Late April, Sega headquarters, the new project planning seminar was about to begin.
The oval mahogany conference table was crowded, with more faces than usual.
Beyond executive directors and department heads, several shareholder representatives, rarely involved in operations, were present.
Their expressions mixed trust in Takuya Nakayama's track record with subtle scrutiny.
After all, at the last shareholder meeting, this young man's promise of a "new revenue stream" secured critical support for accelerating 16-bit console development.
Now, it was time for him to deliver.
The meeting started methodically.
The game development head briefly reported group progress: Out Run's early demo was complete, and other teams' projects were nearing completion.
Reports done, all eyes turned to the young figure at the table's side—Takuya Nakayama.
He sat upright, gaze calm.
"Thank you all for attending," he said, nodding briefly.
He signaled his assistant to lower the screen. The projector hummed, casting not a game proposal but charts and data.
"We commissioned a third-party study on social trends," Takuya began.
"Data shows that in Japan, fathers spend significantly less time with their children and wives. Housewives often feel lost in repetitive, demanding housework."
"Many families, especially in fast-paced urban areas, face immense parenting pressure but lack the energy to cope. In today's booming economy, people are too busy earning to linger at home."
"Yet, under this social backdrop, people—especially children and housewives—show a strong latent need for emotional connection."
"Pets naturally become a key outlet for emotional release and comfort."
"Studies indicate pets reduce stress and loneliness."
"But raising traditional pets demands time, cost, energy, and expertise, creating barriers for many potential owners."
"Especially for workers and students, who crave companionship but can't bear the responsibilities of real pets."
His tone was steady, laying out findings.
Many executives nodded unconsciously—the data mirrored their own or their families' lives.
The projector switched to warm photos of people with pets, easing the mood.
"Our research further shows that if a 'pet' could provide emotional companionship with minimal real-world care effort, respondents across gender, age, and occupation showed high interest and purchase intent."
The room's atmosphere shifted subtly.
Takuya had deftly steered attention to a seemingly unrelated yet deeply human market need.
The groundwork was set.
He paused, scanning the room, catching the growing curiosity in their eyes.
It was time.
With deliberate care, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out an object.
A palm-sized, red-and-white plastic sphere.
A black band circled its middle, stamped with a simple "SEGA" logo.
Its smooth, rounded design held an odd allure on the table.
"This is the core vessel for addressing that market need."
He gently slid the sphere to the table's center.
All eyes locked onto the unassuming ball.
"This isn't just a toy," Takuya said, a hint of uncontainable excitement in his voice.
"It's the starting point for a new concept—'digital companions,' or, as I prefer, 'Pokémon.'"
"'Pokémon,' a term for these unique digital companions." Per Japanese naming, poké (from "pocket") and mon (from "monster") meant "Pocket Monsters."
Yes, Takuya's half-year secret project was Pokémon—the "world's top IP" from his past life.
"Inside this small sphere live diverse 'companions,' each with unique appearances, personalities, and abilities."
"Users can interact with their ball's 'companion' through simple actions, like 'feeding' or watching growth changes."
"This directly fulfills the deep desire for companionship while drastically lowering the barriers of traditional 'pet care.'"
Here, Takuya mentally apologized to Bandai—his plan preempted their future lifeline, Tamagotchi.
A finance-focused director, unable to hold back, spoke with confusion and caution.
"Nakayama-kun, this… thing. What's its profit model?"
"How does it tie to our arcade and console businesses?"
The core question on everyone's mind.
Takuya, expecting this, smiled confidently.
"Its value goes beyond personal play and companionship."
"A key charm is the 'companions'' vast diversity, sparking strong collecting impulses."
"Once a player owns one, they'll crave more types and abilities, driving continuous consumption."
"More critically, 'Pokémon' has unmatched social and scalable potential."
"I designed this vessel by improving the battle cable interface from Tetris's handheld. We can create a simple cable linking two 'Pokémon' balls."
"Connected, their 'companions' can interact, communicate, or battle on their screens. Imagine two strangers walking dogs—before they speak, their pets are already sniffing and playing."
"In Japan's social culture, this fosters a 'herd effect,' spurring player interaction and a vibrant community ecosystem."
He paused, noting faces shifting from confusion to contemplation, then unveiled a bolder vision.
"Simultaneously, leveraging Pokémon's cute, unique, charismatic designs, we can launch a companion anime series, amplifying its worldview and influence via TV."
He pulled Pokémon designs from his briefcase, projecting them: the first-generation starters—Charmander, Squirtle, Bulbasaur.
The adorable trio captivated the room.
"Based on the anime and Pokémon themselves, we can develop merchandise—stickers, keychains, and the big one: plush dolls."
"You all know the profit margins on such merchandise," he said, eyeing directors whose faces lit up, seeing a cash machine.
"This new model will attract broader audiences beyond our current reach—especially younger kids and women."
"It'll create a new, ongoing, high-margin revenue stream."
"As for ties to our game business, I'll reveal that at the right time."