Takuya took the package, light in hand.
The sender's address was Nerima, Tokyo, with the name clearly written: Masami Kurumada.
He understood.
Thanking the receptionist, he carried the magazines and package into the elevator.
At his spacious, bright desk in the Third Development Department, he set the magazines aside and carefully opened the kraft envelope.
Inside was a pristine Weekly Shonen Jump.
Its cover seized his attention.
Against a deep blue background, a teen in Pegasus Bronze Cloth stood, right fist clenched, left hand shielding, poised for the classic Pegasus Meteor Fist, eyes resolute and powerful.
The cover's boldest spot blared: "Saint Seiya! Lead Color Page! Soaring Popularity! Burn, Cosmo!"
Takuya's face lit with a gratified smile.
He flipped to the lead color pages, diving into this week's chapter.
The story had reached Seiya and others competing for the Sagittarius Gold Cloth in the early Galactic War.
Paneling was noticeably smoother, more dynamic than early chapters.
The art style matured, especially in anatomy and muscle lines—Kurumada had clearly heeded Takuya's phone suggestions, refining his craft.
The pacing balanced intense fights with deeper world-building.
Despite the "butterfly effect" of Takuya's穿越 delaying Saint Seiya's serialization by over a month compared to his past life, its momentum and polish suggested even greater potential.
Good news.
Takuya shifted from Jump to work.
The Legend of Zelda's launch sent shockwaves through the console market, but Fatal Fury's arcade fire still burned.
The anime's weekly broadcasts, with end-of-episode "new character move tutorials," kept adding fuel.
Collaboration with Tatsunoko Studio progressed smoothly.
The season's 13 episodes weren't enough for U.S. TV broadcast.
They were rushing subtitled and dubbed VHS versions.
Sega of America (SOA) had lined up major video rental chains and distributors.
The plan: introduce Fatal Fury's anime and game concept to North America via rentals, sales, and looping playback in Sega's arcades, testing the waters for broader promotion.
Early March, Akihabara's air seemed ignited by Zelda's heat. Electronics and game stores spotlighted FDS and Zelda. Queues had eased, but only due to stock shortages—sales remained strong, less frenzied than launch day but proving Nintendo's hardware and game hit players' needs.
Especially the "save" function.
It unlocked deeper game worlds.
Players weren't confined to one-session clears.
They could freely explore Hyrule's vastness.
Every hidden cave, defeated foe, or new item was faithfully saved.
This sense of accumulation—"sunk costs"—quietly reshaped gaming habits, fostering attachment to the game world.
In contrast, Fatal Fury's arcade craze, while ongoing, felt like short-term, explosive revelry compared to Zelda's "immersion."
Meanwhile, third parties like Konami and Namco grew increasingly anxious.
They watched Zelda's sales climb steadily.
They saw Nintendo's "save" function building an invisible barrier.
Delaying releases dodged Fatal Fury's sharpest edge.
But now, they faced new pressure from Nintendo's console dominance.
Wait longer? Or risk squeezing between Nintendo's twin bombs?
Every choice was fraught.
First weekend of April.
Fatal Fury's anime reached its finale.
Countless players glued to TVs awaited the final boss, Geese Howard's, move list.
Prior tutorials taught Terry and Andy's basic combos, making players arcade standouts.
Skilled players dominated with these moves.
With Geese's unlock method revealed, his move list was the ultimate "secret manual" players craved.
The episode ended. Credits rolled. The familiar tutorial screen appeared. Players held their breath.
But the text stunned them.
"First Sega Esports Tournament!"
A massive title, backed by rousing music.
Followed by detailed rules:
"Prefecture-level qualifiers, register at designated arcades!"
"Single-elimination, crowning prefecture teams!"
"Final showdown at Tokyo's Budokan, vying for the first 'Strongest Player' title!"
The news exploded like thunder, detonating the player base.
Move lists? Forgotten!
Sega was holding a nationwide arcade tournament!
At the hallowed Budokan!
Not just a game contest.
It was glory. A chance to prove oneself.
A stage players never imagined.
Arcades hit new crowd peaks.
No longer just for practicing moves or showing off.
Now for training.
For tactics.
For earning a prefecture team spot.
For the Budokan stage.
Some players quit jobs for "national arcade training tours," challenging top players to hone skills.
These tales hit TV news, amplifying Fatal Fury and "esports."
At Sega headquarters, the Esports Tournament Committee buzzed as the arcade liaison manager excitedly reported to members.
"Registrations keep climbing—way past expectations!"
"Arcade owners are begging for more maintenance staff!"
"The tournament's promo impact outstrips anime tutorials!"
Sega's executives felt unprecedented thrill.
They'd thought Fatal Fury's heat would fade post-anime.
Takuya Nakayama's move channeled that heat to a new dimension.
It turned entertainment into competitive, social "events."
This massively extended the game's lifecycle.
And unprecedentedly elevated Sega's image among players.
But as Sega reveled in the esports buzz, Nintendo in Kyoto dropped another bombshell.