After returning to her apartment, Eri Nakagawa quickly changed into her home clothes and sat down at her desk, turning on her computer.
Takuya's confident face and his astonishing ideas kept replaying in her mind.
Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she transcribed everything Takuya had explained, turning it into a detailed project proposal. The program's name was Cooking Master—yes, the title was Takuya's idea, a mischievous tribute to the famous series that had once introduced Chinese cuisine to Japanese audiences, even before the manga version existed.
As for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, Takuya suggested that Eri hold off on submitting it until Cooking Master succeeded. The preparation for Millionaire would be complex, resource-intensive, and expensive. With her current experience, she might struggle to manage such a massive production.
The next day, Eri went straight to her father's office—Nakagawa Jun, the president of Tokyo TV—and knocked on the door.
"Dad."
Nakagawa Jun didn't look up from the pile of documents he was reviewing. He merely lifted his eyes briefly and gestured toward the sofa. "What's so urgent? Didn't I tell you to use my title while I'm working?"
Eri smiled and placed a freshly printed proposal on his desk. "Got it, Mr. President. This is a new show pitch. Please have a look."
He picked it up absentmindedly. As president, he reviewed a dozen proposals a day, most of them uninspired and repetitive.
But after glancing at the first page, his casual demeanor disappeared.
Adjusting his glasses, he unconsciously sat upright. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of paper.
Eri sat with her hands clasped tightly, her palms sweating slightly—a mix of nervousness and pride.
Finally, Nakagawa Jun exhaled slowly and set the proposal down. He removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose thoughtfully.
"Collaboration with China's national TV network, per-episode cost under five million yen, international syndication rights, home cooking tutorial series, celebrity housewives…"
Each keyword he read made his expression stranger.
"You came up with this?" His tone carried a hint of disbelief.
He knew his daughter was talented, but the kind of sharp commercial instinct shown in this plan wasn't something she could have developed yet.
Eri's face flushed. She nodded… then shook her head.
"The concept and framework were Takuya's idea. I just organized and detailed it."
"Takuya?" Jun blinked, then realization dawned. "You two… made it official?"
"Mhm." Her cheeks reddened even more.
Jun fell silent for a long moment. Then he picked up the proposal again, reading much slower this time. When he finished, he tapped it lightly against the desk.
"That boy's trying to take over the housewives' wallets and their TV remotes at the same time," he murmured, half amused, half impressed. "Brilliant idea."
He looked up at Eri. "You'll be in charge of this project."
Eri's head shot up.
"I'll reassign the best people from production to your team," he continued firmly. "I'll handle the budget department myself. Start forming your production crew immediately, and I want a full preparation schedule on my desk next week."
He stood and walked to the window, gazing at the city below.
"This Takuya kid… interesting. Maybe it's time you brought him home for dinner. Your mother and I would like to meet him."
Eri blushed and nodded, sticking her tongue out playfully as she left the office.
By late September, autumn had touched Tokyo—but Japan's economy was still blazing hot.
On September 25, Sony officially announced its acquisition of Columbia Pictures—one of Hollywood's eight major studios—for a staggering $5 billion deal, including $3.4 billion in cash and $1.6 billion in assumed debt.
The news sent Japan into a frenzy.
Across the Pacific, however, the cover of Newsweek depicted Columbia's torch-bearing lady transformed into a geisha wearing a kimono, under a glaring headline: "Japan Invades Hollywood."
While Japan celebrated what it saw as "buying American spirit," few realized a massive crisis was brewing beneath the surface.
After the controversy surrounding the Miyazaki Tsutomu incident, the video game industry had finally quieted down. Developers kept their heads low, focusing on their next projects.
Inside SEGA's Tokyo headquarters, the boardroom atmosphere was suffocating.
A long mahogany table reflected the furrowed brows of every director present.
Ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts—evidence of a long, tense debate.
The topic was singular: a proposal from the new president of SEGA America, Tom Kalinske.
"After eighteen months of cost optimization, we've barely managed to bring down the cost of an MD console plus a Tetris cartridge to about $150. Now Kalinske wants to drop the retail price from $189 to $149!"
