Konami Corporation, President's Office.
Kamizuki Masamasa held a freshly brewed cup of coffee and stood by the tall floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing down at the winter streets of Osaka.
His mood was as clear and bright as the sky outside.
On his desk lay several reports — year-end summaries of the Japanese gaming market's Christmas and New Year sales season.
This year had been a year of abundance and success for Konami.
Contra, Gradius, Jackal, Castlevania, and the chaotic action-RPG Konami World — every single one had performed strongly.
Under Kamizuki's direction, each title had been divided into three separate development teams as soon as the project plans were finalized. These teams worked simultaneously to port the games to the Famicom (FC), Mega Drive (MD), and PC Engine (PCEngine).
To outsiders, this strategy looked reckless — splitting resources and increasing risks across multiple platforms.
But now, the reports on his desk were filled with dazzling numbers — a cascade of sales figures that gleamed like piles of gold coins.
Thanks to Konami's multi-platform strategy, their lineup dominated all three major consoles this holiday season, making them the undisputed star of the industry's year-end battle.
Across magazines and media outlets, the title "King of Third Parties" had quietly been bestowed upon Kamizuki Masamasa.
Other third-party developers were also thriving, each showing off their own strengths.
This Christmas–New Year season had turned into a grand carnival — and the most fascinating part was that all the stars of this festival were third-party companies.
Nintendo, the old giant, had already used up its big titles earlier in the year to fend off the MD's summer surge. Then came the chaos from the collapse of their restrictive third-party system around April and May, which left their schedule in disarray.
By the end of the year, they had no major first-party releases to anchor the season, relying entirely on their massive existing user base to defend their market position.
Sega, the rising challenger, did something even more shocking — they cleared their entire holiday release schedule, handing over the golden sales window to others.
And the PCEngine? Its much-hyped CD-ROM expansion unit turned into a spectacular disaster — a laughingstock that faded into the background.
This strange vacuum in the market gave all third-party studios the perfect opportunity to shine.
When the combined sales data for all platforms finally came in, an invisible storm began to take shape.
Kamizuki's eyes drifted away from Konami's brilliant performance and settled on the total software sales comparison across the three major consoles.
Nintendo's Famicom, with its staggering global install base of over 30 million units, remained the top platform in terms of total software sales.
Like an aging lion, it could still devour the largest share of the market purely by inertia — even while doing nothing.
This was expected.
But when Kamizuki's gaze fell upon the MD's data, his pupils suddenly tightened.
By the end of this year, the Mega Drive's global sales had surpassed five million units.
That number was still far behind the Famicom's colossal total.
But the ratio of software sales to console ownership — the attach rate — was shockingly high.
It meant that every MD owner was a highly engaged, high-spending core gamer.
They didn't buy the console for casual fun — they bought it for one reason only: to play the newest, coolest, and most powerful games available.
In comparison, the PC Engine's numbers were pitiful.
Even with flagship titles from Konami, Capcom, and Namco propping it up, its global sales had only just passed the two-million mark — barely surviving, clearly falling behind.
Kamizuki set down his coffee cup and sank deep into his soft leather sofa.
Suddenly, he felt a chill.
A cold realization crept up his spine — a sense that he'd been played.
On the surface, Konami looked like the biggest winner of the winter, its profits overflowing.
But Kamizuki knew better.
This entire festive season — where Sega voluntarily stepped back, Nintendo was forced to sit out, and all the third parties took center stage — had from beginning to end been orchestrated under the shadow of one man.
Takuya Nakayama.
That young, almost impossibly shrewd Sega executive.
Through an inside source within Sega, Kamizuki knew the truth — Sega's MD had no major first-party games ready for release at year's end.
Nakayama had seized the opportunity to let the third parties feast on the holiday profits instead.
Using the momentum from the summer's blockbuster film Mewtwo Strikes Back and the massive attention surrounding the Olympics, he extended a generous gesture of goodwill to every third-party developer.
In doing so, he reinforced Sega's image as the open, developer-friendly alternative to Nintendo.
He turned every third-party company into one of his pawns.
By using their games, he proved the Mega Drive's limitless potential and irresistible market appeal.
The money Konami earned this season?
Merely the crumbs that fell through Nakayama's fingers as he shifted the balance of the entire industry.
And as for Kamizuki Masamasa — the so-called "King of Third Parties"?
At best, he was just the sharpest knife handed out to stab at Nintendo's heart.
The thought didn't anger him.
In fact, his eyes gleamed with excitement.
Meanwhile, at Sega headquarters, the air in Takuya Nakayama's office was comfortably warm.
He leaned back in his chair, holding a steaming cup of coffee, his gaze unfocused — waiting for good news.
Moments later, his assistant entered briskly, eyes full of barely contained admiration, and handed him a report.
"Sir, the market report you requested."
Nakayama put down his cup and took the stack of papers.
He flipped through slowly. Every number, every chart — all precisely as he'd predicted.
Bandai's Dragon Ball, Square's Final Fantasy II, Konami's Castlevania Legends — one by one, these blockbuster titles had achieved remarkable sales on the MD, with additional print runs already underway.
Across the entire Christmas–New Year season, third-party game sales on the MD had reached staggering levels — numbers that would shock anyone in the industry.
As for Sega's own lineup, aside from Shining Force holding the front, the first-party section of the report was almost empty.
Sega truly hadn't prepared any big first-party hits for this crucial season.
But that had been the plan all along — to clear the stage and invite everyone else to perform.
At the back of the report was a separate chart — the annual statistics for software sales.
Nakayama circled one particular number in red: the average number of games purchased per MD user.
That figure was exceptionally high — far beyond what the FC or PCEngine could match.
That was the number he cared about most.
Even with a smaller install base, the MD had achieved incredible software sales.
It was proof that Sega had gathered a loyal army of gamers who came to the platform purely for one thing — games.
It proved that the MD's 1989 lineup had delivered superior quality compared to its rivals.
As for the handful of stubborn third parties still clinging to the Famicom, Nakayama merely smiled.
He wasn't worried.
As long as Sega kept moving forward, those stragglers would eventually come aboard.
He set the report down, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
The Mega Drive's first year was ending on a high note — a truly excellent report card.
Next year, another great commercial battle awaited — one that would cut off Nintendo's retreat for good.
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