Ethan boarded the bullet train just in time. Japan's Shinkansen, even in this era, was impressive — sleek, efficient, and oddly nostalgic. For a moment, it almost felt like he had returned to his own time.
But a glance around was enough to remind him this wasn't the future. The way people dressed, the gadgets they carried — pagers, cassette Walkmans, portable CD players — all screamed the 1980s. Relics in his memory, novelties in this world.
Compared to smartphones and instant messaging, everything here felt clunky and slow. Still, once he returned to the UK, Ethan figured he'd pick up a pager himself. Primitive or not, it beat having no way to communicate.
And once the "brick" phones hit the market? He'd definitely get one — just for the experience.
He arrived at the designated business office shortly before 2 p.m. The location had been arranged by his university — a UK trade liaison office in Tokyo. His official purpose for visiting Japan wasn't to pitch games; it was to act as a translator and facilitator for a UK factory purchasing industrial machinery.
That job would be simple enough. The real reward, however, was already in motion.
As per their agreement, NGS would begin marketing Contra across Japan and North America over the next month, using TV ads and magazine spots to build anticipation. By the end of the month, the first batch of game cartridges — around 100,000 units — would be manufactured and shipped out.
If sales were strong, more would follow.
With NGS handling the entire production and distribution chain, Ethan didn't have to worry about logistics. He just needed to sit back and wait for the profits to roll in.
After Ethan left, Nakamura Akira and Takeuchi continued testing Contra.
"Mr. Nakamura," Takeuchi said while gripping the controller tightly, "This Ethan fellow — where exactly is he from? The game he developed feels… far too polished. He doesn't seem like a rookie."
"He's from the UK," Nakamura replied casually, eyes on the screen. "His professor and I go way back. Honestly, I wasn't expecting much when he showed up — but I have to admit, he surprised me. Damn it, I died again. Takeuchi, lend me a life."
He quickly tapped the "continue" button and took one of Takeuchi's spare lives.
Takeuchi frowned but said nothing. Nakamura was his superior, after all.
Still, Nakamura wasn't exactly a natural gamer. Within thirty seconds, he died again.
"Hmm… That was just bad luck. Come on, let me borrow one more—"
"You've used them all up," Takeuchi muttered with a deadpan glare.
"Ah… Is that so?" Nakamura coughed awkwardly, standing up and brushing off his pants. "A bit warm in here. I'm going to stretch my legs. You want to keep playing?"
"Definitely."
Takeuchi barely waited for Nakamura to leave before restarting the game.
Finally — peace.
Without his boss dragging him down, he cruised through the first level, defeating the fortress-like boss with ease.
Maybe I'm better at this than I thought…
Then came the second stage — and suddenly the game's perspective changed.
No longer a side-scrolling shooter, the camera now simulated a pseudo-3D forward motion. Not actual 3D, but clever use of sprite scaling created the illusion. It reminded him of optical illusions — drawings that looked 3D on paper.
"Brilliant," Takeuchi murmured. "This kid's got serious talent."
As he continued, more engineers began filing into the testing room.
Nakamura returned just in time to catch the tail end of the second stage.
Wait… was this the same game?
The view had shifted so drastically, he almost didn't recognize it.
"What game is this?" one of the newcomers asked, eyes wide at the screen.
"Looks awesome. The visuals are seriously impressive!"
"Must be from Konda Soft. Their games always look sharp."
"No way, it's probably something from Eiden."
Nakamura cleared his throat and said with pride, "Actually… it's called Contra. I just received the final build this morning."
"Contra? Never heard of it."
"Well, you will. We're publishing it."
"Looks way more dynamic than anything we've seen lately. Who made it?"
Nakamura smiled. "A young developer from the UK. Completely solo project."
Silence.
For a second, the entire room paused.
"A solo dev? From the UK?"
"Seriously? One guy did all this?"
They were shocked — and understandably so.
Until now, most games had been developed by teams of ten, twenty, sometimes even more. To think that a single person could design, program, and polish a game of this caliber?
It defied every expectation.
And Nakamura knew exactly what they were thinking.
He'd been thinking the same thing just hours earlier.
Where had this guy been hiding?
How did a solo British developer suddenly appear out of nowhere with one of the most promising games they'd seen in years?
He didn't know the answer — but he was damn glad they'd signed him when they did.