The words "defeat Nintendo" struck like a bolt of electricity, jolting most of the room.
The stagnant air shattered. Skeptical, indifferent, even hostile gazes began to shift. Some eyes widened in shock, unable to believe such bold words came from the president's son; others curled their lips, dismissing it as a pipe dream; but a few, especially the younger employees with fire still burning in their eyes, showed a flicker of something stirred—perhaps long-suppressed agreement, a dormant desire for challenge, or simply a spark of ambition ignited by such brazen, enticing words.
The Third Development Department, a team not at the top of the company's resources or achievements but always eager to prove itself, hadn't heard such an unfiltered declaration of ambition in a long time.
Takuya Nakayama observed the complex reactions, a quiet satisfaction settling in. Good—the spark was lit. Now, it was time to see how brightly it would burn.
Hayao Nakayama stood to the side, watching his son's performance, his face as impassive as ever. Only when Takuya's words landed did he give a barely perceptible nod.
"That's enough for introductions," he said, breaking the brief silence. "Takuya, to the meeting room."
He turned and led the way, leaving behind a room of employees with swirling thoughts and an atmosphere charged with shock and anticipation.
A small meeting, arranged specifically for Takuya Nakayama, was about to begin.
The spacious meeting room was filled, with team leaders and deputies from the development department, as well as heads from marketing, legal, and international business, seated around a long table.
Hayao Nakayama took the head seat, his gaze sweeping the room.
"Takuya, begin."
Takuya Nakayama carefully placed the cardboard box from Ryōji Itō at one end of the table.
Under puzzled stares, he opened it, revealing the rugged Electronika 60.
Then came the transformer and cables.
After some slightly clumsy setup, he pressed the Soviet computer's power switch.
The fan hummed low, the screen flickered, then stabilized, displaying green Cyrillic characters.
He inserted the floppy disk labeled with what seemed to be "Tetris" and typed in commands.
The disk drive clattered.
Seconds later, monochrome blocks began descending slowly on the screen.
The interface was barebones—no background music, no sound effects, just basic movement, rotation, and clearing.
A faint stir rippled through the room, mixed with confused murmurs.
This was the "gift" from the president's son?
Something more primitive than an Atari game?
Takuya Nakayama spoke calmly, his voice carrying clearly across the room.
"What you're seeing is the prototype of this game."
"It's called Tetris, from the Soviet Union."
He briefly explained its origins and launched the computer to demonstrate its gameplay.
As blocks fell, stacked, and cleared, with the speed increasing as the score rose, the room grew quieter, punctuated by intrigued whispers. Several development team members showed clear interest.
Then, under even more puzzled gazes, he shut down the Electronika 60.
With swift movements, he disconnected the old Soviet computer and packed it away. The hum ceased, the screen went dark, like the curtain falling on an era. The murmurs faded, and curiosity reignited as everyone watched his next move.
He turned, placing his MS-DOS laptop on the table and connecting it to a projector. The startup sound hummed to life.
The projection screen lit up, no longer with dull green text but a vibrant, refined game interface. The blocks now had distinct colors, and the background featured subtle decorative patterns.
"This is my improved version, built on that prototype with added features," Takuya Nakayama said, his voice steady but his eyes gleaming with a subtle spark.
He sat, fingers tapping the keyboard. The monotonous Soviet blocks were now vivid—red, blue, green, yellow—creating a striking visual contrast to the earlier green monotony.
Colored blocks fell, noticeably faster than before. A simple yet catchy electronic tune began, its rhythm infectious—an 8-bit rendition of Russian classics like Kalinka and Troika, inspired by the Famicom version from his previous life.
Tap-tap-tap… He swiftly moved and rotated blocks.
Click! A block locked into place.
Swish—ding! A row cleared perfectly, accompanied by a crisp, satisfying sound effect.
The smooth controls, vibrant colors, dynamic music, and sound effects instantly seized everyone's attention. Those who'd found the Soviet prototype dull now leaned forward. This was… interesting. Development team members watched intently, some nodding unconsciously to the music.
This was far more engaging than the primitive version. Whispers began circulating: This kid might actually have something. If he built this himself, his software and hardware skills were impressive.
But Takuya Nakayama wasn't done. He paused the solo demo, his gaze sweeping across the now-focused faces.
"These improvements are just the foundation. I've added a core mode—versus."
He switched modes, and the screen displayed two side-by-side play areas, separated by a line, with scores at the top.
"Versus?" someone blurted out.
"Yes, versus," Takuya explained. "In this mode, clearing two or more lines sends 'garbage lines' to the bottom of your opponent's field, increasing their pressure. The more lines you clear, the more garbage you send."
The developers' eyes lit up. Competition! This was far more thrilling than just stacking blocks!
"Anyone want to try?" Takuya asked, looking at the development team.
They exchanged glances, eager but hesitant to "play a game" in front of the president and executives.
Takuya pointed to two people. "You two, please give us a demo."
The pair froze, then stood, sitting at opposite sides of the keyboard, their expressions a mix of nerves and excitement.
"The rules are simple: last longer to win," Takuya said, hitting the start key.
The intense versus music kicked in!