"Excellent."
David Rosen looked up at his subordinate.
"Contact our friendly media outlets."
"It's time to wake up consumers and investors."
He paused, his tone laced with mockery.
"Remember the 'Atari graveyard' in Alamogordo, New Mexico?"
His subordinate caught on immediately.
"You mean…"
"Drop a hint."
David Rosen's smile deepened.
"Say history has a way of repeating itself."
"Warn them to be cautious—such evasive marketing, what's it hiding? Don't let another E.T. fiasco play out."
He didn't need direct attacks, just a nudge to stir the fear lurking in consumers' and investors' minds.
Atari's corpse was still warm—a potent weapon.
Over the next few days, the media air grew thick with tension.
While most articles questioning the NES's true nature were bought off, sporadic doubts persisted, popping up relentlessly.
Sega's timely "Atari graveyard" narrative was like pouring cold water into boiling oil, igniting public outcry.
"Nintendo NES: Innovation or the Next Atari?"
"Beware! The Ghost of a Game Console in a Gray Box!"
"Alamogordo's Warning: Do We Need Another Console?"
Blazing headlines flooded newspapers and TV screens.
Nintendo of America's phones rang nonstop, and Minoru Arakawa felt unprecedented pressure. Though paying off media worked to an extent, some slipped through. The "Atari graveyard" reminder fueled public backlash, threatening to topple their carefully built defenses.
"We have to do something," Arakawa thought, the situation grim. His fingers tapped the desk, thoughts surging like a tide. Finally, he decided. "Schedule a press conference. I'll handle it myself."
Arakawa swiftly rallied his team, finalizing details for the press conference. Hours later, facing flashing cameras and reporters' microphones, he adjusted his tie, striving to appear composed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming," he said, voice strong, aiming to command the room. Reporters raised mics, eager to fire questions. Arakawa smiled faintly, steeling himself for the challenge.
"Mr. Arakawa, how do you address media doubts about the NES?" a reporter asked, eyes sharp. Arakawa took a deep breath, his tone firm. "Our goal has always been to make the NES a model for family entertainment."
"But some call it deceptive marketing. Your response?" another pressed, unrelenting. Arakawa's brow twitched, but he quickly regained composure. "We've hidden nothing. The NES is a new entertainment system designed to bring joy to families."
"Are you worried negative publicity will hurt sales?" Questions flooded in, sweat beading on Arakawa's forehead, but he forced calm. "I trust consumers will judge with their own eyes. Our product speaks for itself."
Then, a reporter interjected, "Is the 'Atari graveyard' comparison overblown?" Arakawa gave a slight smile, a hint of humor in his eyes. "It's exaggerated, but I hope people see the NES's true value, not past shadows."
As the exchange deepened, the mood eased, and Arakawa's confidence grew. Questions turned rational, some reporters even showing interest in the NES. Arakawa inwardly sighed in relief—his efforts weren't wasted.
"Thank you for your questions. We'll keep working to make the NES the top choice for family entertainment," he concluded, a faint smile on his face, a weight lifting from his chest. Perhaps this press conference could spark a turnaround.
"I know there's been discussion about our Nintendo Entertainment System, even some… misunderstandings."
"I want to stress that the NES is more than a game console."
"It's a groundbreaking family entertainment hub, delivering unmatched interactive experiences."
"We have top-quality game software, crafted by the world's best developers, far beyond the shoddy products of the Atari era."
He tried steering focus to the product, emphasizing its innovation and quality.
But reporters, in an era of Japanese goods flooding America, weren't kind to a Japanese executive. Their tolerance was dollar-driven, and their questions stayed sharp.
"Mr. Arakawa, if it's not a console, why is the launch lineup all games?"
"How can you ensure the NES won't end up like Atari, abandoned by the market?"
"Have distributors reached out to Nintendo?"
"Is 'entertainment system' just a dodge to skirt consumer aversion to consoles?"
Despite Arakawa's best efforts to showcase the NES's appeal and Nintendo's sincerity, doubt, once planted, was hard to uproot.
Many media and consumers still saw Nintendo's explanations as insincere, a clever word game.
At Nintendo's Kyoto headquarters, Hiroshi Yamauchi listened to Arakawa's dejected report and complaints about media and competitors, his face impassive.
When Arakawa finished, Yamauchi spoke coldly.
"Enough."
Two simple words silenced Arakawa on the other end.
"Media noise is normal when someone's pulling strings."
Yamauchi's voice betrayed no emotion.
"Ignore Sega's petty moves."
"You think a few articles can stop Nintendo?"
His tone carried disdain.
"Promotional setbacks happen because they haven't experienced the NES's fun."
"Words are weak. Games are our strongest weapon."
Yamauchi's clarity was razor-sharp.
"Stop wasting energy on media."
"Organize offline NES demo events now."
"Let players and retailers touch, see, and play Super Mario Bros. themselves!"
"Let word-of-mouth speak."
"Let players' awe and joy drown out the doubts."
Yamauchi hung up, his gaze piercing.
A PR battlefield loss was a mere ripple.
The real victory hinged on the product itself.
He believed that once players experienced the NES's charm, all negative publicity would crumble.
The North American storm was just beginning.