Under the gaze of three pairs of eyes brimming with curiosity—and ulterior motives—Takuya rubbed the bridge of his nose.
These guys act like creativity is as easy to come by as cabbages at the supermarket.
Still, Yu Suzuki's words had struck a nerve.
Hardware serves software.
If the new console launched without a game that perfectly showcased the capabilities of the 3D analog stick, that expensive dual-axis potentiometer would be seen as nothing more than a fragile, pointless burden in the eyes of players and third-party developers.
It was no different from how the Nintendo 64's distinctive trident-shaped controller would have been ridiculed and discarded into the trash heap if not for Super Mario 64.
Since we want to demonstrate the charm of "linear input"—
Several images flashed through Takuya's mind: a purple figure soaring freely through the air, or the lithe back of a figure wielding twin guns, rolling through an ancient tomb.
"Fine." Takuya lowered his arm, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Since you're eager for a challenge, I'll give you one. But let me make this clear: if you can't get the code working, don't blame me."
"I love these kind of insane requests," Yu Suzuki said, twirling the marker in his hand, his eyes shining with an unsettling intensity.
"Then it's settled." Takuya gripped the doorknob again and pulled the door open. "When I slam this proposal on your desk, I hope your hair is still as thick as it is now."
With that, he strode out of the development room, its air conditioning hum filling the space.
Behind him came the faint sound of Yuji Naka's gleeful laughter. "Senior Suzuki, I think he's implying you'll go bald."
"Shut up and get back to work."
Back in his office, Takuya didn't rush to start writing.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at Tokyo's bustling streets.
Takuya took a sip of the bitter coffee, the gears in his mind beginning to spin rapidly.
To make that expensive analog stick seem like a steal in the eyes of Yu Suzuki, Yuji Naka, and their team of tech-obsessed developers, sweet talk alone wouldn't cut it.
He needed a product that would pound the concepts of "freedom" and "precision control" into their brains like nails.
That pricey analog stick couldn't just be a decorative piece; it had to be the key to a "new world."
What was this new world?
It was like how Nintendo had defined the red-hatted plumber's free-roaming antics before Princess Peach's castle in Super Mario 64—a light push of the analog stick for stealthy tiptoeing, a firm press for swift dashing.
This seamless control over speed and direction—that was the true soul of 3D gaming.
It was textbook gameplay.
Takuya's fingers unconsciously traced the rim of his coffee cup.
Clearly, snatching Tomb Raider from Crystal Dynamics would be the easiest route. Having Lara Croft debut years early in this world, performing precision jumps and climbs with an analog stick, would absolutely shock everyone and draw countless eyes.
Or they could simply have Hideo Kojima start developing Metal Gear Solid 2. The slow wall-crawling and peeking around corners were practically designed for an analog stick.
Besides, Kojima was already prepared and ready to start at any moment.
Both games would showcase the analog stick's capabilities in 3D gaming perfectly.
But the problem was, these games could only be developed for home consoles. The only platform currently available for development was the test version of the Model 2 motherboard.
That was arcade hardware.
What did arcades prioritize? Short, fast, and intense gameplay, immediate satisfaction, and high coin consumption.
Would players rather spend half an hour solving puzzles or watching a ten-minute cutscene in an arcade?
The boss would smash the machine to pieces.
If we're aiming to launch alongside the Model 2, a racing game would be a safe choice.
After all, the depth of the accelerator and the angle of the steering wheel naturally align with the logic of linear input.
But Takuya quickly dismissed this idea.
We could leave that for Yu Suzuki's development team to work on slowly. They already have experience with Virtua Racing.
What about aerial combat?
A fully 3D environment with six degrees of freedom.
Push the stick to climb, pull it to dive, gently adjust for course corrections, and apply force for high-G maneuvers.
It sounds like the perfect match for an analog stick.
Takuya frowned and took a sip of his now-cold coffee.
No.
While 3D polygon generation has made great strides, rendering a rich and detailed ground environment is still too demanding.
Current aerial combat games are either mosquito-hunting against a featureless blue sky or carpet-bombing blurry mosaics on the ground.
Aside from the monotonous visuals, the combination of high-speed movement and frequent camera rotations would be a motion sickness-inducing nightmare for players unaccustomed to 3D gaming.
If players vomited all over the floor after playing the new console for just ten minutes on its launch day, it would be hard to get a good review for the new game.
We needed a game that could showcase the depth of 3D space, make precise analog stick control the core of its gameplay, and avoid making players sick.
The mental image shifted, and two control sticks appeared in his mind's eye.
Since it's a dual-stick setup, how could I forget that?
Takuya grabbed a pen and quickly scribbled down a few words on paper: Virtual On (Cyber Troopers Virtual-On).
It was a classic Sega game where massive mechs soared through virtual space, their beam rifles and close-quarters lightsabers crossing in a blur.
Players gripped a control stick in each hand, pushing and pulling to control the mechs' advances, retreats, and evasive maneuvers. The tactile feedback was practically the epitome of masculine romance.
Not making this game would be a betrayal of the Sega name itself.
But just as the pen touched the paper, it froze.
Wait.
Takuya closed his eyes, his fingers tensing in the air as he mentally simulated piloting a Cyber Trooper.
Left stick forward, right stick forward—dash.
Both sticks outward—jump.
Sticks inward—defend.
This control scheme indeed relies on dual analog sticks, but it depends on "direction" and "combos," not "pressure."
In the fast-paced meat grinder of Cyber Troopers Virtual-On's battlefields, survival hangs by a millisecond.
Players need absolute, instantaneous feedback.
Pushing the stick is full speed; releasing it is an emergency stop.
What if we switched to analog sticks?
Imagine an enemy shell hurtling toward you. Instinctively, you want to perform a lightning-fast sidestep.
But because you're nervous, your finger doesn't push the analog stick all the way, or the angle is slightly off by a few degrees.
What should have been an instantaneous lateral burst becomes a sluggish, post-meal stroll diagonally across the screen.
Boom!
Game Over.
The analog stick's fine linear travel, in this digital logic game requiring instant reactions, becomes a fatal weakness.
That soft, springy return-to-center feel simply can't provide players with the reassuring click of precision they need.
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