Now, people finally knew what Kobayashi Tetsu was up to.
Or at least, that's what they thought on the surface.
Recently, the number of people discussing "Atlas" on the streets and in neighborhoods had skyrocketed.
Atlas Offline Game Stores in several Tokyo locations began attracting crowds.
Especially the Akihabara Store, the first experiential store, which operated almost around the clock with the earliest opening hours and most aggressive promotions.
The first company to notice this trend was Nintendo.
As a hardened veteran who had fought his way through the industry, Hiroshi Yamauchi, Nintendo's president, keenly sensed the implications.
After all, his extensive experience in the offline retail sector gave him a deeper understanding of such shifts.
His brow furrowed as he scribbled notes on paper, sketching out a mental map of the situation.
"By operating our own offline channels with this extravagant, cost-ignoring marketing campaign, and then generating additional revenue from those channels, we not only avoid the royalty fees of other distribution channels when selling games, but also establish our own brand identity. Although we currently have only five stores in Tokyo, and all appear to be operating at a loss, they bring in indirect revenue."
Compared to this, even spending hundreds of millions on advertising becomes negligible. After all, even the most poorly made arcade games can recoup their costs within a year or two. Three million coins will always be inserted.
"Now, the fundamental reason why Nintendo and Sega can control third-party developers is because they own both the platform—the console—and the distribution channels. They're both the referee and the player. But if we continue to expand these experience stores, Atlas will have its own distribution channels.
Even without our own platform, having our own channels means we won't be controlled by the first-party giants."
In other words, we're finally at the table.
No longer just picking at leftovers, but sitting down to serve our own meal.
Hiroshi Yamauchi drew a few more circles on the paper, writing different names in each.
Atlus Studio, Sega, Bandai, Kadokawa.
He sensed a web of interconnected interests among these entities.
Initially, Hiroshi Yamauchi assumed Atlus Studio was a wholly-owned subsidiary of Nintendo, akin to their Fourth Development Department. Later, he considered it might be a partially-owned venture. Eventually, he reached a conclusion:
The two sides were unrelated, yet for some reason, a long-term partnership had developed.
For Atlus Studio, game development and publishing could be handled through their relationship with Sega, while production and distribution were managed through their collaboration with Bandai. They even leveraged their partnership with the Kadokawa Group to secure widespread media coverage.
After a moment's contemplation, Yamauchi added another circle.
GAINAX Animation Studio.
At the time, GAINAX was only modestly known, barely recognized outside of the Japan SF Convention.
However, with the consecutive production of the anime series Jormungandr and Sonic the Hedgehog, GAINAX was beginning to gain broader recognition.
Yamauchi drew a diagonal line, connecting the names of GAINAX, Bandai, and Atlus.
In that instant, something clicked in Hiroshi Yamauchi's mind.
Though he was a man of the old school and didn't fully grasp the concept of franchise management that would become prevalent decades later, seeing these names now gave him a rough understanding.
Japan was a powerhouse in animation, even during the 80s and 90s, when anime often wielded greater influence than live-action dramas. Japanese box office charts were dominated by animated films year after year.
Bandai, on the other hand, was a massive toy manufacturer with a wide range of production lines.
By collaborating with Atlas and its steady stream of works, they could create a model that appeared to be losing money, yet secretly benefited everyone involved.
Hiroshi Yamauchi couldn't help but clap his hands.
"A true genius! What a pity. What a pity."
What a pity such a talent couldn't be working for him.
His fingers trembled, itching to act, tempted to send in a bulldozer.
"Fortunately, this event is currently confined to the realm of ordinary gamers and hasn't yet spread to the general public. If it truly became a nationwide phenomenon, Atlas's reputation would soar to the same level as ours—those of established companies—after this event concludes."
In terms of resources, depth of experience, assets, and even game libraries, they couldn't possibly compete. But at least in terms of reputation, they would grow unimaginably large.
Hiroshi Yamauchi folded his hands, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
It was time to take action.
In this modern society governed by laws, as a law-abiding company, he wouldn't send a bulldozer to crush Kobayashi Tetsu.
But Nintendo had started out making playing cards.
And don't mistake Nintendo for a company that strictly adheres to the law.
Atlus Studio
Kobayashi Tetsu stood before the whiteboard, deep in thought.
In just over two weeks, the event had already achieved the effect he'd envisioned. The New Year had passed, and Masanobu Endo had begun leading his team to develop Demon Tower, an arcade game. Kobayashi Tetsu interfered not at all with their development process.
As long as Endo followed the same path as in history, the arcade version of Demon Tower was guaranteed to succeed.
But now Kobayashi Tetsu was thinking: although they had attracted a sufficient player base, something was still missing.
In simple terms, we haven't been able to expand our player base.
And right now, the number of people actually playing our games is quite small.
The number of players who would repeatedly pursue a puzzle is minuscule, while those who only open their game consoles occasionally aren't really players at all—they just see games as one form of entertainment among many.
"Expanding our player base is the hardest part. I don't necessarily have that goal myself, but if we could increase our influence even more—"
Kobayashi Tetsu turned to look at the team in the studio.
Naka Yuji raised his hand, volunteering. "I know, you want me to go out and do another grass skirt dance again, right?"
Kobayashi Tetsu rolled up his sleeves.
"When have I ever asked you to do a grass skirt dance?! Seriously, why are you still hung up on that?!"
Just as he was thinking this, the phone in the office rang. Kobayashi Tetsu gestured at Naka Yuji from across the room before walking over to answer it.
"Hello, Atlas— Oh, Uncle Shimayose! What a rare visit."
Kobayashi Tetsu's tone was lighthearted, but Shimayose Yosuke sounded deeply distressed.
"President Kobayashi, there's been an incident."
"Huh?"
"My store was robbed!"
Kobayashi Tetsu froze. "Robbed? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," Shimayose Yosuke replied, his voice brimming with frustration. "We lost some money and those envelopes! They're all gone!"
Kobayashi Tetsu fell silent for a moment, then his eyes lit up with sudden realization.
"Good to hear you're okay. The envelopes aren't valuable; I'll have more printed. As for the store's losses, I'm deeply sorry. Atlas will compensate you."
Shimayose Yosuke forced a bitter smile. "It's not about me, but those envelopes were crucial for solving the puzzle. Now that they've been taken, won't it affect the competition? After all, there's only one champion per region, and the top ten in the overall rankings get rewards."
In other words, only eleven people per region would win prizes, while everyone else would essentially be running for second place.
This was precisely why everyone had been hoarding their envelopes and keeping their findings secret.
Sharing information meant risking getting nothing in return.
But now that all the envelopes had been stolen, it meant that many people's efforts to solve the puzzle had been completely wasted.
Because others had now obtained everything he had worked for without lifting a finger.
This was why Shimayose Yosuke felt overwhelming guilt.
"If I'd known this would happen, I should have taken all the envelopes home with me."
"It's alright, don't worry about it," Kobayashi Tetsu reassured him. "I know how to handle this. Get some rest. I'll come by your place tonight."
Kobayashi Tetsu already had a plan.
After offering a few more words of comfort, he hung up the phone and bid Shimayose Yosuke farewell.
Kobayashi Tetsu cleared his throat and looked around the office.
Naka Yuji tensed up.
Are we about to do the hula?!
Kobayashi Tetsu cleared his throat again.
"Has anyone here ever made jewelry? If I wanted to commission a 15-centimeter-tall pure gold statue, how much would it cost?"
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