Sega Headquarters, top floor conference room.
Takuya Nakayama had a thick stack of documents and a pile of newspaper clippings spread out in front of him.
These were the first-day summaries from various national competition zones, compiled overnight by the operations team, with detailed data, text, and images.
The initial promotional effect was excellent, with foot traffic far exceeding expectations, and overwhelmingly positive media reports, even causing a slight increase in Sega's stock price.
His "unearthing grassroots heroes" plan was also showing initial results, with names like Shirano already circulating among players and a small portion of the media, and some people even starting to inquire about his competition venue.
The plan was proceeding according to his most optimistic projections.
However, the satisfaction on his face did not last long.
The report also contained some discordant notes, highlighted in red by the operations team.
Some smaller partner arcades, due to the surge in visitors, could not keep up with machine maintenance, leading to joystick malfunctions and sticky buttons, which caused dissatisfaction and strong complaints from contestants, with a few matches even having to be replayed.
"One player, because his joystick malfunctioned at a critical moment, couldn't perform a defensive move and was taken out by a combo, almost breaking the joystick in anger on the spot," a subordinate added.
Some social commentary sections began to trot out the old "beware of teenagers becoming addicted to video games" argument, which, while temporarily suppressed by the popularity of the tournament, carried a sour undertone that could ferment at any time.
What made him frown even more was that scattered reports indicated a nascent trend of small-scale betting on match outcomes around the periphery of individual competition points.
"Someone is secretly setting up bets outside the venue, gambling on who will win. Although the amounts are small, the nature is very bad."
This was absolutely a red line; once exposed, the consequences would be unimaginable.
"Tournament operations team, immediately contact the hardware department to send more personnel with spare parts to conduct Patrol maintenance and maintenance on all competition machines in all zones, especially those smaller partner stores. We must ensure the hardware is absolutely fair and reliable!"
Takuya's voice was calm and decisive; his previous satisfied expression had vanished, replaced by an undeniable seriousness.
"Public relations department, immediately prepare a contingency plan for the 'game addiction theory.' Find more experts and scholars to write positive articles and coordinate well with our partner media outlets. We need to actively guide public opinion, emphasize the competitiveness and strategic nature of fatal fury, and report more on players' skills and stories of hard training, linking it to healthy sportsmanship."
He paused, then added, "Additionally, fabricate some obviously absurd negative news about games to muddy the waters, drowning out negative news in a flood of clearly fake negative claims."
A subordinate couldn't help but whisper, "Will that even work…?"
Takuya glanced at him, saying nothing.
"Security and on-site staff, pay close attention! Any form of gambling, even if it's just a few people whispering and placing bets, must be immediately stopped and reported! Anyone caught will have their eligibility to compete directly revoked, and the police will be notified! We must ensure the purity of the competition; at least on the surface, it must not be associated with gambling in any way!"
His finger pressed hard on the national map on the conference table, the densely marked competition points like burning flames.
The popularity of the city preliminaries was just the first step, the fuse ignited.
How to keep this heat burning steadily, or even more fiercely, until the finals, was the real test.
In early August, Tokyo's summer heat had not dissipated; instead, it added a touch of anxiety.
The city selection trials had concluded, and the prefectural/regional representative selection tournament was held in a small gymnasium at Tokyo Institute of Technology. This was a venue Takuya had contacted his alma mater to apply for through his department head, ostensibly for "applying what was learned," welcoming younger students to observe, especially those in electronic software and hardware disciplines.
This was no longer a smoky, cramped arcade.
Beneath the high, vaulted ceiling, the air conditioning was at full blast, yet it couldn't suppress the surging heat within the venue.
Large-screen televisions were set up at various locations throughout the stadium, broadcasting the intense battles from different areas in real-time, replacing the small external TVs of the arcades.
A specially designated player area was carpeted in red, the audience seating was tiered, and the media area was bristling with cameras and microphones, flashbulbs occasionally firing.
The air was filled with a more professional, and also more suffocating, sense of tension. Takuya had instructed that the Tokyo representative selection tournament serve as a rehearsal for the Budokan finals, allowing the tournament organizing committee to practice.
Shirano, wearing his faded school uniform, stood at the player entrance, his palms starting to sweat again.
