Takuya Nakayama reached under the podium and pulled out a uniquely shaped controller, waving it in the air. "Of course, the Dog Tags you earned in the arcade," he said, "can also be read by the Jupiter. This mory card uses the sa standard specifications as the Jupiter's. Your rank, your paint sches—they all co ho with you."
Ken Kutaragi stared intently at the controller, his fingernails digging into his palms. Sega was completely transplanting the arcade ecosystem into the living room. Though Sony and Namco had similar collaborations, Sega's gas had already been released, and The Fast and the Furious had gained an edge over Namco's Ridge Racer.
But this was rely the appetizer.
The screen went black. After a few seconds of silence, a crisp "Sega" sound effect echoed through the room.
A blue hedgehog zipped through a 3D rendered Green Hill Zone.
Though the perspective was pseudo-3D, the breathtaking sense of speed and the seamless cara transitions left everyone holding their breath.
Sonic 3D was the mont Sega's mascot finally broke free from the shackles of 2D.
A vast starry expanse followed.
The title Phantasy Star III slowly materialized.
Gone were the crude pixelated dialogue boxes. Toshihiro Nagoshi's cinematic direction lent this RPG the grandeur of a blockbuster.
Characters traversed pseudo-3D environnts viewed from a 45-degree angle, light and shadow flowing with their steps. Coupled with fully voiced narrative performances, an epic atmosphere washed over the audience.
Before the crowd could recover from the shock of the space opera, the style abruptly shifted.
A flat, paper-thin Pikachu squeezed through a door crack, then "popped" back to its full form like an inflated balloon and gave a peace sign to the cara.
The audience erupted in gasps, followed by warm laughter.
Paper Pokémon Adventure's unique paper-cutout art style, set against the backdrop of 3D lighting and shadows, looked exceptionally refined. This "clever" innovation stood out like a breath of fresh air amidst the screen full of hardcore polygons.
"Finally, we have a ga with a rather unique style," Takuya Nakayama said with a faint smile, pressing the laser pointer in his hand.
The lights dimd abruptly, and the piercing wail of a shakuhachi flute tore through the air.
On the screen, the dark night of Heian-kyō was eerie and terrifying. A samurai drew his blade, the steel leaving afterimages as it cut through the air.
He didn't flinch before the massive, one-eyed yōkai. Instead, a strange demonic energy erupted from his body, transforming him into an oni as he brought down his blade in a single, decisive strike.
The mont the blade bit into flesh, the background music abruptly changed.
The driving rock score gave way to a deep, resonant enka male voice, accompanied by the thunderous roar of taiko drums, wailing about the impermanence of fate.
The blend of tragic grandeur and resolute determination, combined with exaggerated, ukiyo-e-style blood effects, sent a shiver down the spine.
Demon Samurai.
Makoto Uchida and his team had truly captured the dark, Hyakki Yagyō-esque atmosphere.
When the demo ended, the Peacock Hall fell silent for a full three seconds before erupting in thunderous applause.
Takuya Nakayama stood center stage, basking in the clamor of victory.
"All of the gas shown today will launch with the Jupiter. The rest will follow within four months of release," he said, spreading his hands and sweeping his gaze across the room at the flushed-faced, red-necked distributors and players. "With Sega's Jupiter, you won't have to wait for gas to co out. Players will always have sothing great to play."
Ken Kutaragi slumped back in his chair, staring at the young, energetic man on stage, the bitterness coating his mouth.
Is this Sega's trump card?
Kutaragi's throat went dry as he fixated on the frozen image on the screen.
This isn't a press conference—it's Takuya Nakayama parading Sega's entire arsenal across the stage.
Fighting gas, racing gas, RPGs, action-adventure titles, even those peculiar Japanese folklore thes—nothing had been left out.
The lineup included both the vanguard that had already proven its ttle in arcades and genres that could only truly shine on ho consoles.
The barrage of announcents ca so relentlessly, so suffocatingly, that it left one gasping for air.
Sony's vaunted "electronic entertainnt empire" now looked like an unfinished model ho—glossy on the outside, but hollow within, compared to this solid, tangible array of gas.
He instinctively glanced at Masaya Nakamura of Namco, seated not far away.
Nakamura was staring blankly at the rapidly switching ga trailers on the big screen, likely already calculating how to make the Tekken developnt team work overti.
That's the gap.
Sony still had to smile and beg third-party manufacturers with money in hand to make gas, while Sega, on the other hand, could fill their tables with gas all on their own.
These madn, who had clawed their way out of the smoky, haze-filled arcades, knew exactly how to make players willingly part with their coins—or rather, their cash.
Couldn't match the hardware specs? No problem. Sega simply raised the bar for the gaming experience to the ceiling with its first-party titles.
This was the confidence that allowed Takuya Nakayama to hand the invitation to Kutaragi.
Compared to cold, polygonal data, this deeply ingrained gaming DNA was what truly made Kutaragi wary.
Even if Sony lost Columbia Pictures down to the last cent, they couldn't buy sothing like this.
The applause in the hall finally dwindled to sporadic claps, but the air grew even more charged.
The executives in the front row, though their expressions remained calm, were already calculating their next moves.
This "arms display" by Takuya Nakayama had not only stunned Kutaragi but also put subtle pressure on all the third-party manufacturers present.
A player's appetite, once whetted, could never be satisfied again.
After experiencing the visceral thrill of hand-to-hand combat and the imrsive realism of racing gas that even simulated suspension rebound, who would still buy half-baked products with misaligned textures?
Masaya Nakamura of Namco stared at the lingering afterimage of Virtua Fighter 2 on the screen, his face as dark as the bottom of a pot.
Namco's pride and joy, Tekken, was still in developnt. They had initially thought the polygon count was sufficient, but compared to Akira Yuki's rippling martial arts uniform, their characters looked like blocky figures fighting.
Kazumasa Kozuki, sitting nearby, stopped fanning himself with his folding fan.
The ga Demon Samurai, with its eerie, Hyakki Yagyō-inspired atmosphere, also posed a significant threat to Konami's Castlevania.
"Sega is simply making it impossible for us to survive," Kozuki sighed, already calculating how to increase the developnt budget for Winning Eleven by another 30 million.
Kenzo Tsujimoto of Capcom reacted with his usual stoicism. He had co prepared for this. As long as the new console's sales stayed above the breakeven point, they would simply follow suit with developnt. After all, Capcom never lacked good ideas.
Further back, Hironobu Sakaguchi, Square's Developnt Departnt head and a semi-insider at Sega, adjusted his glasses, his eyes gleaming with excitent.
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