Late July's sunlight blazed, almost scorching. Cicadas' cries, baked by the heat, grew louder. Tokyo's streets pulsed with summer vacation's vibrant energy. Students in groups spilled out of cram schools, arcades, or ice drink shops, faces beaming with carefree smiles.
Alongside this heatwave, a new gaming craze swept Japan.
Not from the deafening arcade sound systems or flickering TV screens.
But a quieter, fiercer trend—handhelds.
Specifically, Sega's new handheld, preloaded with Tetris.
At first, the craze spread among students.
As vacation began, kids discovered Tetris, once confined to arcades, now pocket-sized.
Its compact body and simple controls were easy to grasp yet irresistibly addictive.
On park benches, under tree shade, even on commuter trains.
Teens hunched over, engrossed in battle.
Kids gathered, no longer chasing or roughhousing, but clutching handhelds, linking via cables to compete in block-clearing skills.
Amid summer activities or part-time jobs, Tetris claimed every spare moment.
The craze soon broke beyond students.
Morning rush-hour trains, once filled with rustling newspapers and sleepy faces, now featured focused figures tapping handheld buttons.
Office workers, in their suits, dove into block-clearing during commutes.
Lunch breaks transformed.
No longer just naps or hurried meals, colleagues swapped Tetris high scores and tips instead of work talk.
Even housewives joined the frenzy.
Between cooking or after lulling kids to sleep, they grabbed handhelds, unwinding in the block world.
The handheld's portability seeped into every corner of society.
From kids to seniors, students to professionals, nearly everyone was swept into the block storm.
By late August, handheld Tetris wasn't just a popular game.
It became a social phenomenon.
Its impact caught the eye of Japan's authoritative NHK.
The broadcaster produced a special report, probing why handheld Tetris sparked such widespread obsession.
They interviewed players of all ages, dissected its addictive mechanics from a game designer's view, and explored its cultural significance from a social psychology angle.
NHK's cameras captured Tetris's omnipresence in Japan.
Kids circled in parks, handheld screens flashing.
Commuters on trains, fingers busy.
Housewives in kitchen corners, escaping chores.
The host's closing remarks were thought-provoking.
"Handheld Tetris may be more than a game—it's a mirror, reflecting Japan's current need for simplicity, focus, and instant gratification. In today's fast-paced life, people crave control and ease in fragmented moments."
Late August, Sega headquarters.
The monthly meeting's atmosphere was electric, unlike any before.
The sales director strode to the stage, brimming with unprecedented excitement and pride.
He cleared his throat, scanning the room, his gaze landing on Hayao Nakayama at the head.
"Everyone, let me report the sales figures for handheld Tetris."
The room fell silent.
All eyes locked on the director.
The air seemed to freeze, only his quickened breathing audible.
"As of late August, handheld Tetris…
Global sales have surpassed…
12 million units!"
A collective gasp filled the room.
Even executives braced for big numbers were stunned.
They'd felt Tetris's popularity in daily life and chatter.
But seeing 12 million units confirmed hit like a thunderbolt.
One month, 12 million units.
A gaming history miracle.
Shock gave way to a boiling atmosphere.
Cheers and congratulations erupted.
Executives swarmed Hayao Nakayama, vying to express awe and praise.
"President, incredible!
12 million in a month—an unprecedented feat!"
"Like father, like son!
Takuya-kun's vision and boldness are astounding!"
"I knew Takuya-kun's plan would succeed!
The fighting game concept has huge potential too!"
Executives once skeptical or dismissive of Takuya's plans now gushed with praise.
Takuya, in a corner, smiled shyly, standing to bow and thank his seniors.
"Thank you for the praise. This is thanks to the company's resources and our team's hard work. I just played a small part."
His humility and poise shone, earning trust.
Hayao Nakayama's face glowed with a proud smile.
Watching his son mobbed by admirers, he felt deep satisfaction.
This wasn't just commercial triumph.
It was proof of his son's ability.
Takuya was no longer just "the president's son."
Through Tetris's arcade and handheld success, he'd cemented his place in Sega's development and marketing realms.
At Nintendo's Kyoto headquarters, Hiroshi Yamauchi caught NHK's special and market feedback.
He learned of handheld Tetris's staggering success and its massive impact on Japan.
The faces of players engrossed in blocks stung him.
12 million units felt like a boulder on his chest, stirring unease.
The handheld market's potential far exceeded his estimates.
But this worry didn't linger.
News from North America soon eased his gloom.
With large-scale NES demo events, Super Mario Bros.'s charm won over players and retailers.
Negative buzz faded, and NES sales in North America surged, gaining early success.
Yamauchi shifted focus back to North America.
For him, consoles remained the core battleground and profit driver.
Handhelds, while noteworthy, were secondary.
He still viewed them as "non-core" and "non-mainstream."
In a later executive meeting, an intriguing report surfaced.