Reno paused.
He was, of course, familiar with Dungeons & Dragons.
Back in college, he'd spent plenty of time in his basement rolling dice with roommates.
But for adults, gathering a group, finding a reliable DM, and clearing out an entire afternoon was an impossible luxury.
"The specs are fine, all new machines," Reno answered. "The network is a dedicated line too."
"Good. Ten dollars a month, plus whatever you're charging for internet, is a lot cheaper than drinking at a bar."
Similar scenes were playing out across the United States.
According to incomplete statistics, there were over a million active DND tabletop players in the U.S. This was a massive demographic with immense purchasing power.
However, the social barrier to entry for physical tabletop gaming was extremely high. The rules were complex, the calculations tedious, and the most critical issue was the time commitment.
The launch of Dungeons & Dragons Online precisely addressed these pain points.
Computers handled the tedious numerical calculations, while the turn-based combat and AFK-management systems solved the problem of network lag. As long as they had a phone line, players could enter Faerûn anytime, anywhere, and team up with fellow enthusiasts from all over the country.
It wasn't just for veteran players.
Newcomers who had always wanted to break into geek social circles but struggled to find a guide now saw their opportunity.
In the United States, "circle culture" is deeply ingrained.
Managing to make a name for yourself in a high-quality D&D group often meant you could rub shoulders with Silicon Valley programmers, Wall Street analysts, or professors from prestigious universities.
Now, this game had become the most accessible stepping stone into that circle.
To gear up for the upcoming launch date, Silicon Valley Online was plastering GG ads everywhere.
Beyond traditional gaming media, the windows of tabletop game stores across the country were all adorned with the same poster featuring a red dragon and a swordsman.
The slogan at the bottom of the poster was blunt and to the point: "Still struggling to find a party? See you on the continent of Faerûn on July 29th. First week free."
In Tokyo in early August, the heat remained relentless, but the air conditioning in the Sega Headquarters Building was cranked up high.
Hideki Sato pushed open the door to the Executive Office.
Having just flown back from San Francisco, he hadn't even gone home, arriving straight to see Takuya Nakayama with a thick inspection report in hand.
"Sit." Takuya Nakayama pointed to the chair opposite him and slid a glass of barley tea across the table. "How are things in Redwood City?"
"Eye-opening." Sato took a sip of tea and flipped open his notebook.
He began to report, in detail, the data he had seen at the Silicon Valley Online Monitoring Center, the player feedback, and the software-hardware synergy plan he had discussed with Mark Cerny.
"The software-level disconnection handling mechanism is quite enlightening. Our Hardware Department has already come up with a preliminary concept: integrating a dedicated hardware cache in the next-generation console's network module to actively send disconnection signal packets to the server. This is much faster than simply relying on software to detect heartbeat packet timeouts."
Takuya Nakayama nodded in approval. "Exactly. Hardware shouldn't just provide computing power; it needs to work with the software to solve actual user pain points. This trip wasn't wasted after all."
He picked up a market briefing from the desk, flipped through a few pages, and looked up at Sato.
"You can proceed with the console as planned. We still have plenty of time, so there's no rush. I called you in today for something else. It's time to put Sega's 16-bit handheld console on the agenda."
Sato froze, his hand still closing his notebook.
"A 16-bit handheld?"
Sega was currently riding a wave of success in the handheld market.
The GamePocket, thanks to its excellent design and the support of a phenomenal hit like Pokémon, was seeing its sales soar. While Nintendo's Game Boy had held its ground with its first-party games, the GamePocket was the undisputed champion in terms of overall installed base and market buzz.
"The GamePocket's lifecycle is still far from over. Do we really need to rush the next generation?" Sato asked.
Takuya Nakayama tossed the presentation slides onto the table and leaned back in his chair.
"Under a living room TV, a player can have a Sega console, with a Sony or Nintendo console right beside it. There's no conflict there. But handhelds are different."
He tapped his own pants pocket.
"A person's pocket has limited space. When they go out, they'll only carry one machine. If they buy more, the others will just sit at home and gather dust."
Nakayama braced his hands on the table and leaned forward.
"Handhelds have an incredibly strong sense of exclusivity and social connection. In schools, on trains, when friends are linking up to trade Pokémon, everyone's holding a GamePocket. If someone pulls out a handheld from another brand, they won't fit into that circle. To fit in, they'll eventually buy a GamePocket anyway. That's the first-mover advantage."
Sato's grip on his pen tightened.
Home consoles competed on performance and exclusive blockbusters, but handhelds competed on market share and social circles.
Whoever captured the players' pockets first held absolute control.
"I see," Sato said, reopening his notebook. "What are your specific requirements for the new handheld?"
"First, it must be backward compatible with all GamePocket games." Takuya Nakayama raised a finger. "We've worked so hard to build such a massive player base and library of games on the GP. We can't just abandon them with the next generation. Backward compatibility is the most effective way to retain our existing players."
Sato noted this down.
From a hardware design perspective, this would require adding extra chips or adopting a compatible architecture, which would increase costs. But from a business logic standpoint, it made perfect sense.
"Second, regarding the screen." Takuya Nakayama's tone grew serious. "I know the Hardware Department has been pushing to use a color LCD for the next handheld."
Sato didn't deny it.
As technology advanced, the shift to color screens was inevitable.
"But current color LCD technology just isn't there yet," Takuya Nakayama declared. "Low yields are keeping costs sky-high, and the real killer is the power consumption. If a handheld takes six AA batteries and lasts less than three hours, it's not a handheld console—it's a portable power-drainer. Players might be able to afford the console, but they won't be able to afford the batteries."
"So you mean we should stick with the monochrome screen?" Sato asked.
"No, we'll prepare for both options." Takuya Nakayama took a sheet of blank paper and sketched a simple block diagram. "We'll start designing the overall architecture for the new handheld console right now. But we must leave enough room for improvements in the screen driver circuitry and motherboard design."
He circled the screen's location with his pen.
"First, we'll build a development kit using existing, mature screen technology to get game development up and running. Meanwhile, you need to keep a close eye on the technical progress of our upstream panel suppliers. The moment the cost of color LCDs drops to an acceptable range and their power efficiency improves significantly, we'll immediately switch plans, swap in the color screen, and launch it directly into the market once the first batch of launch titles is ready."
Please Support me by becoming my Patreon member and get 30+ chapters.
[email protected]/Ajal69
change @ with a
Thank You to Those who joined my Patreon