Williams Residence
Later that evening, the Williams family gathered around the dinner table. Oliver and Martha sat at opposite ends, facing one another like anchors of the household. On one side sat Alex and Duke, while directly across from them were their sisters, Jennifer and Ashley.
The atmosphere felt heavier than usual, a subtle weight lingering in the quiet. The clinking of cutlery against plates was faint and sporadic, as though each person hesitated to disturb the stillness. Alex shifted in his seat, sensing the unease. His siblings mirrored the feeling, exchanging quick, uncertain glances.
The tension was almost palpable—unspoken words hung in the air.
"So, Alex…" Oliver finally broke the silence, his voice calm yet deliberate as he cut into his steak. "Where are you planning to take this?"
Alex blinked, caught off guard. "Huh… well," he began carefully, choosing his words with caution, "I want to keep making video games with my friends. And… hopefully, turn it into something we can earn money from."
His tone carried both hope and hesitation, as though he were stepping onto fragile ice. Across the table, his siblings leaned in subtly, listening with quiet intensity, aware that this was more than just casual dinner talk.
"That's fine," Oliver said after a pause, lifting a piece of steak to his mouth. He chewed slowly, his gaze finally settling on his youngest son. "Your mother and I don't have a problem with any of you taking initiative—pursuing your own ideas."
His eyes swept over the other three children, who instantly stiffened in their seats, avoiding his gaze.
"However," Oliver continued, shifting his attention back to Alex, "don't you think you're moving a little fast?"
Martha, who had been unusually quiet, gently set down her fork. Turning to Alex, her expression softened, but her words carried concern.
"Your father's right," she said, her voice steady but tender. "We don't want to stop you from doing what you love. But this all feels like it's happening too quickly. Children your age shouldn't be worrying about running—or even starting—a business."
Alex lowered his head, staring at his plate. He didn't argue. Deep down, he understood their worries, even if part of him wished they could see the dream as clearly as he and his friends did. Somewhere, he imagined Michael and Mark were probably having the same difficult conversations with their own families.
"Listen," Martha continued gently, "we are going to support you and your dreams. But right now, you're only nine years old. That's why your father and I have decided to set some… boundaries for all of this."
Alex's head lifted slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes at her last words. Martha gave a small nod toward Oliver, urging him to explain further.
A faint, knowing smile curved at the corners of Oliver's lips. "Yes," he said with quiet finality. "After that little stunt you pulled back there—and as we made clear at the time—we will support you. All of you. But we're going to do this the right way. We've already discussed this with the others, that will be specified at another date."
Alex nodded his head vigorously a wide smile forming on his face.
A Day Later – May 29th, 1985
The boys were gathered again — this time more alert, the weight of reality beginning to sink in. The adults filled the couches, coffee cups in hand. David stood near the fireplace, legal pad in hand, an air of quiet authority about him. Gone was the joking father — this was David the lawyer: sharp, composed, and fully engaged.
"First things first," David began. "Right now, you're not a company. You're a group of minors with a finished game. But if we're talking contracts, licensing, or distribution — you'll need a legal structure."
He turned to Oliver, Donna, and Damien. "Because they're underage, any agreements will have to be signed by us — the legal guardians. But that doesn't mean we can't build in protections or plan for future transitions."
Michael leaned forward. "So we're forming a company?"
David nodded. "Yes. Blue Star Interactive — that's the name, right?"
The boys exchanged glances and nodded in unison. Alex smiled to himself. That name was always going to stick.
David scribbled it onto the pad. "We'll register it as an LLC. I'll handle the paperwork. Then we'll draft an operating agreement — roles, ownership shares, decision-making authority, revenue splits, the works."
Mark raised a hand. "What about the money we spent on equipment and tools?"
"We'll account for every dollar," David said. "That's your seed fund. But more importantly — what comes next?"
Alex sat up straighter. "We need to protect the characters and the world. That means filing a copyright claim for The Legend of Zelda — or Zeruda no Densetsu."
David raised an eyebrow. "Zeruda? That's… Japanese, right?"
"Yeah," Alex said with a small laugh. "It's The Legend of Zelda in Japanese. We'll want both names on file if we approach companies over there."
