Reborn in the Golden Age of Gaming: I Became the Prince of Sega Chapter 510 507: Flexing Our Muscles

The ga's fundantal quality, as demonstrated by the machine, had all but shattered Bandai's hopes of catching up through their own Developnt Departnt.

"Let's go. Father already made a reservation at Tsukiji Jisaku," Takuya Nakayama said, checking his watch.

The group drove to the traditional Japanese restaurant.

Nakayama Hayao was already seated on the tatami mat, a warm cup of sake before him.

When Makoto Yamashina entered, the head of Sega showed no airs. He laughed heartily and rose to greet him.

"President Yamashina, it's been a while. Your golf skills at the course last ti left quite an impression."

"Not at all, President Nakayama, you flatter ," Yamashina replied politely, his gaze sweeping over the father and son as he sat down.

The elder was like a crouching tiger, the younger like a cunning fox. Sega's current montum was truly unstoppable.

Throughout the al, exquisite kaiseki cuisine was served in a flowing procession.

Takuya Nakayama made no ntion of the black machine or the "rger" proposal from long ago that had so rattled Yamashina. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves, diligently poured sake for the elders, and filled the air with amusing anecdotes from the United States.

"Mr. Turner's steaks are certainly generous, but the flavor is so crude—I felt like throwing up after just two als," Takuya Nakayama said, picking up a slice of sea bream sashimi, dipping it in soy sauce, and savoring the taste. "Nothing beats the taste of ho. President Yamashina, I heard you're planning a trip to the United States soon for an inspection?"

Makoto Yamashina's chopsticks paused montarily before resuming their rhythm. "Yes, I do. After all, Takuya has built such a great stage for us—we should at least see the play."

"Absolutely," Nakayama Hayao chid in, raising his glass with a bold, assertive air. "The young people today are much more daring than we were. I heard about that Cartoon Channel project—he did well, but it still relies on Bandai's toys for monetization. Licensing animation alone doesn't bring in much. Co, let's toast to Gundam's success in Arica."

"Cheers."

Amidst the clinking of glasses, Chuta Mitsui couldn't resist interjecting, leaning forward slightly. "President Nakayama, that new Gundam project—it's truly..."

"Ah, let's not talk business over a al," Nakayama Hayao said, waving his hand to cut off Mitsui. His smile remained, but it carried an undeniable authority. "Today is simply a gathering of old friends. Let the subordinates worry about work. Our old bones should be enjoying themselves. I hear this restaurant's sake is specially reserved. Mitsui-san, care to try it?"

This was a masterfully executed Tai Chi move.

Chuta Mitsui swallowed the complint he was about to utter, his face flushing slightly from the effort. He could only awkwardly lift his sake cup.

Makoto Yamashina, anwhile, cast a deep glance at Takuya Nakayama, who was intently peeling shrimp.

This isn't about not talking business at all.

That machine earlier was about Prestige; this al was about Favor.

Sega had established a technological barrier, telling them, "Only we can build this," while dangling the profits of the US market, promising them, "Follow us, and you'll get a share of the spoils."

Silence, in this case, was more unsettling than conversation.

The al ended with everyone seemingly satisfied—at least on the surface.

They chatted about horse racing, golf, and the new club in Ginza, but never once about gas or business acquisitions.

After seeing the Bandai duo off, Takuya Nakayama stood at the entrance of the restaurant, loosened his tie, and let out a long sigh.

"How'd it go?" Nakayama Hayao stood behind him, his amiable older brother facade fading slightly, his eyes sharp. "Judging by Yamashina's expression, he won't be sleeping well tonight."

"The timing's right," Takuya Nakayama said, watching the taillights of the departing car. A faint smile curled his lips. "We've shown them our muscles and given them a taste of the sugar. Unless they want their precious Gundam ga to flop or beco obsolete, they have no choice but to hand over the ga division to us."

"You little rascal, even darker than ," Hayao snorted, turning to walk back, though his tone was full of admiration. "Still, you pulled it off beautifully. If Bandai falls into our hands, that old fox Nintendo will be sweating bullets."

Takuya fell into step with his father, his tone relaxed. "Let him sweat. Once Model 2 and Jupiter gas are successful, and Jupiter's install base surpasses the break-even point, the montum will be unstoppable. Two consecutive successful consoles. Given the global market's growth, their combined sales will easily exceed 100 million units by the end of their lifecycles—spanning over seven years of gars' lives."

"Sega is destined to beco the undisputed leader of the video ga industry. Anyone who doesn't join forces with them will only regret it."

The early spring wind swirled fallen cherry blossoms across the ground, stretching the shadows of father and son into long, elongated figures.

Bandai, like a ripe fruit, was just one more gust of wind away from falling into Sega's basket.

Mid-April.

After six months of developnt, the project codenad 72 Hours After the Disaster was finally ready for pressing.

The Marketing Departnt had been racking their brains to avoid the somber connotations of the word "survival." In the end, Takuya Nakayama made the final decision: the ga would be called Disaster Relief Little Hero.

At that mont, the ga Drive cartridge lay quietly on Nakayama's desk.

The cover featured a two-headed cartoon character wearing a yellow hard hat and an ergency backpack, pointing forward with a serious expression.

"Director Yoshikawa, it seems your PR budget was well spent," Nakayama said, picking up the cartridge and running his fingertip over the list of prestigious endorsing organizations: the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications Fire and Disaster Managent Agency, the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology, and the Kyoto University Disaster Prevention Research Institute.

This long list of nas was practically an immunity charm.

Director Yoshikawa, unable to conceal his smugness, picked up his teacup to moisten his throat. "Managing Director, you have no idea how difficult those bureaucrats are to handle. When they first heard we were making a ga, they shook their heads like maracas, terrified of being associated with 'electronic heroin' and jeopardizing their careers."

"So how did you manage to convince them?"

"As you instructed, I gave them two reassurances." Yoshikawa held up two fingers. "First, that legitimate disaster prevention guidance donation." This money flowed through public welfare accounts, giving them both face and substance. Naturally, they had no complaints about doing the work."

Takuya Nakayama chuckled softly. In any era, funding was the best lubricant.

"The second was your liability waiver clause." Yoshikawa couldn't help but admire the young Managing Director's shrewdness. "We put it in writing in the agreent: if the final review fails or the test feedback is poor, Sega will remove all governnt departnt credits at launch, rena it a purely fictional entertainnt product, publicly release the failed review report, and simultaneously issue a disclair stating that the product has no professional guidance functions."

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