"Put the Japan Team in the game," Takuya Nakayama said with an unyielding tone. "If the national team actually qualifies, the whole country will celebrate, and our game will benefit from the publicity. And if—" He paused, then spread his hands. "If they don't qualify, then all of Japan's football fans will need this game even more. Because only in our game can they control the Japan Team and lift the World Cup trophy."
"So... this is... 'spiritual consolation'?" Hiroshi Ono said, suddenly understanding.
"Something like that," Takuya Nakayama replied, nodding uncertainly.
Hiroshi Ono and the others huddled together, exchanging quick glances.
Developing a sports game was straightforward when it came to the underlying collision detection and physics feedback logic—they were experts in that. That wasn't the real challenge.
The real challenge lay beneath the surface: the data that powered the game's core mechanics.
"Managing Director, the framework and AI are solid. Whether it's the hard lock after a clearance or the goalkeeper's reaction time, we can fine-tune those behaviors," Hiroshi Ono said, his brow furrowed. "But with 24 teams and hundreds of players... The data for powerhouses like Brazil and Italy is manageable. But where do we get the stats for African and Middle Eastern teams? We can't exactly squint at newspapers and guess. Just gathering this information would bury our dozen-person team under the workload."
Takuya Nakayama chuckled at this, his fingers tapping crisply against the redwood desk.
"Don't worry about that. Every trade has its experts." Takuya seemed supremely confident. "I'll have Director Yoshikawa handle it. He has excellent connections with government departments and major associations. Getting the Japan Football Association to provide technical guidance and player data would be free publicity for them—they'd jump at the chance. As for the expenses involved..."
He swept his hand grandly. "Any amount, as long as it's for establishing data channels—I'll approve it all."
Hearing the words "unlimited budget," Hiroshi Ono swallowed hard.
"But this money isn't being wasted," Takuya said, his smile fading. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense as he stared at his subordinate. "Do you know why I'm willing to spend so much on this project?"
"To... ride the wave of next year's popularity?" the planner ventured cautiously.
"Popularity is fleeting," Takuya replied, his tone turning serious.
Drawing on his experience from his previous life, he knew that in the lucrative Western market—the world's strongest gaming market—the most consistently successful genres were cars, guns, and sports.
Sega already had car and gun games; all they lacked was sports. Now was the perfect time to enter the market.
He paused, then drew a circle on the table with his finger. "Early investment in intelligence networks and data might seem like throwing good money after bad, but once this pipeline is established, it becomes our exclusive moat. When other companies see the profits in football games and try to muscle in on our territory, the sheer volume of precise, proprietary data we possess will keep them out in the cold, eating dust."
Hiroshi Ono listened, stunned, his pen flying across the page. This "moat" strategy was entirely new to him as a pure technologist; it was something he'd never even considered before.
"And the most crucial point..." Takuya suddenly remembered something, tapping his fingers on the table, his tone turning serious. "Our game absolutely cannot include 'World Cup' or 'FIFA' in its title, and the trophy in the game must not resemble the World Cup trophy."
"Huh? Why not?" Hiroshi Ono paused his pen. "Wouldn't that make it more immersive?"
"FIFA has already sold the exclusive rights to EA in the United States." Takuya grimaced, remembering EA's monopolistic behavior in his previous life, a glint flashing in his eyes. "But that doesn't stop us from making money. EA got the shell of the tournament; we'll go after the meat of the content."
"Your mission is to secure licensing agreements with as many national teams as possible. We only need the real team names and permission to use their uniforms. That's all we need."
Takuya stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. "As long as the players on the screen wear the uniforms of their favorite teams, players won't care if the trophy they raise has two fewer decorative rings than the official one. The immersion created by using real names and identities—that's our true brand moat."
Hiroshi Ono closed his notebook with a soft click.
The Managing Director has already laid the groundwork this far. If we still fail to make a name for ourselves, I might as well quit as Team Leader at Sega.
"Understood! We'll start drafting the framework for the plan as soon as we get back."
Late June, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo.
Inside the headquarters of Toho Pictures, Sato, the head of marketing and distribution, stared at the weekly North American box office report freshly spewed from the fax machine, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk.
To him, those steadily rising curves represented nothing but golden eggs laid by a dinosaur.
"The situation in North America is already a raging inferno," Sato said, slamming the thin thermal paper onto the conference table and surveying the section chiefs gathered around it. "Universal Pictures' message is clear: Spielberg's film might break every box office record in history. The pressure is now on us. The Japanese premiere in July absolutely cannot falter."
In the past, Toho had always maintained ironclad control over the promotion of Hollywood blockbusters in Japan, fearing that partners might steal the spotlight.
But this time, things were different.
Sega and Bandai were being... too cooperative.
The conference room door swung open. A secretary led representatives from Sega and Bandai inside.
Sato had braced himself for a battle. After all, game companies and toy manufacturers usually insisted on plastering their logos all over movie posters, turning cinemas into giant retail outlets.
But when Sega's public relations representative began speaking, Sato was stunned.
"This is our proposed second-wave TV GG campaign plan," the representative said, handing over a thick proposal. "For all GG airtime, the first fifteen seconds will feature highlights from the film, with Sega's logo appearing in the final three seconds."
Sato flipped through the proposal, his eyebrows arching high.
This was the first time in his three decades of experience that he'd encountered such a generous partner—willing to foot the bill without seeking any limelight. No, this was the first time he'd seen such a magnanimous collaborator.
Before he could fully process this, the Bandai representative chimed in, "It's the same on our end. Our model GG releases will align with the film's release schedule, focusing on 'movie-accurate' editions. We won't reveal spoilers early, nor will we resort to juvenile marketing that might undermine the film's atmosphere. Director Yoshikawa specifically instructed us to maximize audience anticipation for the film."
Sato closed the proposal and leaned back in his chair.
A veteran of the industry, he knew there was no such thing as a free lunch.
Sega and Bandai were simply using the film's momentum to boost their sales.
But this overly cautious approach, treating the film as if it were made of glass, certainly gave Toho Pictures the respect it deserved.
Please Support me by becoming my patreon member and get 30+ chapters.
[email protected]/Ajal69
change @ with a
Thank You to Those who joined my Patreon