"And what's the plan? Go to Sega? Nintendo?"
Alex hesitated. He wasn't entirely sure how far along Nintendo was with their own version of Zelda. But if it came to it, he'd rather pitch to a flailing Atari than try to tango with Nintendo — especially when, from his perspective, they were already standing on sacred ground.
"Nintendo's… complicated," he finally said. "They're traditional. They've turned down overseas partnerships in the past. And odds are, they're already working on something similar. If we went to them, they might reject us outright — or worse, take the idea and spin it as their own. Or try to buy us out completely."
Technically true — even if that knowledge came from a place no one else could possibly imagine.
"So that leaves Sega?" Michael asked.
Alex nodded. "Sega. They're more aggressive — hungrier. They've been in arcades for years, and now they're experimenting with consoles. They don't have a defining franchise yet, not like what Zelda could become. I think they'd jump at the chance to make a mark in the West."
David wrote the name down. "Sega. Doesn't ring any bells for me. That might be a good thing — newer players tend to be more open."
"I like the sound of that," Oliver said.
"Do they have a U.S. presence?" Donna asked.
"Not really," Alex replied. "But they've been sniffing around. Nintendo's already planning to enter the U.S. market — this could be Sega's entry point."
From what Alex remembered, Nintendo would launch the NES later that year. Sega's Master System wouldn't hit North America until '86 — a full year behind. But maybe… just maybe… Zelda could speed that up.
David tapped his pen against the pad thoughtfully. "If you're serious, I'll start looking into Sega's Tokyo HQ. I'll reach out to an old law school colleague — Akira Fujimoto. If anyone can open a door in Japan, it's him."
Alex leaned back in his chair, trying not to grin too hard. Everything was falling into place — faster and cleaner than he expected.
David underlined three items on the pad and turned it toward the group:
• Form Blue Star Interactive, LLC
• Draft Operating Agreement and Ownership Structure
• Initiate Contact with Sega Japan via Legal Channels
"This is where the training wheels come off," he said, looking at the boys. "You're about to become businessmen."
Alex glanced at Michael and Mark. None of them said a word.
They didn't need to.
The feeling in the room was clear:
They weren't just making games anymore.
One Week Later—June 1985 – Tokyo, Japan
Hiroshi Kobayashi sat at his desk, a cup of green tea cooling beside stacks of clippings, trade reports, and market data. Over the past few weeks, he had immersed himself in research, triggered by David Henry's inquiry and the extraordinary prototype game sent by his son's friends in the United States.
He began with the basics:
Who ruled the gaming landscape in Japan?
Who would be willing to take a risk on a foreign game?
The answer, inevitably, led him to two names: Nintendo and SEGA.
Nintendo: The Rising Giant
Nintendo had long abandoned its origins in hanafuda playing cards and toys. Under Hiroshi Yamauchi's firm leadership, the company had transformed into the dominant force in home entertainment. By June 1985, the Family Computer (Famicom) had sold millions of units in Japan, and their sights were set on global expansion.
Internally, Nintendo was gearing up for its biggest Western push yet — the Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) — a rebranded version of the Famicom intended to recover consumer trust in a post-Atari-crash America.
While the NES hadn't launched yet in North America, preparations were well underway. Nintendo's strategy was conservative but well-resourced, emphasizing their products as an entertainment system with alongside its ability play cassette tapes all for a very affordable price.
They were using a bold new tragedy to break into the western video game market with a populace that mostly wanted nothing to do with video games.
SEGA: The Underdog with Ambition
Sega, by contrast, had always walked a more tumultuous path. Once a major force in arcades, they had suffered setbacks in the transition to home consoles. The SG-1000, released on the very same day as the Famicom in 1983, had been utterly eclipsed by Nintendo's sleek, accessible system.
Internally, Hayao Nakayama, the newly promoted President of Sega Enterprises Ltd., was determined to change that. He knew the SG-1000 and its immediate successor, the SG-1000 II, lacked the polish and broad appeal of Nintendo's offerings.
