"Let's do it again, exactly as before," Takuya Nakayama said, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk. "Send letters to all the third-party publishers with the same terms: participation is voluntary. Sega will lead the way, bundling some of our million-seller classics at discounted prices. We'll welcome anyone looking to clear out their inventory or hitch a ride on our success."
"Yes, sir!" The assistant turned to carry out the order.
"Wait," Nakayama called out. "Raise the stakes. Announce that, in gratitude for the unprecedented support players showed during the Chrono Trigger launch, we're holding an early New Year's gratitude sale." The goal is to make players feel this is our heartfelt response to their enthusiasm."
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" The assistant, grasping the strategy, dashed out of the office.
The moment the news broke, the entire industry was thrown into a frenzy.
Presidents and department heads from third-party publishers all remembered the winter of 1990, when Sega's promotional storm had cleared out mountains of unsold stock and delivered unexpected profits.
It had been a feast where everyone had come out a winner.
Half an hour later, Takuya Nakayama's phone line became a hotline.
"Managing Director! President Masaya Nakamura from Namco personally called to inquire about the details of this event!"
"Managing Director! President Kozuki from Konami said they're willing to show the utmost sincerity, and the discount will definitely satisfy you!"
"Managing Director! Faxes from Taito and IREM—they want to include last summer's games too—"
The assistant, clutching a stack of freshly received faxes, beamed with delight. He had fully become Takuya Nakayama's "straight man." "Managing Director, they're more eager than we are. This isn't just a promotion; they're practically scrambling to offer tribute."
"When we help them make money, of course they'll be enthusiastic," Takuya Nakayama said calmly, leaning back in his chair and watching the city lights gradually illuminate the skyline outside the window.
This was exactly the kind of momentum he wanted—everyone rallying around a common goal.
"Tell them Sega's stage is set. Whether they can put on a successful year-end spectacle depends entirely on their sincerity." Takuya Nakayama's gaze shifted to the calendar on the wall, settling on the red circle around December 25th.
"Oh, and have Yamauchi Hiroshi take note of what a real third-party alliance looks like."
The report meticulously detailed how Sega cleverly used Chrono Trigger to whet players' appetites, then capitalized on the momentum to launch a massive promotional campaign involving all third-party publishers.
Namco, Konami, Taito—familiar names like obedient armies rallied under Sega's blue banner.
"Just a stock-clearing ploy," a department head remarked, attempting to dismiss the matter with a casual tone, but his dry voice betrayed his inner unease. "Their Mega Drive game inventory has been piling up. They're using this as an excuse to dump it."
"Dump it?" Another executive pushed up his glasses, his bloodshot eyes visible beneath the lenses. "Look at the photos of Akihabara stores. Sega's shelf space has nearly doubled, squeezing our Super Famicom displays. This isn't just a sale. This is a deliberate provocation."
A murmur rippled through the conference room.
"Should we... follow suit?"
The moment the question was asked, everyone instinctively turned to Yamauchi Hiroshi.
Follow suit?
The words pierced the hearts of every Nintendo executive like needles.
What did this mean?
It meant admitting that Nintendo's marketing strategy was lagging behind, that they would have to imitate an opponent they had always dismissed as a "side path."
"Follow suit? With what?" a manager responsible for distribution said with a bitter expression. "The Super Famicom has only been out for a little over a year. Our game lineup can't compare to the Mega Drive's depth. The number of older games we could put on sale could be counted on one hand. Super Mario World is our ace—can't very well discount that, can we? Wouldn't that be lowering our own standards?"
"What about... Famicom games?" a young employee suggested quietly. "We have countless classics on the Famicom—"
He hadn't finished speaking when he felt a cold gaze settle on him.
Yamauchi Hiroshi slowly raised his head, his sharp eyes devoid of any warmth. "What are we selling now?" he asked, enunciating each word deliberately. "The Super Nintendo. Are you suggesting we tell all our players that we still have plenty of great games worth buying, but they're all on an obsolete system?"
The young employee's face flushed crimson, wishing he could find a crack in the floor to disappear into.
The conference room fell into a deathly silence.
This was Sega's overt strategy. They used Chrono Trigger, a "god game" that everyone wanted to play but most couldn't get their hands on yet, as their banner. Then, through a massive marketing campaign, they channeled player enthusiasm and New Year's money into their vast library of games.
Nintendo, like a martial arts master with unparalleled skill but only one signature move, found itself momentarily bewildered by the dazzling combination punch of Sega's strategy, unsure how to counter.
After a long pause, Yamauchi Hiroshi tossed the report onto the table.
"If they're willing to pay to help third-party developers clear their inventory, so are we," he said, his voice quiet but carrying an unmistakable resolve. "And we can offer more than they can."
Everyone's heads snapped up.
"Notify everyone: Nintendo will also be holding a New Year's gratitude sale," Yamauchi Hiroshi declared, his gaze sweeping across the room. "The Super Famicom has a limited game library, so we'll compensate with deeper discounts! Tell the third-party developers that for all games participating in our event, Nintendo will match Sega's share of the discount costs!"
"Match Sega's share?!" One executive gasped. This was practically losing money for the sake of publicity.
"If Sega is buying loyalty, so can we," Yamauchi said, a cold, hard smile twisting his lips. "Is Nintendo's money worth less? I want to see how much that so-called 'gentleman's agreement' is worth when faced with real profits."
In the end, Yamauchi's wallet proved more important than his pride.
When Nintendo launched its "New Year's Gratitude Sale" using a model almost identical to Sega's, many in the industry were waiting to see the spectacle.
But inside Nintendo's conference room, the atmosphere shifted from initial tension to a peculiarly awkward silence.
"President, the first week's sales report is in—" a department manager whispered, carefully presenting the documents, even holding his breath.
The room fell deathly still.
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