(Rebirth '86: I Opened the Gates to a New World Through Gaming)
"Contra." That was the English name.
Back home, it would have had a different title. But here and now, Contra was all that mattered. It had the potential to be as legendary as Super Mario itself.
And Akira Nakamura knew it.
He wasn't just eager to license the game—he wanted to sign Ethan Cole, too.
"You know, Mr. Cole," Nakamura said with a professional smile, "have you considered working for us full-time? With your talent, you'd rise through the ranks quickly. I can see you leading your own development team in no time."
Ethan shook his head. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm not interested in being tied down. I hope that doesn't affect our potential collaboration."
"Of course not," Nakamura replied quickly. "It's just—someone like you would thrive with the right platform. But I understand. Independent spirit, I respect that."
He was disappointed, clearly, but not offended. The real prize was the game.
"Then let's talk about a deal," Nakamura said, already moving toward the door. "We can use a meeting room downstairs. More private."
"Fine by me, though I'm a bit pressed for time," Ethan replied, glancing at his watch. "I have to catch a bullet train. Heading out to the coast for another assignment."
That did the trick—Nakamura picked up the pace.
Ethan allowed himself a grin. This was it. The first step.
As if on cue, a notification shimmered in his vision, part of the long-dormant system he'd received when he first landed in 1986:
"Milestone achieved: First major step in your gaming career. +5,000 Points."
Ethan blinked. So it still worked.
He'd nearly forgotten the system. It had been locked up since his arrival. But apparently, closing a game licensing deal had triggered its awakening.
He made a mental note to explore it later. Right now, he had contracts to sign.
Nakamura looked over. "The coast? If I may ask—business or pleasure?"
"Actually, I'm on assignment from my school," Ethan replied. "I came here on a work-study program. I'm helping facilitate a tech procurement deal for an industrial firm. The meeting's in Tokyo Bay."
This deal with NGS? Purely his own initiative. A side hustle, really. But the real reason he was in Japan was as a technical translator for heavy machinery sales.
And the clock was ticking.
"I see. All the more reason to be efficient," Nakamura said. "I'll have legal prepare the draft immediately."
This game was too good to let slip through his fingers.
Originally, he'd hoped for a formal celebration—a gesture to show Ethan how valued he was. But time was tight.
"Once the game is a hit, we'll do a proper celebration," Nakamura promised. "Maybe even bring you back for a feature event."
But business was business.
An assistant returned with the preliminary contract. The tone shifted. No more warm chatter—this was down to brass tacks.
"Our company, NGS, will handle all manufacturing, distribution, and global sales of the Contra game cartridges," said the contracts rep. "In exchange for global exclusive rights, we propose a 50-50 revenue share. All promotional campaigns, logistics, and international shipping will be handled on our end."
Fifty percent. Ethan almost laughed.
Ah. Here comes the classic Nintendo move.
There was no doubt anymore—NGS was this world's version of Nintendo. And early Nintendo had a brutal reputation for licensing: half your revenue gone, just like that.
But they got away with it. Why?
Because they had the install base. Tens of millions of consoles sold. No one else even came close.
If Ethan went with a competitor, he might sell 10,000 copies. With NGS? A hundred thousand was a lowball estimate.
Still, fifty percent was robbery. Time to haggle.
Ethan leaned in, flipping slowly through the contract, reading every line.
This wasn't some "Accept Terms & Conditions" click-through agreement. This was real money. And Ethan had run a company before—he knew how this game was played.
He paused, raised an eyebrow.
"Fifty percent? That's steep," he said. "I built this game myself. Took months of work. And you want half the profits?"
The legal rep smiled politely. "We understand, Mr. Cole. But you're not just licensing code. We're taking on all distribution risks—production, advertising, backend logistics. And the gaming market is still volatile."
Ethan didn't flinch.
"I know how these deals usually go," he said. "You take 30 to 40 percent tops. So why is mine 50?"
The rep hesitated. Just for a second.
"We're confident the value we bring justifies the rate," he said. "But—if it helps—we're willing to meet you halfway. We'll drop it to 45%."
Ethan didn't blink. This was where the real negotiation began.
And he wasn't some clueless rookie. In his previous life, he'd run contract meetings of his own. He knew the pressure points.
After a tense back-and-forth, the final terms were set:
NGS would take 30% of net profits.
In exchange, they'd retain exclusive global publishing rights for 20 years.
However, distribution in Ethan's home country was excluded from the deal.
That last clause gave Ethan flexibility.
Nakamura agreed. Ethan's country had no gaming infrastructure anyway—what harm could it do?
The final signatures were made. The legal rep packed up the documents and left the room.
Nakamura stayed behind.
He smiled warmly and extended a hand. "Tell your mentor—Professor Grant, was it—that I said thank you. And if you ever need help on this side of the ocean, my door is open."
With that, the deal was done.
Ethan, now thousands of dollars richer in future profits and holding a verified partnership with the biggest game publisher in the world, stood up and shook off the tension.
Now it was time to catch that bullet train.
Back to the real job.