Late October, North America.
Inside Sega of America's office, the phones rang nonstop like firecrackers exploding in every corner—there wasn't a single moment of silence.
Every employee wished they had eight arms, juggling between answering calls and handling the blizzard of faxed purchase orders.
Tom Kalinske clutched the latest sales report, grabbed the phone, and dialed Takuya Nakayama's number in Tokyo. As soon as the line connected, he roared into the receiver.
"Takuya! You guys are geniuses! How the hell did you make a game this good?!"
On the other side of the ocean, Nakayama sat quietly in his office, the morning sun of Tokyo streaming through the window.
He held the phone slightly away from his ear, waiting for Kalinske's lion-like roar to subside.
"Sounds like things are going well?" Nakayama asked.
"Well?!" Kalinske's voice jumped another octave. "It's insane! Absolutely insane! Everyone's lost their minds!"
"Our warehouses are empty! The first batch—ten thousand limited-edition bundled consoles—gone in less than a day! One day!"
"The retailers are blowing up my phone asking when the next shipment arrives! They're telling me players are standing outside stores waving cash, refusing to leave until they get one!"
Kalinske gulped down some water, his voice trembling with exhaustion and euphoria.
"Takuya, listen to this number. After the price cut, our first week of sales in North America—"
He paused, double-checking the report to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
"One million and thirty thousand units!"
"God almighty, we sold over a million consoles in one week! That's more than our last entire quarter!"
Even though Nakayama had predicted success, the number still made his heart pound.
"And Sonic the Hedgehog?" he asked, cutting through Kalinske's excitement.
"Sonic? Ha!" Kalinske laughed like an overjoyed kid. "Sonic's selling even faster than the consoles themselves."
"Outstanding work, Tom," Nakayama said sincerely.
"No, it's our work," Kalinske corrected him. "The whole North American market is talking about us—about the Genesis, about that blazing blue hedgehog."
After hanging up, Nakayama leaned back in his chair and exhaled deeply.
Before Japan's economic bubble burst, Sega had finally ignited Genesis sales across North America.
It seemed Kalinske's analysis of growing U.S. gaming demand had been spot on.
While Sega America was celebrating their million-unit triumph, another shocking piece of news was shaking Japan.
Mitsubishi Estate had purchased 80% of the Rockefeller Center's fourteen main buildings for an astronomical $846 million—gaining control of the entire complex.
The moment the news broke, the whole country erupted.
Japan's already feverish economy was doused in gasoline and exploded.
Bank managers waved their checkbooks, scrambling to fund the next "Mitsubishi" headed overseas.
At Sega headquarters, in the investment department office—
Director Hoshino slammed his financial newspaper on the table with a sharp smack.
He sighed in relief, slumping into the sofa as if a great weight had been lifted.
"Gotta admit, Mitsubishi's move is bold," he said.
Across from him, Director Sugiura lowered his newspaper and sipped some tea. The hot liquid steadied his nerves.
"Yeah. Eight hundred million dollars, and they didn't even blink. Everyone's chasing overseas deals now—nobody cares about Japan's tiny puddle of profits."
"The whole country's cheering for Mitsubishi, and we look like the fools for not joining the wave."
Hoshino tugged at his tie, half-laughing in relief. "Just a few days ago, a bank called me asking if Sega had any overseas expansion plans. They said loans and rates were negotiable. Guess they didn't realize we already converted most of our domestic assets into cash."
"No kidding," Sugiura agreed, with both relief and a hint of dread. "At this point, anyone trying to cash out domestically is too late. Who's left with enough money to buy? Everyone's copying Mitsubishi, trying to move their money abroad."
"They're mortgaging land to get cash, then using that cash to buy foreign land. It's just shuffling from one hand to the other. But once Japan's property prices crash, the collateral becomes worthless—and the banks will come calling for margin. What then? Sell off the new foreign assets? Good luck finding buyers."
Hoshino nodded. "Nakayama saw this coming. Cash is king. Get it in hand while you can. Look at Sony—they bought a movie studio and are now catering to Hollywood bigshots. Who knows if it'll even make money. Mitsubishi's plan makes more sense—buy buildings, collect rent, wait for appreciation."
"Smart? Maybe. But whatever happens, it's not our concern anymore," Sugiura said with a faint smirk. "We've got solid cash and the blue-chip stocks Nakayama told us to focus on. Much safer than American skyscrapers."
Meanwhile, at Sony headquarters—
President Norio Ohga sat behind his massive desk, expression unreadable, staring at three of his most ambitious subordinates:
The technophile Ken Kutaragi, marketing and R&D strategist Nobuyuki Idei, and semiconductor chief Ryoji Nakahata.
These three were Sony's fiercest advocates for entering the electronic entertainment business.
"So, the conclusion is… we can't copy it?" Ohga's tone was calm but sharp.
Kutaragi's frustration was obvious. "Sir, our previous plan is dead."
He exhaled sharply. "The CPU in Nintendo's SNES is made by Ricoh, but the core architecture is proprietary. We can't duplicate it without violating patents."
They couldn't clone it legally or technically—it was a dead end.
