The screen remained pitch black, with only a few red polygons flickering in the distance.
He tried to take aim.
There was no lock-on assist, and the crosshair drifted aimlessly against the black background.
The ch's movent had zero inertia; the mont a button was pressed, the Gundam simply slid away.
His roommate wandered over with a bowl of instant noodles and glanced at the screen.
"Why is your Gundam spinning like a top?"
"I don't know, I only nudged the joystick." Sato's face was pale, his fingers still rigidly pressed against the directional keys.
"Which way are you flying?"
"I don't know! It's all black; I can't even tell up from down!"
"Wait, where's the enemy ch?" his roommate asked, pointing to the corner of the screen.
The view swung around, a Zaku's face slamd right into the screen, and then the image went into another wild spin.
His roommate felt his stomach churning.
"Stop playing, just watching this makes want to puke."
Ten minutes later, Sato put down the controller, covered his mouth, and dashed to the bathroom.
Severe symptoms of 3D motion sickness.
"Stop playing, just watching you makes feel sick."
Ten minutes later, Sato put down the controller, covered his mouth, and rushed to the restroom.
A severe case of motion sickness from 3D gaming.
The scene shifted too fast, and with a lack of spatial reference points, the brain's balance system completely collapsed.
Thousands of Gundam fans across Japan experienced the sa tornt that night.
The next morning, as soon as the major ga retailers in Akihabara opened, they were t by angry gars.
"Boss, I want a refund."
"Opened gas cannot be returned or exchanged; that's the rule," the clerk said, pointing to the notice on the wall.
"This is unplayable! I get dizzy and nauseous after ten minutes. You're selling poison!" The player slamd the disc case onto the counter.
Argunts broke out one after another.
With refunds out of the question, many players turned and flocked to second-hand stores.
The manager of Trader Akihabara No. 1 store looked at the line of custors outside and felt a chill down his spine.
Everyone in the line was holding a copy of "Gundam Battlefield Evolution."
"Purchase price: 500 yen," the manager offered, naming an extrely low price in an attempt to turn them away.
"500 is fine, just take it. I never want to see this thing again in my life," the custor agreed without hesitation.
By noon, the shelves of the second-hand store were piled high with this ga.
The price, which had been 4,800 yen at launch, plumted to 1,000 yen, yet it still found no takers.
Before noon, the shelves of the second-hand store were already piled high with this ga.
The price had plumted from 4,800 yen at launch to a re 1,000 yen, yet it still garnered no interest.
A gar who had just failed to return the ga rushed in: "Boss, are you buying Bandai's Gundam?"
The manager pointed to the back: "See for yourself."
The gar peeked and saw dozens of identical ga boxes stacked in the corner.
"This... how much will you pay for it?"
"100 yen. Not a yen more. You can't even use this disc to steady a wobbly table," the manager said irritably.
The gar gritted his teeth: "100 it is! Bandai, give back my hard-earned money!"
By the afternoon, the second-hand store had put up a sign that read: "Gundam Battlefield Evolution Not Accepted."
At Bandai headquarters.
Makoto Yamashina looked at the sales feedback report in his hands.
First-day sales were 100,000 copies, but by the second day, they had plumted to less than 1,000.
Retailers' calls demanding returns had flooded the sales departnt's landlines.
Chuta Mitsui stood in front of the desk, his forehead covered in sweat.
"Is this the answer you've given ?" Yamashina threw the report onto the desk.
Chuta Mitsui wiped away his sweat. "President, the Developnt Departnt has done its best. The threshold for 3D ga developnt is too high, and we lack the necessary talent and engines. To have achieved even this much is already—"
"Already shaless, is that it?" Makoto Yamashina interrupted him. "Go look at the reviews outside! Players are saying we're selling poisonous sludge that makes people throw up! Is this what you call 'space zero-gravity realism'? Players don't even know where they are. Where's the realism? Is it the realism of throwing up in the bathroom?!"
Chuta Mitsui lowered his head, not daring to reply.
"Sega's Gundam Battle Operation is making money and earning a reputation in the arcades, while our own ga has beco the laughingstock of the industry." Makoto Yamashina leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Call the head of the Ga Developnt Departnt here."
"President, the Developnt Manager... he called in sick today."
Makoto Yamashina sneered.
Calling in sick at a ti like this—it was nothing more than hiding away, knowing he was about to get scolded.
"Send out the notice: stop all further shipnts of 'Gundam Battlefield Evolution'. Accept return requests from retailers."
"President, the losses from this————"
"The company will bear the losses. If we don't recall this trash, Bandai's reputation in the gaming industry will be completely ruined." Makoto Yamashina rubbed his temples.
He recalled Takuya Nakayama's previous proposal to rge Bandai's ga division with Sega.
At the ti, he had been hesitant, still wanting to preserve Bandai's dignity.
That dignity had long since been torn to shreds by his own people.
If they couldn't even make a decent 3D ga, what leverage did they have to negotiate with Sega?
The next day, at Bandai headquarters, in the top-floor conference room.
The long conference table was filled with Bandai executives.
On the table lay stacks of docunts; the one on top was the return statistics report for "Gundam Battlefield Evolution".
Makoto Yamashina sat at the head of the table, his fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of his teacup.
The tea had long since gone cold.
"In Akihabara, second-hand stores won't even offer a hundred yen to buy them back," Chuta Mitsui broke the silence, his voice dry.
A few stifled coughs echoed in the eting room.
The Developnt Manager of the gaming division hadn't co today; he had called in sick.
Everyone present knew perfectly well that this "illness" was brought on by fear.
Objectively speaking, Bandai's current financial situation was far better than it had been at this sa point in the previous life.
In 1995, in that previous life, Bandai had partnered with Apple to develop a ga console called the Bandai Pippin Atmark in order to get a slice of the console wars.
That machine was priced as high as 64,800 yen. Bandai's original production target was 500,000 units, but they ended up selling a re 42,000 units worldwide, and the massive losses almost cost Bandai everything they had.
In comparison, in this life, Bandai had only ssed up one ga for a 32-bit console.
The ga dium was optical discs, and the cost of stocking inventory was far lower than manufacturing hardware.
Counting up the damages from this ss, at most it will make the financial report look bad; it won't be a crippling blow.
The real problem lies with morale.
The "Gundam Battlefield Evolution" project was the last chance the entire Bandai company, while holding their noses, granted the gaming division.
Managent didn't even explicitly call it an "ultimatum," which was a gesture of keeping face.
And yet, this group handed in a piece of electronic trash that didn't even know which way was up.
The collapse of confidence was devastating.
"What's the current state of the gaming division?" Makoto Yamashina asked, looking at the HR manager.
The HR manager opened his notebook and reported dryly, "Since yesterday afternoon, employees in Developnt Sections 1 and 2 have essentially been at a standstill. No one is touching the code; everyone is just staring blankly at their desks or packing up their personal belongings. They are afraid to take on any more developnt work. The Technical Director has submitted his resignation, citing that his skills are insufficient to et the developnt demands of the 3D era."
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