Chapter 55: Out Run
Returning to his small abode, he closed the door, shutting out the outside world's clamor.
He let out a long sigh, finally able to begin his adventure.
On the TV screen, the pixelated hero once again embarked on his journey.
He fully immersed himself in the game, exploring the vast wilderness outside Ladatorm Castle, heading towards the unknown southern regions.
New monsters appeared: the 'Great Mallet,' stronger than a Slime, and the fire-breathing 'Dragon.'
Each victory brought an increase in experience points and gold, giving him a pure sense of satisfaction.
He calculated how much more experience he needed for the next level-up and planned to save enough money to buy new weapons.
The immersion and desire for exploration brought by the game temporarily dispelled the fatigue of a week's work and the slightly strange scene downstairs just now.
However, just as he was carefully maneuvering the hero to avoid a powerful 'Armored Knight,' a faint, blurry tune, seemingly the game's opening music, drifted from next door, Mrs. Sato's house.
Though intermittent, it was mixed with Mrs. Sato's somewhat clumsy explanations.
Tanaka's hand trembled, almost making the hero run into the monster.
A subtle, ineffable feeling arose within him.
How did the game he skipped work to buy seem to become a new topic for neighborhood socializing?
He could even imagine Mrs. Sato holding the controller, excitedly demonstrating how to 'attack' a Slime to a bewildered Mrs. Kawai.
On Sunday afternoon, the carbonated drinks in the refrigerator ran out.
Kenichi Tanaka had no choice but to pause his adventure and go out to the vending machine downstairs in the apartment building for a 'resupply.'
As soon as he opened the door, he saw Mrs. Sato also coming out of her own room.
She held a small piece of paper with what looked like a crooked map and a few Japanese characters drawn in pencil.
Seeing Tanaka, Mrs. Sato's eyes lit up, as if she had found a savior.
"Tanaka, perfect!"
She quickly walked over, with a hint of embarrassment from asking for help, but more so with focused seriousness.
"Um... the game says I need to find the 'Fairy Flute,' and the map shows a general location in a cave to the south."
"But when I went to the cave nearby, it was pitch dark inside, and even with a torch, I couldn't find my way. Is there some trick to it?"
Mrs. Sato's tone was very natural, as if she were discussing a pickle recipe or clothes-drying techniques.
She had clearly fully embraced her new identity as a 'player' and naturally assumed she should seek help when encountering difficulties.
Tanaka was momentarily stunned before realizing she was asking for a game guide.
He briefly recalled.
"Ah, that cave needs the 'Sunstone' to light it up; a torch alone won't work."
"Sunstone... where can I find it?"
Mrs. Sato quickly pressed, pulling out a pen, ready to write it down on the paper.
"Hmm... that's a bit later. You need to go further south to Mylah Village to gather information first."
Tanaka explained as concisely as possible.
"Oh, oh! I see! Thank you, Tanaka!"
Mrs. Sato suddenly understood, thanking him repeatedly, her confusion vanishing.
Just then, Mrs. Sato's door opened again.
Mrs. Kawai emerged, with a thoughtful expression on her face, no longer completely bewildered as before.
She saw Tanaka, then looked at Mrs. Sato, who was taking notes, hesitated, and finally couldn't help but ask:
"Um... can the 'money' dropped by defeating monsters really be used to buy things in the game's shops?"
"It feels so magical..."
Her tone was filled with curiosity and wonder about the rules of this virtual world.
Kenichi Tanaka stood in the hallway, clutching the cold canned coffee that had just dropped from the vending machine.
The icy touch of the can made him slightly more alert.
He looked at the two 'newbie players' in front of him, whose combined age was almost over a hundred, and then at the pixelated hero still waiting on the TV screen in his room.
This weekend, and his original script of 'solo immersion,' seemed to be heading in a completely different direction.
In the hallway, there still seemed to be faint, off-key hums of 'Hoimi' spells drifting from Mrs. Sato's direction.
He let out a soft sigh, but the corners of his mouth involuntarily curved into a small smile.
Although interrupted, this peculiar 'neighborhood gaming effect' didn't seem to be entirely a bad thing.
Tanaka shook his head, pulled the coffee tab with a soft 'hiss,' and turned to walk back to his room, picking up the controller again.
Time quietly slipped into late June 1986.
dragon quest on the FC was like a giant stone dropped into a calm lake; the ripples it stirred had not subsided, but instead spread to unexpected corners.
Newspaper social pages, housewives' tea-time chats, and even serious economic commentary programs began to mention, more or less, the 'National RPG' phenomenon triggered by this game.
Long queues to buy game cartridges, children chanting 'Slime,' and adults discussing strategies during their commutes all became unique sights of this summer.
Nintendo, without a doubt, was basking in the immense success and prestige brought by this RPG craze, solidifying its dominant position in the home console market.
However, even under this almost all-encompassing wave of heat, Sega did not stop.
One day in late June, Sega arcades in major cities quietly put up a new batch of posters.
A fiery red Ferrari Testarossa, a blonde female co-driver, and the speed-filled 'Out Run' logo announced the arrival of a brand-new arcade masterpiece.
Smooth pseudo-3D graphics, dynamic background music that switched with the changing tracks, and the novelty of freely choosing routes were all the technical crystallization of his dedication.
Out Run's performance proved its technical leadership and unique appeal.
Sega Headquarters, inside the Development Group 2 meeting room.
Suzuki Yu and his AM2 team members sat around the conference table, the air filled with the faint scent of coffee and circuit boards.
Spread out on the table was the preliminary data report for Out Run's first week of sales.
Suzuki Yu nodded slightly, his gaze intently scanning the data charts.
"The first-week revenue reported by Sega's self-operated arcades is stable and meets our expectations," the data analyst's voice was steady.
A younger team member added, flipping through his notes: "And the repeat play rate is very high, especially for players who chose 'Magical Sound Shower.'"
"In Akihabara, there are high school students who continuously insert coins and change routes just to listen to all the BGM."
"There are also couples," a colleague from the Market Department interjected, "On weekend evenings, girlfriends often stand next to the driver's seat giving directions, or sometimes the girl kicks her boyfriend aside to cheer her on and takes the wheel herself."
"The Shibuya store even had someone complain that the blonde girl in the co-driver's seat wasn't 'kawaii' enough and wanted a Japanese-style beautiful girl." A ripple of low laughter went through the meeting room.
"There's also a strange thing in Ikebukuro: an office worker uncle comes every day after work to play one round, only choosing 'Passing Breeze,' and stops at the first fork in the road, listens to the music, and then leaves."
"It seems our music is indeed very successful," someone commented.
But Suzuki Yu also knew that this steadily growing curve was a completely different sight from the almost insane explosive growth of dragon quest a few months ago.
At this moment, the focus of almost all media and people's conversations was that pixelated RPG.
Elementary school students were imitating spells, housewives were exchanging strategies, and even on the train, discussions about 'resurrection spells' could be heard.
The buzz around dragon quest was still the market's main theme; Out Run was more like an exquisite side dish, well-received but not the focus of the table.
That craze even made the technically superior Out Run seem a bit... quiet.
Suzuki Yu pushed up his glasses, his fingertips unconsciously tapping on the tabletop.
The sense of speed brought by Super Scaler technology, the switchable background music, and the freely branching tracks were all AM2's pride.
Feedback from the arcades proved that Out Run's technical prowess and unique charm were undeniable.
But the market seemed to be temporarily enchanted by another, simpler, more direct magic.
Those housewives probably wouldn't queue up to experience the push-back sensation of a Ferrari Testarossa.