Nakahata frowned; as a semiconductor expert, he knew exactly how impossible it was to bypass a custom CPU.
Idei, meanwhile, slowly twirled his pen, his eyes glinting behind his glasses.
"If we can't take it in secret," Idei said softly, "then we take it in the open."
Kutaragi blinked. "What do you mean?"
"If we can't sneak in the back door, we walk through the front," Idei explained. "Nintendo guards against us like we're thieves. But they still need our hardware expertise. That's our leverage."
Nakahata nodded. "Especially with CD-ROMs. NEC's PC-Engine already tested the waters. Sales weren't great, but it proved CD technology had potential."
"Sega's Nakayama seems to think the same," Nakahata continued. "To make Taiko Master, their arcade rhythm game, Yu Suzuki even asked us to improve CD-ROM read speeds. Our engineers in Sega say they're secretly developing a CD add-on for the Genesis. It's stalled now, but they're working with our team on it."
"If even Nakayama believes in it, that means it's the future," Idei said, smiling faintly. "And Nintendo's Yamauchi can't be blind to that. For us—Sony, the holder of the CD-ROM standard—it's home-field advantage."
The air grew electric at the mention of Nakayama's name.
Kutaragi's eyes lit up, grasping Idei's implication instantly. "We could propose developing a CD-ROM drive for the SNES! We'll tell them Sega's already moving that way—if they don't adapt, they'll fall behind!"
"That's our open trap," Idei said, nodding.
Ohga leaned forward, fingers interlaced. "Go on."
"We propose a joint development deal for a SNES CD-ROM drive," Idei said. "But the key is the contract."
He raised a finger, his tone turning sly. "Inside this collaboration, we load our own terms."
He turned to Kutaragi, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"We'll develop the CD-ROM for them, but in exchange, Sony gets permission to release our own console—compatible with SNES cartridges and CD games. I've already got a name: PlayStation."
"Nintendo provides cartridge compatibility. We provide CD tech. Sounds fair, doesn't it?" Idei smirked.
"But the real trick is in the fine print."
"First," he continued, "Sony can publish CD games for PlayStation without Nintendo's approval, licensing, or royalties."
"And every third-party developer making games for this platform—pays us royalties instead," Nakahata added, grinning.
Kutaragi inhaled sharply.
This wasn't just a partnership—it was planting dynamite in Nintendo's backyard.
"And the final twist," Idei said, voice dropping low, "the contract won't define PlayStation's exact specs. We'll only say it's 'compatible.' How it's compatible—that's up to us."
"Today we add a chip 'for compatibility,'" he said. "Tomorrow, we add a faster CPU 'for optimization.' Bit by bit, we evolve it into our own next-gen console."
"By the time Yamauchi realizes what happened," Nakahata said coldly, "he'll find that the license he signed was his own surrender."
"His proud royalty empire," Idei added, "will watch helplessly as Sony builds a new castle on its foundations. Nintendo will become nothing but our cartridge subcontractor."
"A frog in warm water," Nakahata murmured. "By the time they notice, it'll be too late."
Ohga finally smiled. He admired this ruthless cunning.
"Who drafts the contract?" he asked.
"I recommend Toshio Sakai and Katsumi Hisamoto," Idei replied without hesitation. "They just handled the Columbia Pictures acquisition—they'll know how to make a flawless, irresistible deal."
"Excellent." Ohga rose and walked to the massive window overlooking Tokyo's glittering skyline.
"Kutaragi."
"Yes, sir!"
"Go," Ohga said, turning with fire in his eyes. "Build Nintendo the most magnificent Trojan Horse ever conceived. And make sure Yamauchi himself drags it through the gates of Kyoto."
But Ohga wasn't done.
He looked out again over Tokyo, voice low but firm.
"Buying Columbia Pictures was just the first step. We've bought America's stories—but it'll take time to make them ours. Meanwhile, Sony must not stop."
He turned to face his three trusted generals.
"Chairman Morita's 'hardware plus content' vision is Sony's foundation. Movies, games, music—these are the three horses that will pull our content empire. Only when we conquer games will the chariot be complete."
Idei smirked. "Yamauchi will never see it coming. We just shook Hollywood—and now we'll drive the knife into his back."
"Not just a knife," Nakahata added, eyes gleaming. "We'll make him hand us his lifeline. Once PlayStation launches, every yen of Nintendo's profit will pass through our pockets first. His precious royalty-printing machine will be printing money for us."
The room heated with dark excitement.
Ohga's gaze settled on Kutaragi—the man who would lead the charge.
"Kutaragi, you'll be in Kyoto. It won't be easy."
"Not at all, sir," Kutaragi said, pushing up his glasses with a sly grin. "In fact, I'm looking forward to the moment Yamauchi signs that deal to 'crush Sega'—without realizing he's just doomed himself."
Idei and Nakahata laughed.
Exactly the kind of messenger they needed—brilliant, audacious, and lethal.
"Good," Ohga said finally, pleased.
He folded his hands again, delivering the final command.
"Idei. Nakahata. Support him fully. When the gates open—make sure our Trojan Horse strikes to kill."
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