Just as Arakawa Minoru was being run ragged by the "Collector's Edition" offensive of Final Fantasy IV, forced to watch helplessly as SNES consoles piled up slowly in warehouses, Nakayama Takuya's third heavy punch had already crossed the Pacific in silence and landed on North American soil.
At the Port of San Francisco, night blanketed the docks.
Ten thousand brand-new arcade cabinets—along with their core: Sega's first-generation 3D board, Model 1, and the game named Virtua Fighter—were quietly unloaded from cargo ships.
For this decisive blow, Nakayama Takuya had deliberately arranged a separate production line, ensuring it had no impact whatsoever on the red-hot domestic supply of Metal Slug in Japan.
Nintendo of America's informants had all their attention glued to game cartridge and home console sales data. No one noticed that, right under their noses, a storm capable of overturning the entire arcade industry was quietly taking shape.
Sega's North American headquarters in Redwood City had been bustling lately.
Groups of well-fed arcade owners, their faces shining with the greasy glow nurtured by money, clustered together in twos and threes, cigars clenched between their lips as they puffed away.
"Hey, Frank, how's Metal Slug doing on your end? The coin slots on my machines are practically worn smooth by those kids!" one pot-bellied owner said proudly, patting his stomach.
"Don't even mention it," the man called Frank complained with a look of mock suffering. "I have to hire a temp just to count coins every day. Damn Sega—can't they give my arms a break for once?"
The crowd burst into laughter, the air filled with cheerful energy.
To them, Metal Slug wasn't a game—it was a money-printing machine.
When the laughter died down, someone shifted the topic. "But I heard Sega's got something new this time? Something called—what was it—3D fighting?"
"3D? What's that supposed to be?"
"Sounds expensive. I don't want the hassle. Metal Slug can stay hot for another year!"
Just as the discussion heated up, a Sega sales manager walked over, beaming.
"Gentlemen, we're delighted to see how satisfied everyone is with Metal Slug," he said, clapping his hands to draw their attention. "But if Metal Slug is the finest appetizer of this era, then what we're about to launch is an unprecedented feast."
Behind him, two staff members pushed open a door, revealing a brand-new machine with a futuristic design and a deep, imposing screen.
Virtua Fighter.
The owners' curiosity was instantly piqued as they crowded forward.
"So this is 3D?" Frank squinted, eyeing the cabinet, which was slightly taller than Metal Slug. "Doesn't look all that special to me."
The sales manager smiled, offered no explanation, and simply pressed the start button.
The moment the demo appeared, the once-noisy crowd fell completely silent.
On the screen, two sharply angular yet unmistakably human characters moved about a three-dimensional arena—punching, kicking, dodging. The sense of spatial depth and the fluidity of motion were things they had never seen in any 2D game.
"My God—" someone murmured unconsciously. "They—they can dodge sideways?"
"The models are still a bit rough, though. Will players accept these blocky characters?"
The cigar in Frank's mouth slipped unnoticed to the floor. He stared at the screen, mouth slightly open.
At last, he understood what "3D" really meant.
"So what's the price?" After the brief shock, the most practical question was raised.
When the sales manager quoted a price noticeably higher than Metal Slug, a chorus of sharp intakes of breath rippled through the room.
It was expensive.
But after witnessing those revolutionary visuals, the price suddenly didn't seem so hard to swallow. The only remaining concern was whether players would accept it.
Still, given Sega's long-standing dominance of the arcade market and its unrivaled leadership in fighting games, hesitation was brief. Orders soon began pouring in.
"Sega's games this winter are just one after another…" Frank muttered, shaking his head as he signed an order for twenty units.
He cursed under his breath, but his pen pressed hard against the paper, afraid of ordering fewer than anyone else.
He was already imagining the kind of wild screams that would erupt from the kids when these machines appeared in his arcade.
Truck after truck loaded with Virtua Fighter rolled out of Redwood City, heading for every corner of North America.
The more decisively Frank had placed his initial order, the more uneasy he felt now.
Twenty Virtua Fighter units—that was no small investment.
He watched as workers set these massive new machines in the most eye-catching spots of his arcade, his heart pounding. Could those angular "blocky people" really attract kids whose tastes had been spoiled by Metal Slug?
The first wave of players gathered around, faces filled with curiosity—and scrutiny.
"So this is 3D? Looks like building blocks."
"Feels like there aren't many characters. Just like the first Fatal Fury. How long can you play with just these few?"
The doubts weren't loud, but they reached Frank's ears clearly, making his heart sink a little further.
Then the first player dropped in a coin, grabbed the joystick—and everything changed.
No flashy fireballs. No exaggerated super moves.
The "blocky character" threw a simple straight punch. The opponent sidestepped, then followed up with a clean, sharp elbow strike that sent him stumbling.
"Oh!" A gasp rose from the onlookers.
In that instant, everyone's interest was fully ignited.
This was no longer the static exchange of punches and kicks from 2D fighters—it was "fighting" in the truest sense.
Dodging, guarding, sidestepping—the three-dimensional space opened up endless possibilities.
The game was easy to pick up: punch, kick, guard—three buttons, clear at a glance.
But it didn't take long for people to realize how terrifying it truly was.
Simple inputs could give rise to countless combos and tactics.
A beginner might mash buttons and still hold their own, but a skilled player could dominate with precise judgment and control, toying with their opponent at will.
Hardcore. Realistic. Yet incredibly accessible.
"Again! Damn it—I should've blocked first!" The first boy to lose flushed red, pulling another twenty-five-cent coin from his pocket without hesitation and slamming it into the slot.
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