"Well said!"
The conference room door burst open as Ken Kutaragi strode in confidently. He wasn't even in a suit—just the casual jacket typical of engineers.
Ignoring the ongoing personnel discussion, he marched straight to the table and slammed down a thick stack of technical documents.
"Everyone, when discussing developers, don't forget the platform they'll soon command."
His voice was moderate, yet it instantly commanded every gaze in the room.
"The PlayStation prototype—hardware development phase fully complete!"
Boom!
The announcement hit the room like a detonation.
"So soon?!"
"Kutaragi-kun, are you sure?"
"As everyone knows, Sega slammed the door on us earlier, so most of our recruits were deputies or overlooked programmers," Kutaragi said, surveying the room with the unmistakable pride of a technician. "But do you realize what that means? It means their minds aren't chained to the rigid constraints of outdated platforms! They're a pack of starving wolves—the moment they saw the PlayStation dev kits' specs, their eyes gleamed!"
He flipped open the document to a page dense with parameters.
"Our graphics processing far outclasses Sega's Mega Drive by several levels. Even against Nintendo's Super Famicom—the reference for our prototype—we're substantially ahead."
Norio Ohga had listened in silence until now. Finally, he posed the critical question: "What about our collaboration with Nintendo?"
The room hushed; all eyes turned to Kutaragi.
"The Super Famicom CD?" A faint smirk tugged at Kutaragi's lip, laced with subtle disdain. "It's done—precisely to contract specs, no more, no less. A CD drive ready for sampling. We can ship it to Kyoto anytime for Hiroshi Yamauchi's inspection."
He paused, then added, "An unoptimized device capable only of basic disc reading—a mere toy."
Muffled chuckles rippled through the room. These were sharp executives; everyone grasped the implication.
Sony had taken Nintendo's funding, delivered the contractual minimum—then locked the doors and forged a groundbreaking war machine for themselves.
"Excellent." Ohga nodded, visibly pleased.
He rose and approached the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking Tokyo's bustling traffic below.
"With the weapon forged, it's time the world hears its roar."
Turning back, his gaze swept every face.
"Kutaragi, when can your team produce a public-demo-ready version?"
"End of April!" Kutaragi replied without hesitation. "No need for full games—just a few tech demos will suffice to upend the industry!"
"Then the Tokyo Toy Show in June?" asked Shigeo Maruyama, head of Sony Music and still relatively new to gaming, sounding slightly disappointed.
"Who said anything about the Tokyo Toy Show?" Ohga countered.
He stepped to the world map, finger arcing across the Pacific before landing decisively in the heart of North America.
"Late May. Chicago, USA. The Summer Consumer Electronics Show—CES."
The executives straightened, energized.
Debuting on foreign soil—in America, a market already divided between Nintendo and Sega—baring fangs before the world?
Bold.
"President, isn't this too risky? Our software lineup—"
"We don't need a software lineup!" Ohga interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "We need a stage—one the entire world will witness! Developers, players, media—everyone must understand one thing: Sony has arrived!"
News of the nearing SFC-CD completion surged through Nintendo's Kyoto headquarters like adrenaline.
Masayuki Uemura of R&D1, the hardware lead, radiated rare excitement.
Frequent victories from Europe had already lifted spirits; now their dutiful "partner" Sony delivered uplifting progress, convincing everyone that Nintendo's next assault could commence.
Even Shigeru Miyamoto—drained from The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past and on medical leave—couldn't contain his enthusiasm. He ended his vacation early and returned to work invigorated.
The whole headquarters buzzed with optimistic hustle.
Except for one man.
Gunpei Yokoi.
The Game Boy's tepid sales in Japan and North America had quietly marginalized the once-celebrated innovator, relegating him to a sort of internal exile.
His current duties—besides sporadic assistance on minor games—consisted mainly of technical support for third parties: respectable-sounding busywork anyone could handle.
That night, in a modest Kyoto izakaya, Yokoi drank with developers from a small third-party studio.
"Talk about rotten luck!" Section Chief Kobayashi across the table gulped half his sake, cheeks flushed, slurring complaints. "Our project's lead programmer quit last week—right before the crucial phase!"
"Talent climbs upward," Yokoi said mildly, nibbling edamame. "Pay enough, and you'll find another."
"That's the issue!" Kobayashi thumped the table, splashing sake. "The outfit that stole him offered double our salary! Never even heard of them—Sony Computer Entertainment? Filthy rich!"
Yokoi's chewing slowed.
Sony?
He stayed silent, simply refilling his cup.
Another producer leaned in, breath heavy with alcohol. "You're not alone, Kobayashi. Word is Konami and Namco have lost bunches too—all to the same company. They're poaching like mad, throwing money at everyone."
"No kidding!" Kobayashi latched onto the sympathy, voice rising. "Small fries like us are fair game, but they're hitting Capcom too! Money really does let you run wild!"
The izakaya hummed with usual noise, but in Yokoi's ears, only one word reverberated.
Sony.
He raised his cup and asked, as if offhand, "With poaching this aggressive, how come Nintendo hasn't lost anyone? Even Enix seems quiet."
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