The employee's mind raced, instantly grasping the genius behind this strategy.
This wasn't about running out of stock; it was about creating artificial scarcity! Using today's "sold out" status to stoke anticipation for tomorrow!
"Yes, Managing Director! I understand! I'll handle it immediately!" The employee nodded vigorously and hurried off to make preparations.
After confirming that Sega's game booth and merchandise sales area were operating smoothly, Takuya Nakayama led his team to the VIP seats in the main grandstand.
Stepping from the relatively quiet Pit Lane into the grandstand area, they were instantly engulfed by a deafening roar. The shrill wails of V10 and V12 engines, like tens of thousands of chainsaws slicing through the air simultaneously, made their eardrums buzz and their chests vibrate in resonance.
"Good Lord—" An American engineer clapped his hands over his ears, his face contorted in a mix of pain and exhilaration. "This noise could rip your soul right out of your body!"
Their vantage point was perfect, facing the famous S-bend at Suzuka Circuit. From here, they could clearly see the race cars hurtling through the series of sharp turns at astonishing speed, showcasing the pinnacle of aerodynamic performance and driver skill.
The practice session had long begun, and the track was a blur of color as cars painted in various liveries streaked past like flashes of light.
"Here he comes! It's Ayrton!" Kevin shouted excitedly, holding a high-powered binocular.
A red-and-white McLaren MP4/7A roared onto the scene, carving a sharp arc through the S-bend. The car's body was incredibly lively, its rear end twitching slightly at the limit, only kept stable by the driver's exquisite throttle and steering corrections.
This was Ayrton Senna's driving style: squeezing every last drop of potential from the car, dancing madly on the edge of control.
"Beautiful! This is the art of driving!" Kevin watched, entranced.
But just over ten seconds later, another car charged into the S-bend with a completely different demeanor.
It was a blue-and-yellow Williams FW14B.
If Senna's McLaren was like an untamed cheetah, then this Williams was like a ghost.
It glided through the bend's apex almost touching the ground, its body without a hint of unnecessary movement, so stable it seemed to defy the laws of physics.
Soon, the big screen in front of the main grandstand refreshed with the times.
Nigel Mansell, Williams Racing, 1:37.978.
The crowd erupted in gasps.
A while later, Ayrton Senna completed another practice lap, clocking in at 1:39.260, securing second place.
"1.2 seconds?" Kevin's voice cracked as he stared at the glaring gap on the screen. "A difference of 1.282 seconds per lap—this gap is just too wide."
The excitement and anticipation on his face were instantly replaced by overwhelming disappointment.
Mansell's dominance this year was nothing short of extraordinary.
Kato of Williams Racing and Berger of McLaren took third and fourth, respectively, but were also left in the dust by Mansell.
Just as everyone was marveling at the overwhelming lead Williams Racing and McLaren Racing held over the rest of the field, the fifth-place time finally settled on the screen.
Another dazzling name from this year appeared before everyone: M. Schumacher of Benetton Team.
"Hey, this rookie is fast!" Mark Cerny noticed. "It's him again! He's made it into the top six several times this year already."
Takuya Nakayama's gaze landed on the name, a faint smile playing on his lips. He turned to Mark and said, "Remember this German, Mark. If Senna is the king of this era, then this young man might just be the pioneer of the next."
Mark Cerny nodded thoughtfully, committing both the name and Takuya Nakayama's assessment to memory.
Kevin raised his binoculars again, brimming with determination. "It's just a practice race! By tomorrow's qualifying, Ayrton will definitely find a way to deal with Mansell!"
Takuya Nakayama smiled but said nothing.
Saturday, the second day of the race.
The Suzuka Circuit was still damp in the early morning, but the sun had already broken through the clouds, dispelling some of the fatigue lingering in the Pit Lane from the night's work.
Takuya Nakayama's conversation with Reporter Watanabe the previous day, after fermenting overnight, had far surpassed expectations in its impact.
F1 Express's morning edition devoted a small section to the announcement by Sega's Managing Director about the global debut of Virtua Racing at Suzuka Circuit, with an attention-grabbing headline: "Where Technology Embraces Speed: Sega's Gift to Car Fans at Suzuka!"
The article wasn't just picked up by sports media; editors at several mainstream gaming magazines even received late-night calls, scrambling to adjust their layouts to include this breaking news.
So, when Mark Cerny and his team returned to the Sega sales area in the leisure service zone, they were greeted by a scene that made them wonder if they'd gone to the wrong place.
"Good Lord, where did all these people come from?" Kevin's jaw dropped as he stared at the queue stretching over ten people deep from the entrance.
Kevin quickly noticed something off about a few people in the queue.
"Mark, look at those guys." He pointed to several men in the middle of the line, dressed casually and looking serious. "Their backpacks are empty, they keep checking their watches, and they're signaling to the people behind them. They don't seem like regular fans."
Mark followed his gaze. The men did stand out; their eyes held no fanatical fervor, only a cold, appraising gaze, as if they were inspecting merchandise.
"They're here to work," Mark said succinctly.
"Work?"
"Yeah, to turn our products into their cash."
As soon as he finished speaking, the rolling shutter in the sales area rose on cue.
Sega employees, who had been waiting patiently, efficiently pulled out guiding ropes, and the line began to move forward at a restrained yet efficient pace.
"Here they come!" Kevin saw that the people at the front of the line were the same men he'd noticed earlier.
They barely glanced at the usual game T-shirts and caps, instead making a beeline for the most expensive limited-edition items: the Pikachu in racing gear biker jacket, the Q-version MP4/7A race car model with a Pikachu driver, and the popular Pikachu plushie in racing gear that had been circulating online the day before.
"Limit one per person per item. Thank you for your cooperation," the cashier said with a smile, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The man at the front of the line nodded without protest, skillfully pulling out his wallet and purchasing the three most expensive items. He immediately turned and left the queue, stuffing the items into the hands of a companion nearby, who also held an empty bag.
The entire process flowed as smoothly as water, the coordination between them flawless. Kevin watched, dumbfounded.
"This... this is professional!"
"Of course it is," Takuya Nakayama's assistant said, having appeared behind them at some point. He explained with a smile, "These are scalpers. Formula One tickets cost over 10,000 yen even for the cheapest seats. They've done the math: if they can snag a set of our limited-edition merchandise and resell it at a markup, they can recoup the cost of the tickets and even make a small profit. It's essentially a free day at the Formula One race, plus a little extra cash."
Kevin listened in stunned silence, then exclaimed with a mix of awe and incredulity, "This is... the ultimate validation of our product's value!"
And indeed, it was.
Sega had prepared thirty percent more stock today than yesterday, but the products still sold out just as quickly.
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