin and slamd it into the coin slot with a tallic *clink*.
"Another round! This ti I'll use the Fatal Fury team!"
Takuya's gaze swept across the flushed faces of the crowd—students on sumr break, office workers with their ties undone, even a few heavily made-up high school girls.
All of them were captivated by the small screen, imrsed in this new world of combat.
Suddenly, he noticed that the crowd around the innermost machine was particularly dense, and the atmosphere felt sowhat strange.
Unlike the other noisy machines, this one was shrouded in a restrained silence, erupting only at the end of each match with a thunderous roar of astonishnt.
Curious, Takuya squeezed through the crowd.
What he saw left him speechless.
There were two players, and one of them was standing.
It wasn't because he preferred to play standing up; he was just a kid around ten years old. Even sitting in a chair, he was too short to reach the joystick and buttons.
The arcade owner had thoughtfully placed a sturdy beer crate under his feet, allowing him to stand steadily and play.
The boy's small fra ford a stark contrast with the massive arcade cabinet.
Yet his hands moved with such speed and precision over the joystick and buttons, leaving only afterimages. His movents were flawless, calm, and utterly devoid of any unnecessary gestures.
Takuya focused on the screen.
The kid was using Daigo Manabe, and his opponent's last character was down to a sliver of health, cornered and immobilized.
The boy flicked his wrist, tracing a precise circle with the joystick.
"Heavenly Hellscape Drop!"
On the screen, Daigo Manabe grabbed his opponent and slamd him to the ground three tis in quick succession, each impact shaking the entire screen.
K.O.!
The victory ssage flashed across the screen.
"Whoa—!"
The crowd, long restrained, erupted in a thunderous cheer and animated chatter.
Amidst the clamor, one voice cut through the noise, drifting clearly into Takuya Nakayama's ears:
"That kid Daigo, he's scored a three-in-one for the eighth ti in a row, right?"
"What's so surprising about that?" a regular nearby scoffed. "If he didn't have to go ho for lunch, that coin he put in this morning would still be good. There's no one here who can beat him anymore."
"Really? That little brat?" A newcor's face twisted with disbelief.
"Want to test that? A hundred yen for a lesson."
The newcor shrank back, too intimidated to respond.
Daigo...
When Takuya Nakayama heard the na and saw the boy's face, he suddenly recognized him.
Daigo Uhara!
The legendary player who, in his previous life, was dubbed "The Beast" and single-handedly redefined the pinnacle of competitive fighting ga skill!
Takuya watched the small, expressionless figure silently waiting for the next challenger to insert a coin. An indescribable feeling welled up in his heart.
He was witnessing the very beginning of a legend.
A thought flashed through his mind: *Should I sign him now? Cultivate him as Sega's future e-sports star?*
But he imdiately dismissed the idea.
No.
Daigo Uhara's legend wasn't nurtured in a greenhouse.
His reputation as a "Beast" was forged in countless smoke-filled, seedy ga centers across Japan, coin by coin, through brutal, relentless battles.
Taking him away now would be like raising a future tiger to be a housecat.
It would be a cri against the entire history of gaming.
Yet a hint of relief appeared on Takuya Nakayama's face.
A genius will always find his own path.
His role wasn't to interfere with Daigo's growth, but to build the most dazzling stage at the end of that path—one worthy of global attention—for him and countless other geniuses like him.
The Sega Esports Tournant in late August...
He glanced at the small figure already starting his next match, then quietly slipped away from the crowd.
Back in his office, Takuya Nakayama shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa.
The stifling, mixed scent of tobacco, sweat, and tal from the arcade still lingered in his nostrils.
He approached the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the city illuminated by night. Yet, the image that stubbornly lingered in his mind was that of the boy standing on a beer crate, his gaze as focused as a lone wolf's.
Daigo Uhara.
Takuya Nakayama returned to his desk and opened a project file.
Sega Electronic Sports World Championship
This was the sixth edition of the event.
The file served less as a historical record than as a chronicle of Takuya Nakayama's achievents over the years.
Behind every line of text lay a silent, unseen battle.
The tournant's rules were simple: to maintain freshness and promote new titles, no ga could appear more than two consecutive years.
He quickly scanned the records from previous years.
1988, the second edition.
That year, the entire board thought he was crazy.
To promote a brand-new music ga, he had actually reached out to Sony with a collaboration proposal.
[ Dance Dance Revolution ].
Takuya Nakayama still rembered the astonished expressions of the journalists in the audience when he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a Sony representative at the press conference, announcing the unprecedented joint promotion of a ga by two industry giants.
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