"He's insane!" the finance director snapped, slapping the report in front of him. "That's below cost! What are we supposed to tell the shareholders when profits plummet?"
"Exactly! Our console division is the backbone of this company—we can't afford such reckless moves! We've just begun turning a profit after months of losses!"
"But the North American market has massive potential," another executive countered. "Kalinske's proposal might be risky, but maybe it's the breakthrough we need."
The room filled with overlapping voices—arguments, sighs, tension.
In the middle of it all, Takuya Nakayama remained quiet, lazily flipping through a report with an unreadable expression.
It detailed Kalinske's recent investments in several American studios: Broderbund, creators of Prince of Persia, and Westwood Studios, which had just launched Dungeons & Dragons for the MD.
"Smart moves," Takuya thought to himself.
At the head of the table, SEGA President Hayao Nakayama—Takuya's father—sat expressionless, eyes sweeping across the room before settling on his son.
The noise died down. All eyes turned to Takuya.
He sighed quietly, setting the report aside.
"Gentlemen," he began, his calm voice cutting through the tension. "I've been listening for a while. You're all worried about losing money from a price cut. But before we talk numbers, I'd like to show you something."
He picked up the latest Newsweek magazine and laid it on the table.
On the cover, the geisha version of Columbia's torch lady stared out with a stiff smile beneath the headline: Japan Invades Hollywood.
"Sony's purchase of Columbia Pictures caused quite a storm in the U.S.," Takuya said. "And as you all know, Americans aren't taking it well."
The directors exchanged uneasy looks.
"Right now," Takuya continued, "American sentiment toward Japanese companies is terrible. They think our products are stealing their jobs and industries. And now that we've bought one of their cultural symbols, resentment is growing."
He leaned forward, his tone sharpening.
"So this price cut isn't just about beating Nintendo. It's a statement—a show of goodwill toward American consumers."
"We need to remind them that SEGA isn't an invader—it's a friend. We're not taking jobs; we're bringing entertainment. And lowering prices isn't exploitation—it's generosity."
The room fell silent.
"This move," he said, "is how we humanize our brand in the U.S."
Then he paused. His next words carried a cold edge.
"Also, I've confirmed that Nintendo has finished developing the CPU for their next-gen console, the Super Famicom."
"Our window of opportunity? Maybe one year."
He glanced around the table.
"Are we just going to sit here and watch them launch it? Do you want a repeat of the SG-1000 days—when we were crushed under the Famicom's ten-million-unit lead?"
Old executives grimaced, the bitter memory resurfacing.
"This time," Takuya said firmly, "we'll make Nintendo feel what that suffocation is like."
The fire returned to their eyes.
Seeing the mood shift, Takuya delivered his final blow.
"Thanks to some… efforts, we've obtained SFC's design specs."
"In graphics, it's powerful—dual PPU system, 32,768-color palette, 256 on-screen colors, dynamic palette shifting. But it has a fatal flaw: its CPU can't handle high-speed scrolling."
He paused for emphasis.
"And our next game will exploit that weakness completely."
He smiled faintly.
"Sonic the Hedgehog."
"This game will push the MD's 'speed' to its absolute limit—something Nintendo can't replicate."
He looked around.
"My plan is simple. A one-two punch."
"Next month, once Sonic is complete, we launch it immediately."
"At the same time, we drop the MD price to $149 and release a limited edition Sonic bundle."
"The price cut builds our player base before SFC launches. Sonic becomes our technological wall—a must-play title that defines our console."
"When American players already own an MD and have felt Sonic's speed, they'll hesitate to buy Nintendo's new console. Why spend another few hundred dollars?"
"The more we sell now, the harder Nintendo's launch becomes."
He leaned forward, both hands on the table.
"Our goal is simple—rip out Nintendo's roots, piece by piece."
"When the dust settles, the licensing royalties will pay back every yen."
Hayao Nakayama glanced around the table, saw the resolve in every eye, and nodded.
"Enough talk," he said, tapping the table once. "Let's vote."
One by one, hands rose—without hesitation.
Unanimous.
Hayao turned to his son, pride flickering in his gaze.
"Takuya, you'll coordinate directly with Tom Kalinske in America."
Takuya nodded lightly.
The meeting adjourned.
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