While Nakayama Takuya was stirring up waves in the North American market, back in Japan, the promotional warm-up for Pokémon Gold & Silver had already begun.
This time, Sega did not unleash an overwhelming carpet-bombing of GG ads like they had for the MD or GAMEPOCKET launches.
Instead, they poured resources into cross-media promotions that continued directly from the previous game and the theatrical film.
---
The first week—
Outside every officially certified "Pokémon Center" store in the country, long queues formed once again.
Only this time, the children weren't clutching money—they were holding their beloved Pokémon digital pets.
"Next!"
A nervous fourth-grade boy stepped forward and handed his Poliwhirl digital pet to the staff. The staff member connected it skillfully to a special terminal. A prompt appeared on the screen:
"Confirm evolution into Politoed?"
"Yes!" the boy answered, voice trembling.
A flash of white light. The chubby Poliwhirl's form shifted—now crowned with a noble green swirl atop its head, its expression regal. Evolution complete!
"Whoa! A Politoed!" a chorus of envious cries rose from the line behind him.
The boy cradled the newly evolved device as if it were a treasure, hung it around his neck, puffed out his chest, and strode out triumphantly under the awestruck gazes of his friends.
Throughout the week, items that had existed only in the anime—King's Rock, Dragon Scale, Metal Coat—were converted into real data through Sega's terminals and delivered directly into players' digital pets.
Slowking, Kingdra, Steelix, Scizor—new Pokémon one after another, instantly becoming the brightest stars of every schoolyard.
And this was only the appetizer.
---
Week Two—
Sega released the final batch of this generation's digital pets, numbers 225 to 248 in the Pokédex—everything except the three legendary beasts, the tower duo, and Celebi.
Among them was a Pokémon that looked suspiciously like a baby Godzilla.
Larvitar.
Everyone knew that this unassuming little creature would one day evolve into an overwhelming power. A new pseudo-legendary!
Within hours, every Larvitar device in stores was sold out, even overshadowing the frenzy of Week One's special-item evolutions.
Owning a Larvitar meant owning the future Tyranitar—that fact became silently acknowledged among hardcore players.
---
Week Three—
When the excitement had reached its peak, Sega delivered the final blow.
The official release date of Pokémon Gold & Silver was announced.
Along with it came a lottery. Anyone who purchased Gold or Silver could enter with their proof of purchase.
The moment the prizes were revealed, the community exploded.
First Prize:
Limited-edition digital pets of Entei, Raikou, Suicune.
Fifty units each.
Only 150 for all of Japan.
"I'm buying! Even if I don't win, I'm buying both versions—gotta raise the family's odds!" a high schooler shouted outside a shop.
"I'll trade all my allowance for a Suicune!"
"Not again—Sega's putting out only fifty?!"
Immediately afterward, once the Pokémon anime finished airing on TV Tokyo, the GG advertisement for Gold & Silver finally appeared.
The protagonist sped down a country path on his bicycle—pagodas rising behind him, sakura drifting through the air.
A Cyndaquil scampered at his heels.
Cut. A kimono-clad girl passed by, a graceful Chikorita following her.
Finally, the scene froze above the Whirl Islands, where a massive shadow moved beneath the waves—a soul-piercing cry echoing.
Lugia.
The screen darkened. Three lines appeared:
"A new region. One hundred new encounters."
"Is your Pokémon ready for a new world?"
"Pokémon Gold & Silver — Coming Soon."
An unstoppable tide of pre-orders swept across Japan.
Competitors had no response. Ever since Sega informed third-party developers last month of the impending launch, all they could do was delay their own releases and back away.
Even Nintendo HQ went silent, burying itself in developing launch titles for the SFC, ignoring the storm outside.
By late May, Japan's entire gaming industry revolved around a single word—Pokémon.
---
May 26th — Release Day
Before dawn, lines stretched from the doors of Akihabara's electronics stores all the way around the block.
Students off for the weekend, office workers pretending to be "out on field duty," and parents dragged along by pleading children all gathered.
"Hey, do we really need both versions?" a sleepy father grumbled. "It's just a lottery—one should be enough."
"Dad, you don't get it!" the boy clenched his fists. "Buying both doubles the odds! What if I get Suicune!? It's Suicune!"
The father sighed and fell silent.
The kids in line talked about one thing only.
"Have you picked your starter? I'm taking Cyndaquil—it's so cool!"
"I'm picking Chikorita—same as the kimono girl!"
One boy proudly displayed his metallic-gleaming Scizor device, drawing admiring stares.
"First thing I do after getting the game—I'm sending my Scizor into it!"
When the store finally opened, the crowd flooded in.
Money exchanged hands. Players received gleaming cartridges—Ho-Oh on Gold, Lugia on Silver.
Almost everyone tore open the packaging immediately, filled in their lottery ticket with the utmost solemnity, and dropped it into the red box.
Each slip represented the dream of owning Entei, Raikou, or Suicune.
And all this fever culminated in one number that stunned the entire industry.
First-week sales:
▶ Worldwide: over 2 million
▶ Japan alone: more than 1.5 million
The myth of an era continued, unstoppable.
