Takuya Nakayama picked up the game cartridge. It wasn't heavy, yet in his hand it felt weighted with significance.
Behind that small plastic shell lay nearly a year of work from a top-tier creator and an entire development team.
"Hard work, truly. So—how did the demo for Mr. Tom Clancy go? Smooth?" Takuya poured him a glass of water.
Kojima swallowed half of it in one gulp, exhaling as if releasing a full year's exhaustion.
"Mr. Clancy… well, he basically approved it." Kojima rubbed his brow, a wry smile pulling at his face. "But, Executive Nakayama, that didn't feel like an evaluation. It felt like an interrogation. He'd stare at the screen and ask, 'Why isn't this squad advancing with cross-cover formation?' and so on."
"It felt like he was examining the game with a magnifying glass. All I could do was explain that with the current hardware, we've already pushed the system to its limit."
Once he started, Kojima couldn't stop. He waved his arms in agitation.
"Executive, you have no idea! Just to get the tactical squad AI right, we squeezed the MD for everything it had—there's not a drop of power left! Mark Cerny even joked he was starting to dream about upgrading the MD's chipset at night."
Takuya listened to his complaints, but instead of feeling annoyed, he began to laugh.
This was the Kojima he knew—an artist obsessively devoted to his craft.
"If you've squeezed the MD dry, it means you refined the game to perfection," Takuya reassured him.
Kojima's emotions rose and fell quickly. He waved it off.
"Anyway, enough about that. I've formally handed the U.S. team over to Mark Cerny. That guy's a genius—he'll handle them just fine. They're currently digging through the new tech brief Japan HQ sent over. They sounded pretty excited."
Takuya smiled meaningfully and changed the subject.
"Now that Urgent Crisis is finished, what's your next plan? Have you decided?"
The fatigue in Kojima's eyes vanished instantly. The fire inside him reignited—stronger than ever.
"Executive… I've seen the dawn of the next generation." He lowered his voice, as if sharing a monumental secret. "I want to calm down a bit and write a new story—slowly, carefully shaping the script."
He paused, then spoke the name that made Takuya's heartbeat skip.
"Metal Gear 2."
Takuya nodded, intrigued. "Got any new ideas yet?"
"They're still vague. I need time to sort them out." Kojima shook his head. "Once I've got something solid, I'll come discuss it with you."
Takuya nodded again, not pressuring him.
"The audit team—did they keep my desk?" Kojima asked, returning to calm. "I want to switch gears a bit, see what others are working on."
"Of course." Takuya nodded. "Take a few days off first, fix your jet lag. The company's crediting you with top merit."
Kojima spent two full days asleep in his apartment, then finally reappeared at the office looking energized.
He knocked directly on Takuya's office door.
"Executive, I'm back."
"You've recovered nicely." Takuya looked him over. The worn-out look from the long flight was gone, replaced by a sharpness forged through rest. "I thought you'd be stuck in bed a week."
Kojima sat down, chuckling awkwardly.
"Sleep enough and the brain starts rusting. I wanted to drop by the audit group—see if there's anything interesting lately."
"No rush." Takuya pulled out a schedule from his drawer and slid it across the desk. "Marketing arranged a media interview for you. The day after tomorrow."
Kojima's brow tightened.
"An interview?" He picked up the sheet, sounding reluctant. "For Urgent Crisis' promotion—can't the marketing team handle it? I'm… not great with reporters."
For a creator fresh out of a grueling year-long development cycle, tossing him straight into camera flashes and microphones was asking a bit much.
"No, this one only you can do." Takuya leaned forward, fingers interlaced. "Kojima-san, what kind of game do you think Urgent Crisis is?"
"Huh?" Kojima didn't expect that question. After a moment of thought, he answered earnestly, "A hardcore, realistic tactical simulation. It's not about instant thrills—it's about strategy and planning."
"Well said." Takuya nodded. "And what kind of players will like it?"
"Obviously those who like to think, who enjoy military themes, who take the time to study—"
Halfway through the sentence, he abruptly stopped.
He looked up at Takuya. Takuya smiled.
"Got it now? The players who'll buy this game are the same ones who pored over Metal Gear, dissecting every little detail you hid. They'll buy it because it's made by Hideo Kojima."
"They don't want a generic PR script. They want you—the creator—telling them what happened in America, how many times you clashed with the military consultants, how you squeezed the MD until it begged for mercy, and how you created this monster of a game."
The words hit Kojima like an electric current.
He remembered that old magazine, the fans' red arrows and annotations, dissecting every secret he'd planted.
That sense of being deeply understood—no sales figure could compare.
The reluctance in his eyes was replaced by a burning resolve.
"I understand." Kojima straightened unconsciously. "You want me to treat the behind-the-scenes story as part of the game itself—and tell it to the players."
"Exactly!" Takuya snapped his fingers. "We're not just selling a cartridge. We're building a brand—your brand. From the Metal Gear artbook to this interview, everything adds to it."
He stood and walked to the window, looking down at the busy street.
"I want players to form a belief: If it's a Kojima game, no matter the genre, there will always be treasure hidden inside.
So when you bring out Metal Gear 2, the whole market will explode."
Kojima's breathing quickened.
He could see it—the narrow path Metal Gear had opened was being widened into a grand road toward the future under Takuya's guidance.
"Executive…" He clenched his fists, overwhelmed.
"Relax." Takuya turned back, a mischievous smile on his lips. "Just think of it as having tea with your fans."
Kojima blinked, then burst out laughing.
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