But Sega was investing heavily in next-gen hardware: the Mark III, slated for release later that year. It was more powerful than the Famicom, with better graphics and superior sound. Still, Sega lacked the iconic franchises that Nintendo had — no Mario, no Donkey Kong.
Nakayama and the development heads were keenly aware that if Sega wanted to challenge Nintendo's dominance, it would need a killer app — or several. Something different. Something bold.
With this landscape in mind, Hiroshi made his move.
Through a few well-placed connections and polite persistence, he managed to get in touch with someone in Sega's Business Development department, a junior executive named Takeshi Arimura. The conversation was brief but sparked curiosity.
"An American game developed independently by teenagers? It's fully playable already?"
"Yes," Hiroshi said calmly. "It's nearly complete. It's a fantasy adventure game — a quest-based, nonlinear design unlike anything currently in arcades. It was designed from the ground up for home consoles, and it's far more advanced than most domestic offerings."
There was a pause on the line. Then:
"Can you send us a demo?"
"No need. I'll be in Tokyo next week. I'll bring it myself."
Inside Sega HQ – Haneda, Tokyo
At Sega's main headquarters near Haneda Airport, the air was thick with tension and ambition. Engineers were finalizing the specs for the Mark III, marketers were studying Nintendo's expansion plans, and executives were desperate to secure market-differentiating content.
In closed-door meetings, Nakayama and his team discussed strategy:
• Should they lean into arcade ports for the Mark III?
• Could they lure third-party developers away from Nintendo?
• How could they break into the West first?
What they lacked was an exclusive original title for launch — something that would scream next generation.
When Arimura brought up the potential American project from "a group of teen developers," eyebrows raised.
Skepticism followed.
But Nakayama gave one simple order:
"Bring them in. We'll decide after we see it."
Closing Scene – Setting the Stage
Hiroshi's flight was booked. The disk containing the 90% complete version of The Legend of Zelda — the game now retitled under Blue Star Interactive's brand — was safely packed alongside printed pitch materials.
He had no idea whether this meeting would lead anywhere. But if Sega was hungry enough, and bold enough, he believed they might just take the bait.
Back in the U.S., the boys waited anxiously. The game was polished, debugged, and refined over long weekends, late nights, and gallons of soda.
Now the future of their game, and possibly of Blue Star Interactive itself, rested in the hands of a foreign executive with something to prove.
Tokyo, Japan – Sega Headquarters, Late June 1985
The elevator doors parted with a soft chime as Hiroshi Nakamura stepped out onto the executive floor of Sega Enterprises' corporate tower in Ōta, Tokyo. A neatly dressed receptionist guided him into a minimalist conference room overlooking the city skyline. It had taken nearly a week of persistent calls and polite negotiation to secure this meeting. Fortunately, mentioning a promising American development team—and the name of a lawyer with connections—had opened just enough doors.
Soon, the room began to fill. Among the seated were Hayao Nakayama, Sega's recently appointed President, and a handful of younger, curious producers and hardware specialists. At this stage, Sega was still reeling from its earlier hardware failures in the West—particularly the lukewarm reception of the SG-1000. Though the Mark III was nearing completion, they knew that Nintendo's Famicom had already taken over the domestic market.
Nakayama, sharp-eyed and quiet, broke the silence.
"You said these boys—Americans?—they built this in how long?"
"Less than a year," Hiroshi replied confidently. "They're young, but talented. And this is only the beginning."
He connected a test console, loaded the prototype cartridge, and turned the TV on. The familiar Blue Star Interactive splash screen played before the title—The Legend of Zelda—faded in with its haunting, adventurous tune.
There was silence for several minutes as the Sega executives watched gameplay unfold. The fluidity of movement, the layered mechanics, and the sense of open-ended adventure left the room captivated. Nakayama leaned forward as the protagonist set fire to a bush revealing a hidden staircase.
"They built this without our hardware…?" a producer muttered, impressed.
"They built it to run on common Western tech—but it can be adapted," Hiroshi said. "And they want you to distribute it in Japan and help adapt it for your systems. They've created something new… not just another side-scroller or shooter."
Nakayama exchanged glances with his team, then leaned back.
"We're interested. But we want to speak with these boys. If they're as brilliant as you say, they should hear it from us directly."
