As the person in charge of hardware development, he understood better than anyone what this document represented.
It meant that even in the era of 16-bit consoles, they now held the key to realizing true 3D games.
"So, let me ask you something, Director Nakamura." Takuya Nakayama pointed at the sheet of paper. His tone was casual, but the question he asked was earth-shattering. "Can we—put this little thing inside an MD cartridge?"
Nakamura jerked his head up. The bloodshot veins in his eyes seemed to stand out even more clearly. He was so shocked by the idea that he couldn't speak for a long moment.
"Inside a cartridge? You mean—letting the MD run 3D games?!"
"Why not?" Takuya shot back. "I'm not asking you to develop a new console, and I don't need you to start from scratch. I just want to know—can we add this onto a game cartridge and make the MD capable of running basic 3D games?"
Nakamura frowned deeply. His mind had already started racing at full speed, countless circuit diagrams and design schemes flashing through his head.
Cost control. Power consumption. Compatibility with the MD motherboard.
One problem after another surfaced—but along with them came an even greater sense of excitement.
If—if it could really be done—
Then Sega would be holding a trump card they could play at any time. A card that could let the MD regain a clear lead, even while its raw performance currently lagged behind the SFC.
"Give me a detailed feasibility report," Takuya said, patting him on the shoulder. "Include estimated costs, development time, and the possibility of mass production. I'm not in a rush—bring it to me once you've fully researched it."
With that, he glanced at his watch and turned to leave the hardware development department.
When Takuya got home, the front door wasn't even fully closed yet before he had already changed his shoes and slid straight into the living room.
He took off his suit jacket and casually tossed it onto the sofa, loosened his tie, then plopped himself down on the tatami without a word, leaning close to the little chubby bundle who was earnestly practicing how to roll over.
"My good boy! Daddy's home! Did you miss your handsome old man today?"
Barely three months old, little Kazuki was kicking his stubby legs energetically. Hearing the voice, he paused, his bright black eyes turning toward Takuya.
Kazuki kicked again, letting out a series of "ah-woo, ah-woo" sounds.
"Oh! Are you saying Daddy got even more handsome today?" Takuya said shamelessly, translating his son's baby talk into praise for himself. He sat down properly and reached out to gently poke the boy's chubby cheek.
Kazuki burst into giggles, flailing his arms as he tried to grab the mischievous finger.
In the open kitchen, Eri Nakayama was wearing an apron and preparing dinner. The rhythmic thock-thock of a knife echoed from the cutting board.
She glanced over at her husband and son, chatting away in "baby language" as if no one else existed, and the corner of her mouth unconsciously curved into a gentle smile.
Ever since Kazuki turned three months old, they had moved out of the Nakayama family estate and back into this small home that belonged solely to them.
Although Eri had already resigned from her job at the TV station to focus on being a homemaker, her father, Nakagawa Jun, would eventually pass his shares on to her as his only daughter. She still paid close attention to developments at the station.
On the television mounted on the wall, the latest episode of Supermarket Showdown was playing right on schedule.
On screen, a bespectacled, mild-looking housewife was pushing a shopping cart at near-sprint speed, battling two rivals in the fresh produce section in a dramatic "cart-positioning war," all for the last pack of discounted wagyu beef on the shelf.
The commentator roared with the intensity of an F1 broadcast: "She's charging! Mrs. Tanaka is charging! She's rounded the potato promotion pile! A beautiful drift! She's blocked her opponents completely! My god! She's got it! She's secured the half-price wagyu that symbolizes tonight's household status!"
Watching the exaggerated yet strangely realistic scene, Eri couldn't help laughing out loud.
"What are you laughing at?" Takuya asked, still puffing his cheeks at his son and blowing bubbles.
"Look at that," she said while rapidly chopping scallions. "That's why the ratings hit a new high again today."
Takuya's gaze shifted from his son to the TV screen, just in time to see the "victorious" housewife proudly displaying her prize to the camera, her face glowing with genuine joy.
He glanced at the screen and chuckled. "Of course the ratings are high. I heard your father mention it a while back—another record broken."
"Yeah. Everyone says that nowadays, this is the only show that makes life feel a little fun again," Eri sighed, her hands never stopping as she moved the shredded vegetables into a bowl.
"Fun?" Takuya snorted softly and turned back to teasing his son. "I think it's more like the Nikkei index dropping below seventeen thousand. There's less and less Fukuzawa Yukichi in everyone's wallets. Two years ago it was still at thirty-eight thousand—back then, who would've fought this hard in a supermarket over half-price wagyu?"
"When money gets tight, people naturally like watching others figure out how to spend less and get more," he continued lightly. "They get entertained and maybe even learn a trick or two."
Though his tone was relaxed, Eri could hear the deeper meaning beneath his words.
"Tell me about it," she agreed. "The newspapers are nothing but bad news every day."
The kitchen fell quiet, filled only with the sizzle of ingredients hitting the pan and the noise from the television.
After a moment, Takuya suddenly stopped playing with his son. He sat up straight and looked toward Eri's back.
"So," he said, lifting Kazuki and letting him lie on his lap, gently patting his back, "once Supermarket Showdown hits peak popularity, and the audience gets used to finding joy in saving money, it'll be time to give them a much bigger dream."
Eri's chopping motion abruptly stopped. She slowly turned to look at her husband.
Under the living room lights, the smile on Takuya's face had faded, replaced by a deep, bright intensity.
Her heart began to race for no clear reason.
"Go tell your father," Takuya said slowly and clearly, "that he can take that program out now."
Eri froze. In her mind flashed the proposal her father had locked away in the deepest drawer of his office.
It was the very idea she had mentioned to him the first time she brought Takuya home to meet her parents.
From that day on, the proposal had been sealed inside the station director's safe.
Her eyes gradually lit up, and her voice carried a tremor she hadn't even noticed herself.
"You mean—Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?"
"Mm." Takuya nodded, that all-knowing smile returning to his face. "Once people get bored of saving pennies, it's time to play for something big."
"I'll call my father after dinner," Eri said, resuming her work.
No one understood the weight of that program better than she did.
If Supermarket Showdown was a bowl of hot soup offered to a society weighed down by economic decline, then Who Wants to Be a Millionaire was a raging fire lit directly in people's hearts.
Supermarket Showdown taught survival in a downturn.
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire planted a seed called "hope" in everyone's heart.
In an era like this, what could ignite society more than the dream of an ordinary person becoming fabulously rich overnight?
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