"This little minx is getting bolder!"
Feeling Sayoko's stocking-clad foot teasingly brush against his calf under the table, Tetsu Fuyukawa shoots her a mock glare. But after years together, his stare lacks any real bite, only fueling the playful mischief in Sayoko's eyes. Her toes press even closer, a flirty move straight out of a Japanese rom-com.
Talk about losing control!
But work comes first. Tetsu lets Sayoko's teasing slide, focusing on his meeting with the Heavy Gunner boss. The discussion isn't too complicated—business negotiations are all about balancing interests, a dance familiar in Japan's corporate culture.
The Heavy Gunner boss clearly wants a sweet deal, but the sticking point is the sponsorship fee. Before The Binding of Isaac exploded, Tetsu would've fought tooth and nail for NTsoft's利益, since he was using their resources and paycheck. But after the game's success, President Asai slashed Tetsu's royalties by nearly 90% to fund aggressive marketing, boosting NTsoft's fame in the West. It was a smart move for the company, but why should Tetsu sacrifice his share for their gain?
Free from loyalty to NTsoft, Tetsu's demands are straightforward: Heavy Gunner covers the salaries for the team providing "cuisine" expertise, plus a modest sponsorship fee—enough to keep NTsoft from making a fuss later.
Like a pie falling from the sky!
The Heavy Gunner boss is thrilled at the low cost for such a partnership, eagerly inviting Tetsu for drinks. With work waiting, Tetsu politely declines, wraps up the meal, and leaves with Sayoko.
But they don't head straight back to the office.
After all that teasing during lunch, Tetsu pulls the black BMW under a quiet bridge with minimal foot traffic. The car starts rocking rhythmically, a cheeky nod to Japan's love for discreet, romantic escapades in secluded spots.
---
Sated and satisfied after their riverside "detour," Tetsu returns to the office. Sneaking a playful pat on Sayoko's still-flushed backside at the art department's door, he chuckles at her shy mumble and heads to his office.
"Diver Dave's biggest issue was the lack of mid-to-late-game content, but with the expanded management mechanics, cooking system, and trade features, that's solved. Now I can focus entirely on Sekiro," Tetsu muses, feeling good about tying up loose ends.
But before his seat even warms up, the office door swings open.
"You're looking awfully relaxed. Here I am, the department head, running myself ragged, while you're sipping oolong tea," Mito Miyano quips. Perhaps it's the heat outside, but she unbuttons the top of her white blouse, sauntering over with a sway of her hips—reminiscent of a confident anime heroine—and snatches Tetsu's oolong tea, chugging it down in one go.
"Slow down, no one's stealing it," Tetsu teases, tilting his head. His gaze lingers on her swan-like neck and the glimpse of black lace peeking from her unbuttoned blouse. But what really catches his eye is her short hair, now swaying back as she drinks—a bold change since her fencing match with Asuka Tsukitake.
The shorter cut amplifies Mito's icy, alluring aura, like a black rose blooming at midnight. Her long hair once softened that edge, but now? She's even more striking, exuding a cool, commanding vibe that screams Japanese femme fatale.
Noticing Tetsu's increasingly heated stare, Mito sets the teacup down and glares, flustered. "What's with that pervy look? I've got files to deal with—I don't have time for your nonsense!"
"…"
Her intuition's scary accurate. Tetsu rolls his eyes, amused. Fresh off his "dessert" with Sayoko, he's not that thirsty. He grabs the empty teacup, refills it with oolong, and leans against the sofa. "Didn't Sayoko say you were at TGS for lunch? Why're you suddenly so swamped?"
TGS—Tokyo Game Show—is a big deal. Hosting it takes more than just a venue; major game companies like NTsoft and Sate bring their titles to prop it up. It's a two-way street: expos need games for clout, and games need expos for exposure. Think Black Myth: Wukong's second-by-second promo at Gamescom.
Though the global summer game expos are months away, TGS organizers invite execs from major companies for internal meetings to outline the event's flow, promo video costs, and booth prices. These meetings are usually routine, so Tetsu's puzzled why Mito seems so fired up.
Mito snatches his tea again, chugging it before venting, "The meeting was fine, but that jerk Nobi was there!"
"Minister Nobi?" Tetsu raises an eyebrow.
Mito nods, calming slightly after two cups of tea. Arms crossed, she says coolly, "When we joined Asai's faction, Chairman Tsume pulled some strings to bring Nobi's third division into their fold. I thought we'd have to duke it out, but they laid low. I figured Nobi was just fence-sitting, but…"
Nobi, Tsume, TGS.
Tetsu's brow furrows as the pieces connect. "You're saying—"
"Exactly," Mito cuts in, her tone serious. "They're announcing a new project at this summer's TGS. And get this—they're making a sequel to Demon Hero Saga."
Demon Hero Saga?
Tetsu's frown deepens.
Japanese studios may lag in tech these days, but their early start in gaming means they hold iconic IPs. Demon Hero Saga sounds cheesy, but it's a classic from 1987, born in the Famicom era alongside Contra and Mario. It's a household name for anyone who grew up with a Famicom.
In 2002, the third division turned the side-scrolling classic into an action-packed PC game, a hit. But the third installment, despite NTsoft's heavy investment, flopped hard, shelving the IP for nearly a decade.
Sure, the last sequel bombed, but classic IPs carry weight. Look at Pokémon—each game feels dated, yet sales never dip. Demon Hero Saga lacks anime tie-ins and Nintendo's marketing prowess, but its legacy is undeniable.
"How much is their budget?" Tetsu asks, turning serious.
The sequel's success might seem irrelevant, but both Demon Hero Saga and Sekiro are NTsoft projects. When a company develops two big titles at once, unless they're swimming in cash, they'll weigh each game's potential. If one falters or underperforms, the company will cut it to funnel funds into the stronger project.
One way to gauge potential? Game expo CG trailers. They showcase gameplay and test market reactions, like Black Myth: Wukong's 2018 trailer that drew investors and talent after going viral.
Sekiro needs a killer CG trailer this summer to compete.
First, Tetsu needs the rival's details.
"Their budget's locked at 80 million dollars," Mito says, her eyes icy. "Add Sekiro's 60 million, that's 140 million, plus marketing costs—total investment could hit or exceed 300 million! NTsoft can't bankroll both. The third division's clearly trying to squeeze us out. Damn it, Asai's useless! Even if their proposal passed, he should've blocked them from reviving an old IP. Useless!"
Mito's gaze burns with frustration and disdain. Asai's faction caved, letting the third division revive Demon Hero Saga. Its last flop proves the risk—a weak point Asai failed to exploit.
Two big projects competing isn't all bad. It's a fair fight, and if Tetsu's team outshines the third division, Sekiro could snag more funding. But Mito's disdain for Asai's incompetence is matched by her worry for Tetsu.
She bites her fingernail in nervous tension, but Tetsu's hand covers hers, his finger brushing her lips. Standing in the afternoon sunlight, he sips his tea and smiles.
"Relax. This is just a little turbulence before we set sail."