Reborn in the Golden Age of Gaming: I Became the Prince of Sega Chapter 42 42 - Ripples and Momentum

Tokyo, Ota Ward, Namco headquarters.

Masaya Nakamura stood before the president's office's large floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the bustling streets below.

Reports of Fatal Fury's ani premiere and its "second wave" arcade frenzy reached his desk first thing.

The "unprecedented" gaplay tutorial at the ani's end was bolded in the report.

Morning sunlight stread through the glass, yet it couldn't dispel the shadow in Nakamura's heart.

Compared to the tepid market response to Namco's Famicom Pac-Man, Sega's scene blazed like wildfire.

The stark contrast—ice versus fire—stirred a heavy mix of frustration and reluctance in him.

Nintendo's "precise" snipe not only failed to dent Sega but made Fatal Fury shine brighter, like a clumsy clown spotlighting the star.

Sega… no, Takuya Nakayama, had found a new path.

A magic conduit channeling ani, manga, and all entertainnt hype into the ga, converting it into revenue and player loyalty with pinpoint efficiency.

And Namco?

Still tiptoeing on Nintendo's track, unable to innovate with its classic IP without Kyoto's approval, reduced to a pawn on their board.

Nakamura turned silently from the vibrant streets.

On his desk lay a request for Nintendo's approval of Pac-Man's follow-up promotions, mocking him wordlessly.

Late January, Osaka.

Konami headquarters, president's office, heavy atmosphere.

President Kagemasa Kozuki's gaze fixed on a sales report.

A chart for their shooter TwinBee.

Released January 4, its sales climbed steadily, as expected.

But post-January 11, the curve plunged, tracing a sharp, ongoing decline.

His eyes drifted past the window to a bustling comrcial district. Arcade halls there displayed large Fatal Fury posters. He felt the market storm Fatal Fury unleashed, its heat perating Osaka's air despite the distance.

In the office, Konami executives sat rigidly.

Kozuki's fingers tapped the desk rhythmically. "Fatal Fury's montum is fiercer than we expected," he said, voice calm but weighty.

"Arcade, ani, tutorials—Sega's combo is precise, with phenonal impact."

He paused, scanning the room. "Their target—teens—overlaps heavily with our upcoming Famicom gas."

Konami's efforts couldn't be drowned out as background noise in soone else's celebration.

Kozuki's eyes hardened, deciding. "Delay Goonies, Circus Charlie, and, most critically, Gradius's Famicom versions, all planned for the first half."

"How long?" an executive asked cautiously.

"Half a month to a month, depending on the market. At least until early April, after Fatal Fury's ani ends."

His tone was resolute. "We avoid Fatal Fury's sharpest phase."

Decision made, the executive handling Nintendo liaison dialed Kyoto.

He explained Konami's adjusted release plan, citing market strategy to dodge Fatal Fury's impact.

The Nintendo contact's voice ca through, emotionless but faintly cold. "Oh?"

A simple question, laced with subtle chill. "Just one competitor's market move shakes your confidence in your flagship, especially Gradius?"

The voice stayed neutral but struck hard. "President Kozuki should know our generous royalty reductions for Konami rest on trust in your products' strength and market pull."

The tone turned condescending. "If you retreat from this breeze, we may need to reassess that 'trust' and its 'privileges.'" The call ended.

Not just questioning Konami's resolve, but threatening to tweak royalty terms.

The executive's grip tightened, sweat beading on his forehead. He felt Kyoto's unyielding control.

He reported to Kozuki.

Kozuki's face darkened, silent, fingers brushing the desk's smooth edge.

Nintendo's rules.

Even a thriving Konami had to tread carefully under their gaze.

He waved a hand, acknowledging. For now, endurance.

anwhile, Kyoto.

Nintendo headquarters, Developnt Departnt One, a different scene.

Unlike the external market's chaos and third-party struggles, focus and tension reigned.

Bright lights, air tinged with circuit boards and coffee.

Developers hunched over workstations, keyboards clacking, test equipnt buzzing.

Shigeru Miyamoto sat, ticulously reviewing a final feedback report.

Every datum, every detail, scrutinized.

Satisfied, he signed "The Legend of Zelda - Final Check," pen scratching softly.

The act marked the completion of a highly anticipated work, The Legend of Zelda, flagship for the Famicom Disk System.

Miyamoto leaned back, exhaling, face tired but eyes gleaming.

Footsteps approached. Gunpei Yokoi arrived, grinning broadly.

He picked up the freshly tested Zelda disk, eyes alight with excitent and admiration.

From testing, he'd felt its uniqueness.

Hyrule's vast world, unbound by cartridge limits.

Deep, free exploration gaplay.

Polished visuals and captivating music.

Every detail scread "masterpiece."

Yokoi clapped Miyamoto's shoulder. "Miyamoto, brilliant work!"

His voice brimd with sincere praise and confidence. "This is epoch-defining!"

He shook the disk, eyes bright. "With Zelda anchoring, I'm more confident than ever in our upcoming Disk System!"

"It'll sell big!"

"We'll set a new, unshakable console benchmark!"

Miyamoto, smiling wearily, nodded firmly.

Yes.

No matter the external storms or rivals' tricks, victory rested on solid technology and superior content.

Nintendo's true ace.