For over a million players who now held the game, a new world was slowly unfolding.
---
Veteran players immediately pulled out their long-raised digital pets.
"Kensuke! Hurry and try transferring your Scizor!"
"Don't rush me—this is a sacred ritual!"
Kensuke, the boy who had flaunted his Scizor in the launch-day line, connected a special cable from his game console to the digital pet.
After the professor's assistant explained the procedure, a data-transfer bar began creeping forward.
Everyone held their breath.
When it finished, Kensuke trembled as he guided his character out of his bedroom.
A majestic Scizor stood beside the protagonist's mother.
"Holy crap! It worked! My Scizor!" Kensuke almost threw his console in excitement. "It really came to the new world!"
His friends stared, speechless.
To longtime players, bringing a beloved partner into a new region was as joyous as when they first transferred Pokémon into Red & Green the previous year.
For newcomers, Johto was full of mysteries and surprises.
---
Ten days after release, a student shared an unusual experience:
"I finally reached the depths of the Power Plant and found Zapdos. My team was in bad shape and I was out of Poké Balls, so I tried running."
"Same thing in the Seafoam Islands with Articuno, and again with Moltres. I ran every time."
"Then I turned on my radio to listen to music—and one channel was pure static. This serious voice kept repeating: 'Emergency alert. Extreme weather detected in the southern Whirl Islands. Storm activity rising. All routes are closed. Trainers are advised to stay away.'"
At first, no one believed him.
"Never happened to me. Maybe your cartridge's broken?"
"You ran? From a legendary? Genius move…"
But he insisted he wasn't lying.
Eventually, a curious player tried it—deliberately fleeing from all three legendary birds in succession.
When he tuned the radio, the music channel dissolved into static.
"Emergency alert. Extreme weather detected—"
The exact same announcement.
The community erupted.
"It's real!"
"This isn't a bug—it's a hidden event!"
"Why does running away trigger this? Are we NOT supposed to catch the birds?"
"No—look at the GG! The shadow! The Whirl Islands!"
Clues clicked into place.
A top strategy group rushed to the Whirl Islands with a save file that had triggered the broadcast.
A new dock appeared—one that hadn't existed before.
On the storm-lashed island, there were no Pokémon, no items—only a lonely sign.
Inspecting it revealed a message:
"How does one soothe the wrath of nature unleashed by capturing the three sacred birds? How does one calm the roar of the Sea Guardian?"
"Please look forward to the upcoming Pokémon movie — Lugia's Birth Explosion!"
When the photo hit gaming magazines, the entire player base fell silent.
"Sega, damn you! You hid a movie teaser inside the game again?!"
"I waited six hours in line, bought BOTH versions—just to watch your trailer inside a game?!"
"I'm angry… but now I'm even more hyped, damn it!"
Players finally realized Sega had repeated what they did two years ago—burying a theatrical-film teaser inside the game itself.
That afternoon, Sega and Toho Films streamed the first official trailer for Lugia's Birth Explosion.
A deep, shadowed trench. A massive creature opening its eyes.
Flames, lightning, and frost clashing in the sky—the three legendary birds battling violently.
Ash and his friends trapped in the storm's center.
A silver giant tore through the sea, spreading its wings.
Lugia.
The final line drifted up:
"Are you ready to witness the arrival of a god?"
Everyone who watched it had only one thought:
When does this movie come out?
The Lugia trailer hit like a depth charge—its shockwaves lingering.
Players were still torn between laughing and cursing Sega for "toying" with them, while frantically searching for the film's release date.
But Sega wasn't done.
---
The week after the trailer, as talk of Lugia and the Whirl Islands finally began dying down, Sega dropped yet another GG ad—shown after the anime and inside all Pokémon Centers.
The message was blunt and explosive:
"To give trainers a deeper experience of raising Pokémon, Sega and official Pokémon Centers will release a new accessory — the Blank Digital Pet Device."
The product image followed:
A pure-white, egg-shaped digital pet machine.
A lone question mark on its screen.
Players were confused at first.
"A digital pet? Isn't that old news?"
"Blank? So it comes with no Pokémon?"
Then they saw the fine print.
"Players may bring two compatible Pokémon digital pets to a Pokémon Center terminal. Through a special communication device, they may breed and obtain an Egg, which can be transferred into the Blank Digital Pet Device."
The community exploded.
If the Lugia easter egg was mental chaos, this was a direct strike on players' wallets.
"Sega PLEASE—I'm still recovering from buying the games, and now the movie's coming, and NOW you're telling me my digital pets can breed?!"
"They're insane! They're trying to drain us dry!"
"Stop yelling—when does it release? Which store? I'm taking the day off!"
Love and hatred mixed instantly.
The same players who cursed Sega yesterday became its most loyal followers today.
This wasn't just merch anymore—it was a sacred relic that broke through the boundaries of fiction.
Throughout June, Japan's gaming world was shrouded entirely in Pokémon.
Queues formed once more outside every Pokémon Center.
Sega had used a game easter egg to preview a movie—then used new merchandise to drain the market again.
Games, movies, physical devices—the three formed a perfect loop, pulling every player, and even bystanders, into the vast whirlpool called Pokémon.
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