Shimizu raised the controller in his hand and explained, "The biggest pain point with playing shooters on a controller is aiming. Since Motoko is a top-tier cybernetic human, her reaction speed should naturally be faster than a human's. Giving players a few seconds of slow-motion to switch targets both fits the setting and lowers the skill barrier. Of course, this ability has a cooldown, so you can't use it constantly." Takuya Nakayama watched Motoko in slow-motion as she continuously headshot three enemies, shell casings clattering to the ground, and couldn't help but snap his fingers.
"Genius design."
"And this," Shimizu said, bringing up the nu interface—a backend interface filled with Cyberpunk aesthetics.
From the duration of the optical camouflage and the scanning range of her cybernetic eyes to the Gatling gun hidden in her arm, every component could be swapped out like car parts in a racing ga.
But what delighted Takuya Nakayama most was the blue, multi-legged tank in the corner—the Tachikoma.
"Can we drive this little guy?"
"It can drive, act as an automated turret, and even hack into enemy cyberbrains," Shimizu said proudly, patting the Developnt Kit. "I've lost two handfuls of hair working on this AI logic."
Seeing his team of enthusiastic veterans, Takuya Nakayama felt a weight lift from his heart.
But his expression quickly turned serious.
"I'm not worried about the gaplay anymore. Let's get down to business." Takuya pointed to the smoking cityscape on the screen. "Mamoru Oshii's theatrical film is coming out this year, probably around the end of the year. I've seen so of the art design—it's incredibly oppressive, dark, and even philosophical. Our ga can't just be a simple shooter."
He pulled a business card from his briefcase and placed it on Shimizu's keyboard.
"Regarding the script, I've already spoken with Kodansha. We're bringing in Masamune Shirow himself as supervisor. Every line of dialogue and cybernetic body setting must be approved by him. I don't want players to feel like this is so kind of fan work that's just using the na as a hook."
"The original author himself?" Sh Shimizu's smile froze. He clearly foresaw the impending hell of overti.
"And the music," Takuya Nakayama added, driving the point ho, "Don't just use so stock electronic tracks. Go straight to Kenji Kawai. Our ga's music needs to be on par with the film's to maximize the player experience."
Shimizu stared at the business card, then at the handso image of Motoko on the screen, before finally sighing and scratching his head with a wry smile. "Managing Director, you're really pushing us to the brink. The budget—"
"I'll approve the budget. I'll even give you the contacts." Nakayama patted Shimizu's shoulder, turned, and walked toward the door. "Just focus on building this Cyberpunk world for . If we nail this, this ga will beco the textbook for all future sci-fi action titles."
Back in the Executive Office, a stack of developnt proposals collected by the assistant from the Developnt Departnt lay on the desk.
He casually flipped open the top one: a spin-off of Puyo Puyo, followed by Hanafuda Club from so unknown team.
These were all guaranteed money-makers, no doubt. A significant portion of Sega's cash flow ca from these seemingly minor projects.
But could these things really hold their own on the main stage in Los Angeles?
The scene was too beautiful to behold.
Imagine this: on Sega's main E3 stage, the screen is showing "Match three bubbles for 100 points."
Even if the dia below were being polite, they'd be cursing under their breath.
After reviewing all the proposals, Takuya Nakayama pushed the stack of papers to the edge of the table and told his assistant, "These won't be featured on our main stage."
The assistant, who was about to file them under "Pending," paused. "Managing Director, these are all filler titles for the first half of next year. If we don't promote them—"
"Who said we won't promote them?" Nakayama interrupted. "I ant don't let them hog the main stage. Every square ter of the E3 booth costs a fortune in dollars. The main stage is reserved for our major titles—only gas that will excite and anticipation deserve a spot there."
"Instead, set up a concept art wall on the periphery of the exhibition hall or near the rest areas. Select the best concept art and illustrations from these gas, turn them into a gallery, and display them. That'll let players know we're still working on these smaller projects."
"But won't that seem... too basic?"
"That would only highlight how many Sega gas there are," Takuya Nakayama said, waving his hand. "Besides, putting these projects in such prominent positions would only distract the players and make Sega seem unfocused."
Sega's lineup was already impressive, but this was IDSA's first major show. If Sega were the only one on stage, the E3 would beco a re Sega press conference, undermining the original goal of rallying the lords of the realm to "join forces and make the event a grand success."
More importantly, if the third-party manufacturers still approached this with the sa "free vacation to Arica" mindset they had at CES, bringing only scraps of ported content to muddle through in Los Angeles, this first shot wouldn't just miss the mark—it would backfire spectacularly.
Nakayama pressed the intercom button on his desk and called in the head of the External Relations Departnt, who was responsible for IDSA liaison.
"Let's give the association mbers a heads-up," Nakayama said, stroking his chin. "No formal letters—those are for outsiders. Privately call the heads of the most influential third-party companies: Namco, Capcom, Koei, and Konami. Arrange for key personnel to contact the other third-parties as well."
The Head of the External Relations Departnt pulled out his notebook, his pen hovering over the paper. "Managing Director, what's our official stance?"
"Tell them that the first E3 is three months away. We hope all mber associations will prepare diligently to showcase impressive works at the inaugural event. This will ensure E3 makes a splash and solidifies its position as the industry's premier exhibition."
"If we fail, all our ga manufacturers will be forced to endure the humiliation of returning to CES. I'm sure no one wants to go back to that."
The departnt head quickly jotted down Takuya Nakayama's instructions. After a mont's hesitation, he asked, "The speaker for the E3 opening ceremony hasn't been finalized yet. What do you think?"
His pen froze mid-air, leaving a small ink blot on the paper.
"By tradition, as the main sponsor, you should give a few remarks. Alternatively, Mr. Kalinski from our Arican branch would be a good choice. Failing that, Sony's Executive Director Idei is also a strong candidate, given the current montum of the PlayStation."
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