Early November at Sega's Third Development Department, the air's intensity didn't fade with the demo's completion—it surged, fueled anew.
The office was no longer just a realm of keyboard clacks.
Instead, escalating debates filled the space, mixed with endless arcade cabinet sound effects—punches, kicks, and character move shouts.
"No way! Terry's Burn Knuckle recovery needs two more frames of lag! Otherwise, Andy's Zan-ei Ken can't effectively pressure!" Group Leader Shimizu jabbed at the screen's data, veins bulging, arguing fiercely with a frowning Yuji Suzuki.
Suzuki slammed the desk, rattling an empty cola can. "Nonsense! More lag? Then how does Terry deal with Joe's Hurricane Upper? He'd be a sitting duck!"
He pointed to a dense character performance comparison chart on scratch paper. "We're aiming for balance, not gutting a character's core playstyle!"
"Then don't turn Andy into a punching bag for projectiles!" Shimizu shot back.
"Joe's jump attack hitbox is too big—testing showed issues!"
"That's low priority. Fix Geese's Counter Throw first!"
Such arguments erupted daily across the office. Around Terry, Andy, and Joe—characters taking shape—discussions on frames, distances, and hitboxes were pixel-precise. Some insisted Andy's Shoryuken had too few invincibility frames to counter aerials; others argued Terry's Crack Shoot hitbox extended too far, creating unfair pressure. Each defended or tweaked parameters based on their character understanding and countless tests.
Core developers huddled around the arcade or parameter-filled screens, debating move hitboxes, damage values, startup speeds, recovery lag, even jump heights and airtime. The atmosphere was as lively as a marketplace, brimming with techie obsession and rigor. They knew each tiny tweak could ripple, reshaping character roles and player strategies.
Takuya Nakayama lingered on the debates' edges.
He no longer demoed at the controls or gave specific tweak suggestions. Instead, he listened and observed. When arguments hit stalemates, he'd casually toss out questions.
"What's the ripple effect of this tweak on other moves or matchups?"
"Is our 'balance' about identical performance or distinct strengths and counters?"
"Could new mechanics address imbalance instead of just tweaking moves?"
His questions calmed heated debaters, prompting broader perspectives on their goals. Shimizu, Suzuki, and others grew quickly through these clashes, moving beyond mere functionality to explore fighting game design's deeper logic—mastering the art of balance, grasping Takuya's emphasis on "strategic depth" and "player choice."
This was Takuya's goal: fostering leaders, not just order-followers. Sega's future couldn't rely on him alone.
Entrusting balance tweaks and Andy Bogard and Joe Higashi's integration to Shimizu and Suzuki, Takuya shifted focus.
His desk held Fatal Fury documents and a locked hardcover notebook. During meeting breaks or late-night overtime, he sketched odd diagrams—not characters or scenes, but electronic component layouts with toy-like outlines, simple yet intricate.
This notebook's contents remained private. It was a seed for Sega's new frontier beyond consoles and arcades—a subtle foreshadowing of a grander plan.
Mid-November, North America.
Thanksgiving neared, the air buzzing with pre-shopping season excitement. At Nintendo of America (NOA) in Redmond, the mood was electric.
In the president's office, Minoru Arakawa gripped the phone, brimming with excitement. On the other end, in Kyoto, was his father-in-law, Hiroshi Yamauchi.
"Yes, Father! NES sales are soaring!" Arakawa's voice radiated confidence.
"Based on channel feedback and data, we're confident we'll hit one million units by year-end!"
One million units—a miracle in a post-Atari-crash North America. It signaled Nintendo, under Arakawa, had brought video games back to American living rooms. With Super Mario Bros. and other strong launch titles, NES dominated the home console market's narrative.
A brief silence followed, then Yamauchi's low, authoritative voice. "Good. What about Sega?"
His tone hid emotion, but the question betrayed basic wariness of his old rival.
Arakawa was ready. "Sega? Besides their Tetris handheld, Master System shipments are negligible, their market share practically zero." His tone was light, with a hint of disdain. Despite Master System's technical edge, Arakawa knew consoles hinged on content and ecosystem. Sega lacked third-party support and robust marketing.
"Our intelligence shows they pose no real threat in the console market here."
"Hm," Yamauchi grunted, unsurprised.
"Then don't waste energy on them now," he said decisively. "Focus on strengthening NES's user base and expanding our game library to hold this core ground." His words carried strategic caution and pragmatism. "As long as we avoid mistakes, Sega's little moves in Japan won't make waves."
His "little moves" referred to Fatal Fury's buzz in Japanese gaming and anime magazines.
To Yamauchi, it was Sega's struggle in their home market—far from threatening Nintendo's North American dominance.