Hiroshi bowed slightly. "They'll be waiting."
Manhattan New York, USA – David Henry's Law Office
Back in the States, Alex, Michael, and Mark were seated across from David Henry in his office, fidgeting and restless. David was mid-call with Hiroshi's Tokyo contact, his tone calm but with a trace of anticipation.
Alex tapped his fingers against the edge of the table, staring anxiously at the rotary phone. Mark leaned back, bouncing his leg nervously.
Michael sat quietly in the corner, working on some backend notes for their PC launcher, but even he was glancing up now and then.
Suddenly, the phone rang.
David picked it up almost immediately. "David Henry speaking."
The boys held their breath.
After a few polite exchanges in Japanese, David looked over at them with a small smile and pressed the receiver to his shoulder.
"He says they loved it."
Michael fist-pumped silently. Mark exhaled. Alex's expression didn't shift much—but his shoulders relaxed slightly.
David turned back to the call. "Yes… Yes, of course. We'll arrange the call. Thank you, Hiroshi-san."
He set the receiver down and turned to them.
"You three did it. They want a direct conversation and are open to a distribution deal—pending more discussion."
"You're going to Japan, boys."
A Trip to Japan
The city pulsed with energy, a fusion of ancient tradition and gleaming futurism. As the three families touched down at Haneda Airport, there was a sense of excitement not just for business, but the adventure that awaited them. For Alex, Mark, and Michael, it was the chance of a lifetime — negotiating with one of Japan's largest entertainment companies while on the cusp of launching a potential industry-defining game.
Duke, Ashley, and Jennifer looked excitedly around alongside Grayson and Gabrielle, while the adults quickly began organizing everything. The three families quickly met up with Hiroshi's in the airport, having helped arranged matters for the group stay in Tokyo.
The plan was after first settling the matters with the negotiations over the Legend of Zelda with Sega. The three families would take some time for sight seeing, and experiencing the culture. And with it being summer vacation for the kids it was the perfect opportunity for a family vacation.
With plans to explor Tokyo's sights—temples, markets, and neon-lit streets.
With David and Hiroshi at the forefront, the team had come prepared — contracts drafted, presentations polished, and confidence unwavering.
The first two days in Tokyo were spent acclimating and preparing, with the families taking in the sights of Asakusa and dining along the Sumida River. But on the third morning, the mood shifted. Everyone knew it was time to get down to business.
The Next Day, the three boys accompanied by their father's alongside Hiroshi, met with Sega top executives.
Inside the sleek, minimalist boardroom of SEGA Enterprises Ltd., anticipation ran high. A row of Japanese executives sat neatly in pressed suits, among them senior directors of arcade development and home console strategy. SEGA, still licking its wounds from trailing behind Nintendo in the arcade boom and upcoming home console race, was hungry. Very hungry.
The arrival of a promising Western development studio was unusual — especially one not backed by a larger publisher. But The Legend of Zelda demo Hiroshi had brought earlier in the month had lit a fire beneath the executive team. The ambition. The mystery. The sheer scope of it. It wasn't just another side-scroller. It was something bold… visionary.
As the Americans filed in — boys flanked by their guardians — the SEGA boardroom adjusted quickly. A translator stood beside Hiroshi, though Hiroshi himself handled most of the back-and-forth in fluent Japanese. David took the lead from the western side, his polished legal acumen on full display, while Damien and Oliver offered strategic support and careful observations.
SEGA's proposal was straightforward: they wanted to purchase the rights to The Legend of Zelda outright. They cited their existing infrastructure, international expansion efforts, and a lucrative marketing strategy as justification. Owning the IP would allow them full creative and merchandising control.
With Hiroshi's scheduling a series of meetings with Sega's top executives. David, working alongside Hiroshi Takeda—a seasoned Japanese attorney with decades of experience—led the negotiations, translating complex legal and business terms for the boys' guardians.
David opened the discussion. With Hiroshi acting a translator in real-time. " The intellectual property belongs to Blue Star Interactive," he said. "We're open to exclusivity, licensing, and profit sharing, but the rights are not for sale."
