As Smith's electrifying performance concluded, the pulsating music cut off abruptly, leaving only the faint hum of cooling fans and the heavy breathing of the captivated audience. Smith leapt off the arcade machine, his face alight with exhilaration, flashing a triumphant gesture toward the control room.
Young staff clustered in twos and threes, cheeks flushed with excitement, animatedly mimicking Smith's signature moves, sparking bursts of good-natured laughter.
The air crackled with infectious energy, like champagne bubbles rising endlessly.
The executives reconvened at the bar area, their excitement tempered but eyes still gleaming.
Chuta Mitsui lifted his barely touched coffee, now lukewarm. He took a sip, his gaze sweeping over the animated faces before settling on the now-silent arcade machine, still radiating an almost tangible aura.
"Everyone," he began, his voice carrying a subtle tremor, breaking the brief hush of reverie, "this groundbreaking product—no, this work of art—deserves a name that resonates, a name that defines a trend."
Director Yoshikawa nodded emphatically, his usual stern demeanor replaced by a childlike eagerness. He leaned forward, hands clasped on the bar, like a kid awaiting a new toy.
"Exactly! A name that sticks in your mind, one you can't help but shout!"
As if by silent accord, the bar area fell quiet, all eyes converging on the young man at the center.
They awaited another miracle from the one who'd already delivered.
Takuya Nakayama felt the weight of their expectations, yet it fueled his resolve.
Then, with clear, forceful conviction, he declared, "I propose we call this game—*Dance Dancer Revolution*!"
*Dance Dancer Revolution*!
The English title, delivered in Takuya's crisp Japanese pronunciation, felt seamless, exuding a cosmopolitan flair and trendy edge.
Sony Music President Shigeo Maruyama slapped his thigh reflexively, his eyes blazing brighter than before.
"*Dance Dancer Revolution*!"
He repeated it, testing different intonations, each rendition amplifying the name's magnetic pull.
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! It's vibrant, youthful, commanding attention!"
He was nearly dancing himself, his grin wider than during Smith's performance.
"It's a declaration—'Dance Revolution'!"
The other executives nodded, faces beaming with approval.
The name captured the game's core while radiating a bold, trendsetting swagger. *Dance Dancer Revolution* took root in their minds like a living entity.
With the name settled, the room's energy surged to a new peak.
Discussion naturally shifted to the game's content creation and market strategy—the key to turning this "art" into gold.
Maruyama, as Sony Music's head, took the lead, his excitement uncontainable, his voice an octave higher than usual.
"Nakayama-san, Sony Music will back *Dance Dancer Revolution* with full force!"
He gestured emphatically, as if already envisioning platinum records and thronging crowds. "Our entire music catalog, including upcoming hits, will prioritize DDR. We'll rally our artists—superstars and rising talents alike—for choreography and promotion!"
Takuya responded with a measured smile and a nod. He knew Sony Music's clout; their support carried immense weight.
As Maruyama's fervent pitch wound down, Takuya took the floor, his tone deliberate.
"Maruyama-san's commitment lays a rock-solid foundation for DDR's success."
He paused, his words thoughtful.
"For song selection, tracks like 'Bad'—high-skill, explosive—set a professional benchmark for core players. But we must also target niche markets, particularly—"
His gaze locked onto Maruyama, exuding confidence.
"Young female players."
The executives' faces turned pensive. Arcades were male-dominated—fighting, shooting, racing. DDR's high-energy performance seemed tailored to street-dance-loving, skill-chasing men. Takuya's suggestion opened a new frontier.
"We can incorporate songs and dances from popular female idol groups," Takuya elaborated, his voice steady, logical, persuasive.
"Their choreography may lack the complexity of top dancers, but it's youthful, charming, and easier to mimic, aligning with young girls' tastes. This lowers the entry barrier, drawing them in—perhaps even for their favorite idols."
A knowing smile curved his lips.
"Once female players gain traction, their social nature kicks in, pulling in friends and classmates. One girl starts playing; soon, it's a group. They'll form communities—sharing high scores, discussing new tracks, meeting at arcades. And," he added with a sly edge, "where cute girls go, boys follow. I'm sure you veterans know this better than I do."
His words rippled like a stone in still water. The male executives paused, then broke into knowing, slightly sheepish grins.
Maruyama's eyes gleamed, his mind already picturing Sony's roster of chart-topping or heavily backed female idol groups.
"Nakayama-kun, spot on! Making dance fun for girls unlocks massive potential!"
Seeing his idea land, Takuya pressed forward with another ace.
"Additionally, we can explore IP collaborations, crafting exclusive dance content for beloved franchises."
He paused, gauging reactions.
"For instance, with *Pokémon*, we could design 'mascot dances'—slightly clumsy but irresistibly cute—tied to their theme songs."
He playfully mimicked a mascot's awkward sway, earning warm chuckles.
"Picture Disney's Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck, or North American sports mascots. Their simple, endearing moves are a hit."
His words struck like lightning, shattering conventional thinking.
Executives envisioned Pikachu or Eevee on DDR's stage, dancing adorably to upbeat tunes, charming crowds.
The image was both amusing and brimming with commercial promise—IP holders might even pay Sony for such promotion.
Even the usually stoic Ken Kutaragi's lips twitched upward. How many wild ideas did Takuya's mind hold?
Chuta Mitsui's gaze burned into Takuya, marveling at his uncanny market insight and grasp of player psychology.