By July, the full weight of midsummer heat had settled over Tokyo.
As usual, Toho began warming up the promotional campaign for the second Pokémon theatrical film, The Birth of Lugia.
Matsuoka, head of Toho's publicity division, came rushing to Nakayama Takuya with a proposal—its budget overshooting by nearly thirty percent.
"Executive Nakayama! With Gold/Silver pushing Pokémon's popularity to its absolute peak, we must press the advantage! A full-scale advertising blitz—everywhere! We're going to make The Birth of Lugia the unquestioned king of this summer season!"
His plan was simple and violent:
Prime-time TV trailers on repeat.
Oversized posters covering every subway station.
Lugia's awe-inspiring face imprinted into the mind of every elementary and middle school student.
Nakayama listened quietly, tapping his fingers on the desk, offering no immediate opinion.
Assuming he was hesitating over the budget, Matsuoka hurried to add:
"Executive, this is absolutely worth it! We're promoting a film destined for the history books!"
"Tatsuoka-san," Nakayama finally spoke, calm and even, "tell me—what do you think is this movie's selling point?"
"The role of Legendary Pokémon in the world?" Matsuoka answered instantly.
"Correct—the divine nature of Legendary Pokémon." Nakayama turned slightly. "They're essentially gods of that world. Gods are not something you hawk with a megaphone. What they require is myth… and mystery."
He rejected the bombastic proposal and instead pulled out an older set of conceptual posters—ones created back when they drafted the Gold/Silver film promotion packet.
Not a single poster featured Lugia's face.
Instead, there were three stark, atmospheric concept sheets.
---
The first:
A storm-blackened sky split by lightning, rain crashing down in torrents.
A single line at the bottom:
"When thunder rends the heavens—"
The second:
A scorched wasteland, fire devouring the earth.
Text:
"When flames consume the land—"
The third:
A frozen polar expanse, utterly silent and dead.
Text:
"When ice binds the seas—"
No Pokémon.
Only the despair of an imminent world's end.
---
Not until the fourth poster did the mystery resolve.
From the depths of a boundless, dark ocean, a vast silver silhouette rose slowly upward—its body glowing faintly, peacefully, against the abyss.
Across the top:
"Only a song of repose can restore the world to balance."
Matsuoka couldn't help feeling baffled.
The posters were… subtle. Even cryptic.
Seeing his confusion, Nakayama explained:
"Matsuoka-san, think—who are our primary audience?"
"Students and families," he replied immediately.
"Exactly. And what are all of them preoccupied with right now?"
"…Final exams?"
And then he understood.
"You mean we just need to maintain presence—not overwhelm them with noise?"
"Right. We mustn't irritate the wallets of our core audience. After exams, taking the kids to see a Pokémon movie as a reward for good grades is the perfect timing."
"You're right. I'll get this arranged at once."
---
Meanwhile, in Europe, the end of the World Cup meant SEGA had just finished a month-long stretch of overwhelming advertising exposure as the tournament's only official video-game sponsor.
SEGA's name had spread across the continent like wildfire.
Olympics usually favored big national teams—less appealing in Europe, where most countries were small. But football was Europe's true passion, and with this year's World Cup held in Italy, the attention was unmatched.
France. Ubisoft headquarters.
CEO Yves Guillemot stared at the latest sales report, pacing excitedly in his office before finally snatching up the phone to call Tokyo.
"Takuya! My friend! I must say, your World Cup sponsorship was magnificent!"
The moment the call connected, Yves burst forth in heavily accented English, bubbling like a freshly popped champagne cork.
Nakayama had just wrapped up a meeting with the Children of the Rings team. Hearing Yves's theatrics, he couldn't help but laugh.
"So the results exceeded expectations?"
"Exceeded? This is an epic victory!" Yves practically shouted. "Our warehouses are EMPTY.
Empty! My managers hide when they see me—I've said nothing for days except 'Where's the new shipment?!' Our Mega Drive consoles and games are selling faster than baguettes!"
He described the European frenzy with overwhelming excitement.
"I merely took advantage of Europe's love for football," Nakayama said mildly.
"With Nintendo barely expanding their channels in Europe, SEGA is practically unchallenged here," Yves said proudly.
Nakayama only smiled.
This was merely the first step.
"Yves, don't get too carried away. This is just our brand foundation," he said, shifting tone. "European players have tastes different from Japan or the U.S. Our next step is to tailor something specifically for them."
Yves immediately sobered. "You mean—?"
"Be ready for the next wave," Nakayama said, a hint of mischief in his voice.
"Soon, a group of cute yet powerful little creatures will sail across the ocean… and begin a brand-new adventure on the European continent."
Yves froze—then understood.
Pokémon.
His breath caught.
If the World Cup ad blitz was the battering ram opening the gates of Europe—then Pokémon would be the unstoppable cavalry pouring through.
"Then I'll look forward to it," he said, delighted, and hung up.
Nakayama set down the receiver. The office fell silent again.
Outside the window, Tokyo's neon lights flowed like molten lava.
But the heat in his gaze was already cooling.
Europe's victory was pleasing—but ultimately only a preliminary skirmish.
The real enemy still lurked silently in Kyoto.
The giant whose very existence made the whole industry wary.
Silent. Motionless.
And that was the terrifying part.
A silent lion hides its claws only when preparing to strike.
Nakayama turned toward his desk. A freshly faxed document lay there, stamped boldly with two red characters: Top Secret.
This—this was what SEGA truly had to face this year.
After all, Nintendo's quiet this year… was no hibernation.
He had acquired their internal progress through special channels.
The first page alone was enough to keep any competitor awake at night.
"Super Famicom – first batch of one million units ready for shipment."
"Launch title: Codename 'Super Mario World.'
Directed personally by Shigeru Miyamoto.
Development in final tuning stage."
One million units.
The number sat on the page like a slab of stone.
And this was only the first batch.
The red-hatted, moustached plumber… was about to return.
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