The first workday after the DDR Global Finals, in Kyoto, at Nintendo's headquarters, Hiroshi Yamauchi sat silently behind his massive black-lacquered desk, staring at the TV screen. It replayed the finals, with the LA brothers hoisting the trophy against a colossal Sega-Sony logo backdrop. The crowd's feverish roars, even through the screen, radiated searing intensity.
The boardroom was grim. The DDR finals' Olympic-scale spectacle weighed like a boulder on every executive's chest. Sega and Sony's combined might—capable of captivating global youth and influencing national tourism policies—sent a chill through the gaming empire's titan.
"We must pull the market's focus back to Nintendo," a marketing chief broke the silence. "Per last year's plan, we should announce Super Mario Bros. 3's final development stage to all media, with handpicked screenshots showcasing its evolution. Let everyone know who the industry's true star is."
The proposal won unanimous nods. In Nintendo's empire, Mario was the ultimate trump card, silencing all noise.
Hours later, the bombshell news detonated across Japan's gaming media. Famitsu rushed an extra edition. Carefully curated screenshots—Tanooki Mario's new form, imaginative level designs—captured players' eyes. The DDR-crazed gaming community swiveled to Mario's next chapter.
Players flooded magazines with calls for details, editors scrambling to rewrite front-page headlines. The red-hatted, mustachioed plumber, with mere images, yanked attention back to Nintendo's orbit. The PR team exhaled, the office's tension easing.
But the relief didn't last past afternoon tea. That afternoon, Sega launched a ferocious counterstrike. A slickly produced ad, unannounced, bombarded Japan's TV screens during prime ad slots.
It opened with a jarring electronic synth: "MEGA DRIVE." Sega unveiled its next-gen 16-bit console.
A black screen flashed bold text: "True 16-Bit"—a jab at the PC Engine's 8-bit CPU "pseudo-16-bit" setup. The ad then erupted into rapid cuts: Terry Bogard's dazzling "Power Geyser" in Fatal Fury, Space Harrier's hero weaving through vivid 3D gridscapes, swarmed by enemies.
Then, a never-before-seen game: a yellow, red-cheeked electric mouse—Pikachu—joined by Charmander, Squirtle, and Bulbasaur, romping through lush grasslands and forests. The title gleamed: Pokémon Park: Adventure.
These visuals, far beyond the Famicom's limits, hit like a visual storm, seizing players' hearts. Youths, just buzzing over Super Mario Bros. 3, sobered, clutching their New Year's money, choosing to wait and see.
At Nintendo's headquarters, Yamauchi's office TV looped the Mega Drive ad. His face darkened from grim to ashen. Behind him, Shigeru Miyamoto stared at Pokémon Park's footage, torn between admiration for its artistry and dread as a rival.
"Investigate," Yamauchi hissed through gritted teeth. "At any cost, I want everything on this console."
The next day, a detailed report landed on his desk: a year of covert R&D, a million-unit chip deal with Toshiba, a robust launch lineup developed under DDR and arcade project cover. Each word screamed this wasn't a fluke ambush but a meticulously planned war to topple Nintendo's dynasty.
The boardroom fell deathly silent, only the rustle of pages breaking it. Yamauchi leaned back, his initial shock and fury hardening into icy resolve, his gaze piercing as if seeing Sega's smug rival across the city.
"Well played, Hayao Nakayama," he muttered, voice devoid of warmth, slamming the desk. The teacup jumped, clinking sharply, mirroring the jolt in every executive's heart.
"They want to seize the future with a new console?" His eyes, sharp as blades, swept the room. "I'll crush their future with our strongest present."
His gaze locked on Miyamoto. "Miyamoto-kun." Miyamoto stiffened. "Set Super Mario Bros. 3's release for the same day as the Mega Drive."
The room froze, executives exchanging incredulous glances. Miyamoto's heart sank. Pitting a software masterpiece against a new console's launch was like a kamikaze run against a carrier. Win or lose, his painstaking creation would suffer irreparable harm.
"President—" Miyamoto began, hoping to argue for more polishing time to secure his game's future. But Yamauchi's unyielding stare silenced him. This wasn't just competition or war—it was a gamble staking Nintendo's empire, with Miyamoto's masterpiece as the central card.
He bowed his head, burying reluctance. "Hai," he said, a heavy syllable of absolute obedience.
Nintendo's war machine entered an eerie calm, loudly hyping Super Mario Bros. 3 while keeping its release date secret, like a tiger stalking prey. After two weeks of tension, Sega revealed its hand.
January 20, 1988: Sega announced the Mega Drive's launch for February 13, 1988—Valentine's Day eve—priced at 20,980 yen. Slightly cheaper than its real-world October 29, 1988, launch at 21,000 yen, this benefited from Sega's early Hong Kong and Taiwan manufacturing integration and bulk chip procurement. The price dipped just below the 22,000-yen cost, with plans to lower production costs within months to avoid heavy losses.
The news hit Kyoto, and Nintendo's primed war machine roared to life. Within hours, Japan's major gaming media and retailers received Nintendo's official notice: Super Mario Bros. 3 would also launch on February 13, 1988.
The Japanese gaming world erupted. Everyone sensed an unprecedented clash: a flagship game versus a next-gen console, a century-defining showdown.