You have to understand, in this era, a game selling a million copies is enough for a company to pop champagne and celebrate.
Five million copies is a feat of phenomenal dominance.
The more critical data follows below.
The global cumulative install base of the Jupiter console has surged from just over five million units in October to nearly nine million by the beginning of January.
In just over two months, nearly four million new units have been added.
Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his leather chair and let out a long breath.
In his previous life, during the 32-bit console wars, Sony's PlayStation, with its earth-shattering blow—Final Fantasy VII—completely ended all suspense.
But now, a full year before the release of Final Fantasy VII from his previous life, Sega had already secured the decisive match point.
Toy Story acted as the game-changer in this timeline.
A family-friendly game had forcibly pried open the wallets of the non-traditional gaming demographic.
Takuya Nakayama twirled the fountain pen in his hand.
It had been ten years since he transmigrated.
From that blackout-prone Tokyo Tech graduate in 1985 to the Executive Managing Director now steering the course of a gaming empire.
Over these ten years, his greatest achievement was not how many masterpieces he managed to preemptively snatch up with his foresight, nor how many talented producers he poached.
It was fundamentally changing Sega's DNA.
The Sega of the past was a pure "tech bro."
They only knew how to make intense, fast-paced, hardcore arcade games like *Golden Axe*, *Altered Beast*, and *Space Harrier*.
They knew how to get players to insert coins, but they didn't know how to make players sit comfortably in their living rooms for an entire afternoon.
Now, Sega has ample capital, deep technical reserves, and a massive third-party lineup.
More importantly, the development teams' mindset has been completely opened up.
For the *Toy Story* tie-in game, other than setting the tone early on, Takuya Nakayama hardly interfered with its subsequent development.
The teams from Sega of North America and the Japanese headquarters, relying on their own technical prowess, created a work that perfectly aligned with the film in terms of gameplay, creativity, and core spirit.
He didn't need to teach them step-by-step; Sega was now capable of forging full-fledged, versatile warriors on its own.
What's more, Square had long since been brought into the fold as a Sega-invested company.
"Final Fantasy VII," this nuclear weapon, was destined to be released exclusively on the Jupiter.
What could Sony possibly use to fight back?
Nakayama Takuya threw his pen onto the desk, stood up, and walked over to the liquor cabinet in the corner of his office.
Inside sat a bottle of Dom Pérignon.
It was one Kalinski had sent from North America when the Jupiter first launched last year.
He had never opened it.
Today, he suddenly felt in the mood.
He pulled the cork with a soft "pop."
The pale golden liquid poured into the crystal glass, and tiny, dense bubbles rose along the sides.
Popping champagne at halftime is a major tactical error in military strategy.
But right now, he just wanted a drink.
Savoring the fruits of ten years of hard work, savoring the sense of achievement that would change history.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in."
Oguchi Hisao pushed the door open, his arms cradling two thick stacks of documents, his chin practically resting on the pile.
He slammed the documents onto the desk and, just as he was about to report on work, looked up to see Nakayama Takuya holding a stemmed glass, leisurely sipping champagne.
Oguchi Hisao froze.
The New Year had just passed, and work piled up during the holidays was mountainous—was the Managing Director actually drinking in his office?
"Managing Director, these are the latest reports from the Distribution Department and the Third-Party Liaison Office..." Oguchi Hisao pointed to the documents on the desk, his tone tinged with helplessness.
Nakayama Takuya walked back to his desk, picked up an empty glass, poured half a glass of champagne, and handed it to him.
"Care for a drink?"
Oguchi Hisao waved his hands repeatedly. "During business hours? That's against the rules."
"Rules are made by people. Let's make an exception today." Nakayama Takuya pushed the glass into his hand and pointed to the briefing on the desk. "Have you seen it?"
"I have. Jupiter sales are approaching nine million." Once the topic shifted to business, Oguchi Hisao's professionalism kicked in. "Distributors are clamoring for stock, especially for the Buzz Lightyear Limited Edition; it's already being scalped for 50,000 yen on the second-hand market. Even though we can't break our own rule against reproducing limited-edition products, we could rush out a commemorative version with similar design language to celebrate hitting the 5 million sales mark—and this one won't be limited. The production department is scheduling shifts around the clock."
"What's Sony's move?"
"PlayStation's New Year promotion had mediocre results. The 3,000 yen discount coupon they gave away boosted some software sales, but the increase in hardware install base was far below our expectations. The North American market is being firmly suppressed by Kalinski, and in Europe, they've barely managed to maintain their baseline."
Takuya Nakayama raised his glass and clinked it against the one in Hisao Oguchi's hand.
"So, we've won half the battle."
The crisp sound of glass clinking echoed in the office.
Hisao Oguchi looked at the bubbles in his glass without refuting him.
As a Sega veteran, he knew all too well what an install base of nine million meant at this point in time.
The console market is driven by a very strong Matthew effect.
The higher the install base, the more willing third-party developers are to create games for you; the more good games there are, the faster the install base grows.
It is an unbreakable positive cycle.
"Congratulations, Managing Director," Hisao Oguchi said, raising his glass and taking a sip. "Double the joy: little Miki was born safely, and Jupiter is a resounding success."
Takuya Nakayama smiled. "Miki is very well-behaved, much less trouble than Kazuki was as a baby. Eri is recovering well, too. Only then did I feel I could come back to the office to check on things."
"You've been away for the past few days, and President Kazumasa Kozuki has called three times," Hisao Oguchi began his business report. "Konami is avoiding a December release for *Suikoden* and plans to launch in February. He wanted to ask if Sega has any major first-party releases scheduled for the spring season, so they can avoid another clash."
"Tell him that Sega's main title for the spring is *Sakura Wars 2*. It's a text-based adventure game that blends dating simulation and tactical RPG elements, and its target audience doesn't overlap much with *Suikoden*. Tell him to go ahead and release it with confidence."
"Understood. Also, Capcom President Kenzo Tsujimoto has sent word that he would like to arrange a dinner with you to discuss promotional resources for *Resident Evil*."
"Schedule it for next Wednesday evening," Takuya Nakayama said, walking to the floor-to-ceiling window to look out at the streetscape of Ota Ward. "*Resident Evil* is Shinji Mikami's labor of love and one of Jupiter's highlights for the first half of this year. Since Capcom is willing to make it a Jupiter exclusive, we naturally must give them our full support."
Hisao Oguchi took out a small notebook and quickly jotted down the details.
After handling these core matters, Takuya Nakayama turned around and looked at his subordinate.
Hisao Oguchi had grown rapidly over the past two years.
From someone who used to be just a background player running errands, he was now able to manage channels, third-party relations, and promotions in an orderly manner, having developed the ability to handle things on his own.
"Oguchi-san."
Takuya Nakayama changed the way he addressed him.
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