Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his chair and shook his head.
"If we take the stage, it'll just become Sega's exclusive show," he said, casually flipping over the desk calendar. His gaze settled on May. "The IDSA is just getting started, and everyone's watching. If we make a spectacle of ourselves and turn E3 into Sega's new product launch event, half the third-party manufacturers will run off next year, or they'll just put on a half-hearted display of a few inconsequential projects to fill the space. The other first-party companies will just see the IDSA as Sega's private domain."
Nakayama paused before continuing, "Sony's approach won't work either. Nobuyuki Idei is a typical elite bureaucrat. If he takes the stage, the game developers in the audience, dressed in T-shirts and chugging cola, will feel like they've been transported back to a stuffy CES electronics show."
"So what's your suggestion?"
"Send a letter to Kyoto," Nakayama said, leaning forward. The knuckles of his fingers tapped a rhythmic, muffled sound on the tabletop. "Invite Shigeru Miyamoto."
The Minister of External Affairs was taken aback, as the name was completely outside his prepared list. "Mr. Miyamoto? But... he's just a developer. And he's with Nintendo. Wouldn't giving the microphone to a competitor at this critical juncture..."
"Wouldn't that boost their morale?" Takuya Nakayama smiled, his eyes glinting with calculation. "Quite the opposite. This is giving them an excuse to back down, and it saves us a lot of trouble."
He stood up and walked to the window, gazing out at Tokyo's gloomy sky.
"Think about it. What does Nintendo have right now? The Super Famicom is nearing the end of its product cycle in the mainstream market. Despite its massive installed base, it's already a relic of the past. As for their new console, codenamed 'Project Reality'..." Nakayama scoffed. "I've heard that the R4300i chip they custom-ordered from SGI hasn't even begun the manufacturing process yet. Silicon Graphics still has a lot of work to do, and you can't rush chip production. This means that at this year's E3, Nintendo will have nothing to show but empty promises—no working next-gen hardware."
The Minister of External Affairs suddenly understood: "So, by letting them speak, they won't be able to stir up any trouble?"
"Not only will they not stir up trouble, they'll help us warm up the crowd," Takuya Nakayama replied, turning around with a sharp glint in his eyes. "If we let that old fox Minoru Arakawa take the stage, he'll only talk about market share, legal disputes, and channel control. He's a pure businessman, dripping with the stench of money, and he'll make the entire association look like a backroom deal. This will only further alienate the third-party developers who are already wary of Nintendo's overwhelming influence."
"But Shigeru Miyamoto is different."
Nakayama walked back to his desk, picked up a pen, and twirled it between his fingers. "To developers, he's an industry pioneer, the Father of Mario, the embodiment of Nintendo's gaming fun. If we put him on stage, even if he doesn't talk about anything concrete, just rambles about 'the dreams of games' and 'the boundaries of creativity,' the crowd will be moved to tears. This will set the tone for E3: this is a celebration for creators, not a slaughterhouse for capitalists. This emphasis on game products will encourage other third parties to focus on game development and promotion. When the entire association unites to focus on products and serving players, the E3 Exhibition will become more attractive to players and gaming media alike."
Elevating Shigeru Miyamoto would not only give Nintendo face and appease this wounded lion, but also cleverly avoid the troublesome characters in Nintendo's Legal and Sales departments. Moreover, it would set the tone for the E3 Exhibition, attracting more participants—whether game developers, attendees, or media.
As a side note, for Sega, when everyone was immersed in Miyamoto's "game philosophy," Sega could seize the opportunity to showcase technically brilliant live demos of Virtua Fighter 3 and Toy Story at their booth. The stark contrast between the lofty ideals and the harsh reality (Nintendo) would create the perfect "secret weapon" effect.
"Moreover," Takuya Nakayama said, tossing his pen back into the pen holder with a crisp clink, "Sony won't object either. They'd much rather see a Miyamoto who sticks to game development than have Arakawa Minoru show up and be passive-aggressive. After all, Ken Kutaragi is a tech geek at heart. He respects Miyamoto far more than he respects Arakawa."
The Minister of External Affairs quickly jotted down the key points in his notebook, the rustling of his pen against the paper standing out sharply in the quiet office.
"Understood. I'll contact Nintendo of America immediately. But what if they refuse? Given the current situation—"
"Minoru Arakawa will agree," Takuya Nakayama said with conviction. "He knows better than anyone how awkward Nintendo's position is right now. With hardware development stalled and a desperate need for exposure, we're offering him this 'industry leader' title. It's the perfect way to divert public attention from the long development cycle of their new console. It's a win-win."
"Also, tell Tom Kalinske," Nakayama added. "Have him prepare a beautifully worded invitation that emphasizes our reverence for the 'Father of Mario.' We need to go all out and show everyone how magnanimous Sega, as the association's founder, truly is."
"Yes, sir," the Minister of External Affairs replied, closing his notebook and turning toward the door.
"Wait."
Nakayama called him back.
"And while you're at it, leak this to the media: This year's E3 will be the first in video game history to be dominated by developers, not executives. Make sure the slogan 'Return to the Essence of Gaming' rings loud and clear."
Kyoto, Nintendo Headquarters.
A fax from across the ocean lay at the center of the mahogany conference table.
Sega had proposed that Shigeru Miyamoto serve as the keynote speaker at the inaugural E3, a suggestion made in their capacity as founding members of the IDSA.
The move was so cunning that the Nintendo veterans at the table stared at the text for a long time, unable to find any flaws.
"Takuya Nakayama is making a power play," Genyo Takeda broke the silence first. As head of hardware development, he was known for his bluntness. His knuckles rapped against the table, producing a rhythmic tok-tok-tok. "If they truly feared Project Reality, they'd never give Nintendo such a public platform. The fact that they'd hand the microphone to Miyamoto shows they don't see Nintendo as a threat anymore."
The words were harsh, but they were true.
Sega's Jupiter was conquering the market, setting new sales records each month.
Meanwhile, Nintendo's R4300i chip, developed in partnership with Silicon Graphics, remained a mere blueprint—not even a prototype had been manufactured yet.
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