Kyoto, Nintendo Headquarters.
Hiroshi Yamauchi sat behind a large desk, listening expressionlessly to his subordinate's report.
The subordinate, a middle-aged manager responsible for market intelligence, had a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, his voice as cautious as if he were walking on ice.
"President, over at Sega… the fatal fury tournament, the response exceeded our expectations."
"The Tokyo qualifiers are over, and the buzz is incredibly high."
The manager flipped through the documents in his hand, the rustling of paper a soft sound that seemed particularly jarring in the silence.
"'The Television' magazine did a special report, and sales have significantly increased."
"Fuji Television has also confirmed that they will broadcast all matches live on TV, starting from the national finals' top eight."
TV broadcast.
These four words caused a subtle, almost imperceptible shadow to pass through Hiroshi Yamauchi's eyes.
That meant Sega's clamor would invade the living rooms of thousands of households, moving from the noisy arcades.
That was Nintendo's territory.
"They are very good at packaging," the manager continued, attempting to explain the opponent's success.
"Unearthing so-called 'grassroots heroes,' emphasizing competitiveness, connecting video games with sportsmanship…"
"Most of the media reports are positive, and some of the negative narratives we spread earlier…"
The manager's voice trailed off.
"…the effect was not ideal."
"Sega's public relations response was very quick, and, excessive attacks on the game itself might affect our own games…"
Hiroshi Yamauchi's fingers tapped unconsciously on the smooth, expensive desktop.
Like a metronome, counting the accumulation of displeasure.
Sega's flashy tricks were like annoying summer mosquitoes, buzzing and irritating.
"The 'obstacles' we tried to create, they easily circumvented?"
Hiroshi Yamauchi's voice was not loud, but it carried an invisible pressure.
The manager bowed even lower.
"Yes, President. They even deliberately released some more outrageous negative news, which was clearly baseless, muddying the waters. Now it's very difficult for anyone to be interested in the negative narratives we spread."
"What about setting up gambling around the venues?" Hiroshi Yamauchi understood the Japanese people's inherent gambling nature too well and continued to inquire.
"It also had no impact; the other party seemed to have prepared for this early on, emphasizing it to the players and authorized organizers. Some of the people we sent were even taken to the police station by the police."
"You didn't leave any handles, did you?" Hiroshi Yamauchi asked, his eyes slightly narrowed.
"No, no! We lured some old gamblers from pachinko parlors to set up the bets."
Hiroshi Yamauchi snorted, no longer pressing about Sega's matters.
"Over at the Famicom Disk System, how is Mario 2 doing?"
The topic shifted abruptly.
The manager was visibly stunned for a moment, then hurriedly fumbled for another report.
"President, the sales of super mario bros. 2… are below expectations."
His voice grew even more cautious.
"The difficulty setting… seems too high; many ordinary players report difficulty completing it, and there are even some… negative reviews."
"They say it's a game that 'punishes players'."
The temperature in the office seemed to drop a few more degrees.
Hiroshi Yamauchi's face was ashen.
The extremely high difficulty of this sequel was, to some extent, with his tacit approval or even promotion.
He believed that true players should embrace challenges.
But he would not admit his misjudgment.
"Is there a problem with the Market Department's promotion?"
He asked faintly, his gaze sharp as a knife, sweeping over his subordinate.
"Or do current players no longer appreciate even this much challenge?"
The manager was silent, not daring to respond.
The President's authority was unquestionable.
After a moment of silence, the manager took a deep breath, as if having made some decision, and presented the last document.
The cover of this document had no markings.
"President, there's an even more urgent matter."
"We received intelligence that Hudson Soft has been in very frequent contact with NEC (Nippon Electric) recently."
Hudson.
This name made Hiroshi Yamauchi's tapping fingers on the desk stop.
As an important third-party software developer for Nintendo, Hudson had always been a crucial part of the FC empire's territory.
"Intelligence indicates that they might be secretly discussing… cooperation on some high-performance graphics chip or a new game platform."
The manager's voice was extremely low.
"You should remember that as early as 1985, Hudson tried to recommend their graphics chip technology to us, but you rejected it. Could it be related to that chip…?"
Bringing up old matters, like a needle, pricked Hiroshi Yamauchi's sensitive nerves.
Compared to Sega's "minor skirmishes" in the arcade market, the potential "betrayal" from the core technology sector, from the third-party camp that should have been subservient, was a direct threat to the foundations of the Nintendo empire.
NEC, another massive giant in household appliances and semiconductors, if it were to team up with Hudson, which possessed software development capabilities and some core technologies…
A chilling glint flashed in Hiroshi Yamauchi's eyes.
His previous displeasure with Sega was quickly replaced by a deeper vigilance and suppressed anger.
Beneath the empire's walls, it seemed there were termites quietly digging.
"Keep a close eye on them."
Hiroshi Yamauchi interrupted any further analysis his subordinate might have been about to offer.
His tone was decisive and unquestionable.
"Hudson and NEC."
He repeated it, as if confirming the name of his prey.
"Every move they make, every meeting, every participant, every piece of information that might be exchanged, I need to know."
"Any detail, no matter how insignificant, must be reported to me immediately."
The manager's head was bowed even lower, almost touching his chest.
"Yes, President."
Hiroshi Yamauchi's gaze did not linger on the manager, as if he were merely a tool for conveying messages.
"At the same time," his voice suddenly turned cold, like a winter lake freezing over.
"Go 'visit' those third parties who have been active lately."
"Remind them that the production schedule for FC cartridges seems a bit tight lately."
"Remind them that Nintendo's requirements for 'product quality' have always been very high."
"Remind them who gave them the opportunity to make money on this platform."
"Let them re-learn who sets the rules in this industry."
Fine beads of sweat broke out on the manager's forehead.
Though calm, these words carried an irresistible force; each word was like a heavy weight.
"If necessary…"
Hiroshi Yamauchi paused slightly, his finger tracing lightly on the desktop, as if outlining some invisible boundary.
His gaze returned to the window, where the ancient contours of Kyoto were faintly visible among modern buildings.
"Let them clearly see what price they will have to pay for trying to challenge Nintendo's authority."
What was the price?
Perhaps the approval of their next game would become indefinitely delayed.
Perhaps the supply of cartridges would suddenly be "accidentally" interrupted.
Perhaps they would find their meticulously crafted game completely forgotten in terms of promotional resources.
Hiroshi Yamauchi didn't need to be too explicit.
Smart people would understand.
Unintelligent people would soon disappear from the market.
The manager felt a chill rise from his feet, instantly spreading throughout his body, making even his breathing cautious.
The undisguised deterrence in those words, like a tangible ice pick, pierced through the feigned calm in the office.
He almost held his breath, bowing to receive the order.
"Yes, President, I'll go at once."
Then, as if granted a reprieve, he exited the office with light, silent steps.
The heavy door closed softly, separating the two worlds inside and out.
The suffocating silence returned to the office.