Yoshikawa leaned back in his chair and exhaled a long sigh, his tone laced with mockery. "Kid, you're getting better at dumping problems on me. Tell me, what's next—a rally racing game where I have to invite every automaker in the world and host a 'Sega Cup'?"
It was just a sarcastic quip, meant to poke fun at Nakayama Takuya's boundless imagination.
But Nakayama's eyes genuinely lit up.
"Hm?" He leaned forward, staring intently at Yoshikawa. "Director Yoshikawa, how did you guess my next project is a rally game? I really am planning one. I'll probably need your help again when the time comes. Unfortunately, the technology won't be mature enough for a proper rally title for a few more years. Shame."
Yoshikawa's smile froze solid.
He pointed at Nakayama, mouth agape, unable to utter a word.
He's got to be joking… No—those eyes. He's dead serious.
How did a throwaway complaint suddenly become this guy's actual roadmap?
A brief, heavy silence filled the office. Yoshikawa felt his blood pressure creeping upward.
Finally, he waved a defeated hand.
"Fine, fine—you win. You scare me." He set the F1 proposal on the desk. "I know people at Honda. I'll reach out first. As for your rally game… please don't give me the details yet. Let me breathe."
Working with this kid was murder on the heart.
Every insane scheme paid off spectacularly in the end, but the ride was brutal.
"Then I'll count on you." Purpose achieved, Nakayama stood crisply, bowed, and left the office.
By the time he returned from Yoshikawa's office, twilight was edging the windows.
He stretched, ready to grab his briefcase and head home, when the internal phone rang inconveniently.
He answered. Tom Kalinske's trademark booming voice burst through, brimming with energy as if he'd chugged a liter of cola.
"Hey, Takuya! Got some news—might not be huge. Those NEC guys are pulling a stunt in North America."
Kalinske summarized: NEC and Hudson had formed a new company called Turbo Technologies Inc. and released an all-in-one unit called the TurboDuo, merging the console and CD drive.
"All-in-one? Convenient, I guess," Takuya remarked offhand.
"Convenient but pointless," Kalinske snorted. "Their distribution is a disaster, marketing a joke. This move screams desperation."
"TurboDuo…" Takuya paused, rummaging through memory until it clicked—the moribund PC Engine.
He laughed. "Tom, you're still watching that corpse? I thought we'd buried it already."
"Hey, just doing my due diligence!" Kalinske protested. "They bundled the CD drive, dropped the price a bit. Looks flashy on paper."
"Plenty of flashy garbage out there," Takuya replied, as casually as discussing the weather. "It's still overpriced. Without games, it's an expensive plastic brick. We tolerated it once because it annoyed Nintendo. Mission accomplished. Don't waste another second on it."
Back in the Mega Drive days, the PC Engine had indeed helped fracture Nintendo's third-party stranglehold.
But the landscape had shifted. It no longer even qualified as competition.
Takuya pivoted. "Save your energy. Send a couple more people to stake out Trip Hawkins' new outfit. You're all in California—close enough to crash for lunch."
"That name boils my blood!" Kalinske's pitch rose sharply. "Those EA bloodsuckers are getting greedier. They're back again, demanding another point off royalties! Their sports titles sell, sure, but this is blatant extortion!"
"Another royalty cut?" Takuya leaned back, fingers drumming lightly on the desk, voice betraying nothing.
"Let them squawk."
"What?" Kalinske thought he'd misheard.
"Tom, never forget: some wolves can't be domesticated. Feed them all the meat you want—they'll still bite. When next-gen hardware arrives and someone bids higher, EA will defect first. It's in their DNA. Trip Hawkins still has deep ties there. The moment his Panasonic console launches, EA jumps ship."
"So we just roll over?" Kalinske grumbled.
"Of course not." Takuya chuckled. "Which is why we stop negotiating. Start scouting promising sports dev teams on your side. We'll build our own. Let Mark Cerny vet the talent. Short on budget? File a report—I'll sign it."
"And reach out to Visual Concepts. EA's kept them down for years. Give them a real shot, and they'll bite."
Three full seconds of silence, then Kalinske erupted in laughter.
"Hah! Knew you had a plan! Great call, Takuya. On it!"
Click.
Sony headquarters—executive conference room.
"That concludes the preliminary results of our talent acquisition initiative."
Ryōji Nakahata closed his folder. His delivery was measured, but the faint upward twitch of his mouth revealed quiet pride.
"Though we met resistance on a few top producers, we successfully brought in over one hundred seasoned developers from Sega, Konami, Namco, and others.
They crave a fresh, unrestricted platform to unleash their full potential."
Beside Norio Ohga, Nobuyuki Idei tapped the table lightly.
"Nakahata-kun, forgive the directness, but I reviewed the list. Not one name qualifies as an industry star. For this budget, we've assembled… a second-string battalion?"
The blunt question hushed the room.
Nakahata's smile faltered briefly before steadying.
"Idei-san, stars aren't born—they're forged by the platform. Provide a stage for miracles, and future stars will rise from these ranks naturally."
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