Hiroshi translated smoothly, and the Sega team nodded, eager to hear more.
David continued, "We're willing to license Zelda exclusively to Sega for distribution in North America and Europe, but ownership of the IP must stay with us." David paused and looked over to the three boys smiling, " The team has plans beyond this title. Selling would mean limiting what this franchise could become."
Kenji Saito's eyes flicked to his colleagues, then back. "You're asking for a lot. Sega is interested in the game, but we'd like to acquire the rights outright—to have full ownership and control. As the block of the cost is going to be on us, please you understand. And we are also fully willing to support the three young boys in continuing developing future titles for the game. "
David's tone hardened slightly. "That's not something we're willing to entertain. The characters, the world—they're too valuable to give away. We're open to a licensing deal, but ownership has to stay with us."
At that moment, Damien and Oliver, standing nearby, interjected respectfully. Damien's voice was firm but polite. "We're here as guardians of the boys' interests. They've put their hearts into this project, and we need assurances that their intellectual property remains protected. And that they'll continue benefiting from its success in the future. "
Oliver nodded. "We trust David's judgment, but this is a big step. We want to see a deal that respects and protect the creators' rights."
Sega's representatives hesitated. The idea of exclusive rights for Zelda was tempting—they saw the potential for success in the West and beyond. But they also understood the importance of protecting the creators' interests.
The meeting was ended without a relation as they scheduled another meeting, giving Sega time to discuss matters internally.
The following day the meeting negotiations opened again, with everyone coming together to continue were they left of.
Kenji began with stating the decision that they had come to, " We're willing to forgo outright buyout the right to The Legend of Zelda, under certain conditions."
David and the other waited and listened to Hiroshi translation, with David and others not surprised by Sega wanting certain conditions implemented first. This was a normal part of business, however Michael and Mark seemed a little nervous at her this words.
David gave a nod and Hiroshi understanding what David meant, spoke up. " Please state the terms. "
Kenji Saito than began state the terms of the agreement as Hiroshi translated, for everyone. Soon David and Hiroshi worked together, navigating the legal language, the terms of licensing, and the rights to future titles. They discussed the possibility of Sega acquiring more than just Zelda—the next three titles from Blue Star's upcoming lineup, which included arcade and console adaptations.
After hours of discussion, a tentative agreement was reached:
Exclusive distribution rights for Zelda in North America and all across Europe, and other territory was reached.
Sega had the right of first party five picks of their choice on any new Blue Star Interactive, games. Down the pipeline in the future before others.
Of those five:
Three would be dual-adapted for both SEGA arcades and SEGA's upcoming home consoles.
Two would be exclusive to SEGA's home platforms.
SEGA would fund regional distribution, marketing, and provide technical support for adapting Blue Star's titles to the SC-3000 and SG-1000 hardware. A clause was also inserted for future adaptation to SEGA's upcoming next-gen console, still under development.
A licensing fee and royalty structure, with a significant percentage going to Blue Star Interactive. No transfer of IP ownership—the rights would remain with Blue Star Interactive, with Sega holding distribution and licensing rights.
SEGA would receive exclusive distribution rights for The Legend of Zelda and Blue Star's next five titles over a ten-year period.
Finally Sega wanted a 20% stake in Blue Star Interactive as accompany. Alex didn't have an issue with this upon hearing it however, now wasn't the right time. Hence, after a prevent discussion, it was decided that Sega would be given a stake in the studio once they went public.
The signatures were made in a quiet, solemn ceremony. For SEGA, this deal represented a bold step toward reclaiming market presence. For Blue Star, it was the opening salvo in what would become a seismic shift in gaming history.
As the negotiations wrapped up, the families celebrated quietly in a nearby restaurant. The boys—still in their suits and ties—basked in the moment, knowing their hard work had paid off.
Back at the hotel, Alex stared out the window, a mix of exhaustion and excitement. They had struck a deal that could change everything.
He turned to Michael and Mark. "We did it. This is just the beginning."
Oliver clapped a hand on Alex's shoulder. "You boys are making history—whether you realize it or not."
Damien smiled quietly. "Your future's bigger than any of us imagined. Just remember: with great power comes great responsibility."