On the way back from Studio Ghibli, Nakayama Takuya's heart was calmer than it had ever been.
Miyazaki Hayao's recognition was like the final, most important seal on this work into which he had poured countless hours and devotion.
Returning to Sega headquarters, he immediately convened the operations and marketing teams to prepare for the launch of Bokujō Monogatari: Mori no Deai (Story of Seasons: Encounter in the Forest).
Inside the conference room, the atmosphere was somewhat delicate.
When the mock-up of the final packaging design was passed around, questioning voices inevitably arose.
"Director Nakayama, isn't this packaging a bit too plain?"
A marketing manager frowned at the box, which was almost entirely covered in a single shade of soft green with only a small line of text in the corner.
"Other than the line 'Authorized by Ghibli: My Neighbor Totoro-themed game,' there's almost no tagline or slogan at all. This doesn't feel like Sega's style…"
Another executive couldn't help but chime in, "And, Director Nakayama, you're suggesting an initial shipment of only fifty thousand copies. Isn't that too conservative? With Totoro's reputation, we could easily sell several times that!"
Facing everyone's confusion, Nakayama Takuya simply sat calmly at the head of the table, a faint smile on his lips.
He raised a finger and gently tapped on the mock-up before him.
"Everyone, this game's style is very unique—completely different from what's on the market."
"This is a game I made to test the waters—and to fulfill my promise to Director Miyazaki."
"We can't promote it the way we promote Pokémon. Doing so would only bring the wrong expectations—and a flood of bad reviews."
"What we should do is let it quietly sit there, waiting for the people who can understand it to discover it on their own."
Nakayama glanced around the room, his tone firm and unyielding.
"Proceed according to this plan."
The game was released.
Like a pebble quietly tossed into the sea, it caused not even a ripple.
No television commercials, no magazine features—only a few select retail shops carried the simply packaged cartridge.
The first week's sales figures came out.
A cold, negligible number.
Compared to the lively marketing and booming sales of other games released during the same period, Bokujō Monogatari's presence was so faint it was almost invisible.
Within Sega, an air of uncertainty and doubt began to spread.
Many whispered in private—had the young director finally stumbled badly in the field he was best at?
Even Nakayama Hayao called, his voice tinged with concern.
In response, Nakayama Takuya simply laughed and said,
"Father, please give it a little more time."
"The finest sake needs time to ferment."
The turning point came at a moment no one expected—and in a way no one could have predicted.
On the set of Asahi TV's flagship talk show.
To promote the upcoming release of the animated film Majo no Takkyūbin (Kiki's Delivery Service), Studio Ghibli had arranged a deep-dive interview for Miyazaki Hayao.
By the midpoint of the program, the seasoned host had already covered topics like art style and creative philosophy. Then, as expected, he guided the tone toward something lighter.
"Miyazaki Kantoku, everyone says you're a workaholic—that aside from work, you have almost no personal hobbies. Is that true?"
The host wore a friendly, practiced smile. "Is there anything new or interesting in your life lately that you could share with the audience?"
It was a safe question—meant to draw out a few behind-the-scenes tidbits about the animation master. Perhaps he'd mention a newfound love for fishing or wood carving.
However, under the studio lights, a faint smile unexpectedly appeared on Miyazaki's bearded face.
The director immediately cut to a close-up.
"I wouldn't call it a hobby," he said after a pause.
"But recently, I've encountered something quite interesting."
The host immediately leaned in. "Oh? And what might that be?"
Miyazaki didn't tease the audience.
"A video game."
The moment the words left his mouth, the host's professional smile froze. His mind raced, wondering if he had heard wrong.
Miyazaki Hayao—the very man who had once dismissed video games—was voluntarily bringing one up?
Viewers across Japan wore the same stunned expression as the host.
"It's a game made by Nakayama-kun from Sega. It's called Bokujō Monogatari."
Ignoring the shock around him, Miyazaki continued in his calm, steady tone.
He didn't use the word play—instead, he chose a different phrasing.
"I'd rather call it an interactive medium—a medium that allows you to personally experience and participate in something full of those unintentional, Totoro-like encounters."
"Nakayama-kun…" A look of genuine admiration appeared in Miyazaki's eyes. "He's a game creator with true artistic pursuit and sensibility."
"The world he designed has no battles, no urgent missions—only a return to the countryside, farming, harvesting, helping neighbors."
"Even an old, stubborn man like me, who never touches games, could easily immerse myself in it—and rediscover the quiet of a summer in the countryside."
The host finally snapped out of his shock, instantly realizing he was witnessing a huge news moment.
He instinctively leaned forward, forgetting the script in his hand.
"Kantoku! That's truly surprising! Could you tell us more? What makes this game so magical?"
Miyazaki thought for a moment, as if recalling.
"Its pace is slow—so slow that you can clearly feel the change of seasons. You sow in spring, hear cicadas in summer, harvest in autumn, and sit by the heater in winter. In today's fast-paced world, that's a luxury."
"Nakayama-kun was very bold. He abandoned the 'thrill' most games chase—and instead pursued 'tranquility.'"
"That's a philosophy I deeply admire."
That one line—'I admire it.'
Its weight was immense.
All of Japan knew how demanding and critical Miyazaki Hayao could be. Even a simple "not bad" from him was enough to make creators ecstatic.
But "I admire it"—that was perhaps the highest praise this animation master could ever give.
The show went on, but the audience in front of their TVs had already erupted.
"Miyazaki recommended a game? Did I hear that right?!"
"Bokujō Monogatari? From Sega? That plain green box that looked like an empty lunch container?"
"No way! I saw that in a store yesterday and thought it was some cheap knockoff. Didn't even look twice!"
"Nakayama-kun? Which Nakayama? Wait—the Nakayama Takuya? The one who made Fatal Fury and Pokémon?!"
And then, Miyazaki's next words poured even more fuel on the fire.
With eyes filled with longing for the future, he looked into the camera and said—
"In that young man named Nakayama Takuya, I see the future of animation and gaming."
"He described to me a new technology—something called '3D.' A technique that, in the future, will allow audiences to enter the worlds we create."
"I look forward to the day that technology matures."
"And I look forward even more—to seeing more works like Bokujō Monogatari—works with a true artistic soul."
Those words instantly elevated what had been a simple game recommendation into a vision—
a prophecy for the future of the entire industry.
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