The reporter handed over the microphone: "Then how did your company manage to survive and achieve profitability amidst such fierce competition?"
Kenta Watanabe walked up to a whiteboard, on which a few simple sketches of game levels were drawn. "Asymmetric competition. We invested all our resources into 16-bit platforms and handheld consoles. The global installed base of the SFC and MD is in the tens of millions. The penetration rate of the GamePocket is also ridiculously high. We don't need to make blockbusters; we create refined products in vertical niches."
He pointed to a 2D side-scrolling puzzle game currently being tested on the computer screen. "Low development costs, short cycles. Once the core gameplay is polished, combined with Sega's clearance discount policy for distribution, this game only needs to sell 20,000 copies to break even. A handheld game we released last month has current sales of 50,000 copies. This is our way of survival."
This report from NHK was relatively more objective.
It showed the public a mature industrial ecosystem.
"This is our way of survival."
NHK's report was relatively more objective.
It showed the public a mature industrial ecosystem.
Not only were there industry giants like Sega and Capcom "eating the meat," but there were also a large number of small and medium-sized enterprises like "Pixel Workshop" "sipping the soup."
A healthy cultural industry should naturally accommodate creators at multiple levels.
These intensive media reports completely reshaped the image of the gaming industry in Japanese society.
Inside a politician's office in Nagatachō, several politicians responsible for industrial planning were flipping through a briefing prepared by their secretaries.
"The proportion of game product exports continues to rise," one politician pointed to the sales data in the North American market. "The cooperative model like 'Toy Story,' where the US provides the IP and Japan provides the hardware and development technology, avoids sensitive areas of trade friction. This is much smarter than exporting cars directly."
"The Ministry of International Trade and Industry is already drafting new support policies," another politician picked up a teacup. "Regarding the training of software engineering talent, several universities are expanding their computer science departments. The capital market is also raising its ratings for game-related stocks."
At the Tokyo Stock Exchange, the stocks of several mid-sized game companies that had just gone public were snapped up as soon as trading opened.
Investors looked at the trends on the K-line charts, discussing which company could become the next Capcom or Konami.
It was late December, and the wind was biting on the streets of Tokyo.
Investors watched the trends on the candlestick charts, discussing which company might become the next Capcom or Konami.
The streets of Tokyo in late December were biting cold.
In the electric town of Akihabara, crowds were surging.
In front of the shelves at major retail stores, those choosing games weren't just students with backpacks, but also office workers in trench coats and housewives pushing strollers.
Games of all types had found their own audiences in this market.
3D blockbusters displayed dazzling polygons on television screens, catching the eyes of core gamers; classic 16-bit 2D cartridges were being snapped up by veteran players in the discount section; at the handheld console counters, young people discussed which puzzle game was more addictive.
From media studios to crowded office buildings, from the desks of politicians to the living rooms of ordinary families, the influence of the gaming industry was everywhere.
Video games had transcended their status as mere entertainment. With a complete set of business logic and technological output, they had firmly staked out their own territory in this era of Japan.
The wheels of the industry roared forward, sweeping up every associated individual and enterprise, driving them toward a broader track.
It was late December 1995, and the streets of Tokyo were wrapped in the festive atmosphere of Christmas and the New Year.
The gaming sections of major retail stores were packed with people, and the year-end shopping war led by Sega was in full swing.
This should have been the busiest time for Sega's Executive Managing Director.
In a conference room at Sega's headquarters building in Ota Ward, Hisao Oguchi looked at the mountain of documents on his desk and let out a long sigh.
Takuya Nakayama had completely delegated the coordination of the entire year-end shopping season to him.
"The Managing Director is really good at playing the hands-off boss," Oguchi complained to Yuji Naka, who was sitting across from him, as he pulled out a report on third-party royalty settlements and signed his name. "Sony just announced its PlayStation New Year promotion yesterday—buy a console and get a 3,000 yen game discount coupon. At a critical time like this, he won't even hold a strategy meeting."
Yuji Naka didn't even look up as he flipped through the technical documentation in his hands.
"Mrs. Nakayama's due date is here. Do you really expect someone who considers his wife's pregnancy more important than ringing the opening bell at NASDAQ to stay at the office and work overtime at a time like this?"
Oguchi Hisao had no response.
He tossed the signed documents into the document basket.
"I understand the logic. But all this mess is dumped on me. Yesterday, Konami president Kazumasa Kozuki even called, beating around the bush, asking about our schedule for next spring. I don't dare give him a definitive answer."
"Just proceed according to the original plan," Yuji Naka said, flipping a page in the document. "Before the Managing Director left, he made it clear that as long as it doesn't involve changes to the core hardware architecture, you have full authority over channel matters. He even delegated the development resource allocation of Sega's headquarters to me. With that kind of trust, what more do you have to complain about?"
Oguchi Hisao picked up his cold coffee and took a sip.
In this fiercely competitive market environment, one of Sega's helmsmen was comfortably waiting at the Sugiyama Obstetrics and Gynecology Hospital.
Sugiyama Obstetrics and Gynecology Hospital is located in Setagaya Ward and is famous for its extreme privacy and top-tier medical facilities.
Inside the VIP ward, the heater was turned up high.
The humidifier spouted a fine mist of water, neutralizing the dryness typical of winter.
Sugiyama Obstetrics and Gynecology Hospital is located in Setagaya Ward, renowned for its extreme privacy and top-tier medical facilities.
Inside the VIP ward, the heating is set high.
A humidifier sprays a fine mist, neutralizing the dryness typical of winter.
The room is decorated not like a hospital room, but more like a suite in a high-end hotel. A few landscape paintings with soft colors hang on the walls, and a pot of blooming moth orchids sits by the window.
Eri leans against the adjustable hospital bed, holding a parenting magazine in her hands.
She is wearing a light blue maternity lounge set, her belly visibly round and prominent.
Compared to when she was pregnant with Kazuki five years ago, she is in much better condition this time, without the torture of early morning sickness or the late-stage edema.
Takuya Nakayama sits on a single sofa by the bed, holding a small knife and peeling an apple.
The peel forms a long, unbroken strip under his hand before finally falling into the trash can.
He cuts the peeled apple into small pieces, sticks a toothpick in one, and hands it to Eri.
"You really don't have to stay here every day," Eri says, picking up a piece of apple, chewing it slowly before speaking. "The doctor has already done the rounds, and all the indicators are normal. The baby is also in the right position."
Takuya Nakayama pulls out a tissue and wipes his hands.
"Koguchi and Yuji Naka are watching over things at the company; there won't be any trouble. Who can say for sure when labor will start with something like childbirth? It's better for me to stay by your side than to rush back after getting a call while in a company meeting."
Eri puts down the magazine and looks at him with a smile.
"You're too nervous.
It's the second time already.
The head nurse even complimented you yesterday, saying she had never seen a senior executive of a large corporation who could manage to be there for care on time every single day."
Eri put down her magazine and looked at him with a smile.
"You're too tense. This is the second time already. The head nurse even complimented you yesterday, saying she's never seen a big corporate executive who manages to be there every day for support. Aren't you afraid rumors might spread in the industry about Sega's Executive Managing Director being obsessed with family life and neglecting his work?"
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