The clamor of the Shinjuku preliminaries seemed to still echo in his ears, but the scene before him made his heart clench.
He saw professional cameras set up in the corner, with the prominent "The Television" magazine logo affixed to their lenses.
Next to them, reporters held microphones bearing the same logo, interviewing a middle-aged man in a suit.
This competition seemed to have transcended the realm of pure player circles.
The broadcast called out his name and combat area number.
Shirano squeezed his still somewhat sweaty palms and walked towards the designated machine.
The air here was fresher than in the arcade, yet it felt heavier, almost suffocating.
His opponents in the first few rounds were indeed completely different from the initial selections.
Each person carried a fierce intensity, as if they had fought their way out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
One mistake could doom the entire match.
But he himself was no longer the impulsive youth he once was.
The well-worn booklet in his pocket, every page, recorded his growth.
His in-game reactions were quicker, his judgment of the situation more accurate, and his mindset much calmer.
Under his fingers, Andy Bogard seemed to have a will of his own; every jump, every punch, was as precise as if calculated.
Shadow-Slicing Fist's rush, Flying Fist's zoning, Kuupa-dan's surprise attack.
He utilized Andy's capabilities to the fullest.
After several tough battles, he advanced smoothly, with only minor scares.
In one match, his opponent was an extremely experienced Joe player.
That guy had "cowardly" etched into his bones.
From the start, he constantly controlled the distance, continuously using Hurricane Upper to block his movement.
The whirlwind was so irritating that he couldn't get close.
Occasionally, he'd seize an opportunity to jump over, but the opponent's tricky Tiger Knee always perfectly knocked him back.
Andy's health bar, controlled by Shirano, was slowly chipped away, putting him in an extremely passive position.
A few clear sighs came from the audience, as if they had already foreseen his defeat.
Damn it, how can this guy be so good at stalling?
Shirano gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white from the effort.
Don't rush, the more you rush, the more likely you are to make mistakes.
He slowed down his offensive rhythm, concentrating all his attention on observing every move of his opponent.
The interval between each Hurricane Upper, the recovery frames of each Tiger Knee.
He was waiting, waiting for a fleeting opportunity.
Finally, after another suppression with Tornado Kick, that Joe player had a momentary stun upon landing.
Now!
A glint flashed in Shirano's eyes as his fingers flew across the joystick and buttons.
"Shadow-Slicing Fist!"
Andy transformed into an afterimage, instantly breaking through the whirlwind's blockade and closing in on the opponent.
Following that was a combo practiced countless times.
Punches and kicks intersected, hitting precisely, and the opponent's health bar instantly evaporated.
K.O.!
Huge characters appeared on the screen.
Shirano released the joystick, letting out a long breath as beads of sweat from his temples trickled down.
That was a tough win; his palm still felt a bit numb.
But this feeling of turning the tables and winning was truly addictive.
Before he could savor it, a female reporter holding a "The Television" microphone, accompanied by a cameraman, quickly surrounded him.
Blinding spotlights and the dark maw of the camera were suddenly thrust in front of him.
"Shirano-senshu, congratulations on your victory! That comeback was incredibly exciting. Can you tell us how you felt at that moment?"
Shirano instinctively took half a step back, a little unaccustomed to the commotion.
He looked down at his slightly faded school uniform, then raised a hand to adjust his collar, which wasn't even messy.
"Ah… thank you."
His voice was soft and a little dry.
"I was lucky."
"My opponent was very strong; it was a tough fight."
He racked his brains but could only come up with these few dry sentences.
The flush on his face from the intense battle, not yet subsided, was particularly noticeable under the spotlight.
This was a stark contrast to the other players who, after winning, would punch the air and make bold statements to the camera.
The female reporter seemed ready to ask more in-depth questions.
Like how he thought of that counterattack timing, or how he trained normally.
Just then, the announcement for the next match echoed through the venue.
Shirano felt a great reprieve, quickly bowing to the reporter and camera.
"Excuse me, I need to prepare for my next match."
With that, he almost jogged to the next competition area, his retreating figure appearing slightly hurried.
The camera followed him, faithfully recording his somewhat awkward yet exceptionally serious demeanor.