As everyone's thoughts lingered on Nintendo's vicious betrayal of Sony, the fax machine in the corner suddenly emitted a buzzing hum. Gears whirred, and it spat out a page of still-warm thermal paper.
The sound was particularly jarring in the quiet office.
Tanaka, standing nearby, casually pulled out the paper and glanced at the English heading. His eyebrows shot up. "It's from Redwood City—a live update from the ESRB launch press conference."
"Read it," Takuya Nakayama said, spinning the pen in his hand and leaning back in his leather chair, which creaked softly.
"It's a big event. The retired Education Secretary Tom brought in is quite a character," Tanaka said, quickly scanning the densely packed English text, his voice tinged with admiration. "There were some troublemaking reporters from conservative newspapers there, harping on the old tune about games corrupting youth and even questioning the committee's independence. But the old man didn't use any PR speak. He simply pulled out the detailed rating guidelines we prepared and challenged one of the reporters: 'Do you think it's more dangerous to trust educated parents to make choices, or to let Washington bureaucrats—who've never even held a game controller—decide what children can see? What's wrong with parents being the final gatekeepers?' The whole hall erupted in applause."
Yu Suzuki chuckled to himself. "This American old-timer is quite entertaining."
"The real meat is down here," Tanaka said, pointing to the lower half of the page. His expression turned peculiar. "A reporter asked the most sensitive question: As Nintendo, the second-largest player in the North American market, why aren't they on the initial member list? Does this imply only Sega games contain violent elements?"
Hearing this, even Yu Suzuki couldn't help but sit up straighter.
It was a trap. Answer poorly and invite disaster—either offend your peers or admit to being a "violence purveyor."
"How did they answer?" Takuya asked calmly, even taking the time to lift his teacup.
"The spokesperson said—" Tanaka cleared his throat, adopting a mock American diplomatic tone. "We regret Nintendo's absence. Nintendo has repeatedly stated that their products are family-friendly, completely free of bloodshed, violence, or inappropriate content. Given their robust internal purification process, the committee expresses full respect and trust. We look forward to Nintendo maintaining this purity and becoming the industry's moral standard-bearer."
After reading the document, the office fell into a brief silence.
A few seconds later, Yu Suzuki slapped his thigh. "That's a clever move!"
"That's Tom's brilliance," Takuya Nakayama said, setting down his teacup with a smile playing on his lips. "To publicly trample on Nintendo would be petty, making the public think the gaming industry is just dogs biting dogs. But now, we're lifting him up—high into the air."
He stood up and walked to the massive world map, gently circling North America with his finger.
"As soon as Nintendo accepts this 'family-friendly' halo, any game they release—showing even a drop of red blood or a woman's skirt an inch too short—won't need our intervention. The Parent-Teacher Associations and moral watchdogs across America will be on them like hawks, magnifying glasses in hand, pointing at Minoru Arakawa's nose and calling him a fraud."
Tanaka felt a chill run down his spine. This wasn't respect; it was arsenic disguised as candy.
Sega voluntarily donned shackles to hand the keys to their parents, while Nintendo's refusal to do the same effectively turned them into saints who must be flawless at all times.
"But Takuya, what if Nintendo really only makes games like Mario?" Yu Suzuki asked, concern etched on his face. "Wouldn't that render our strategy useless?"
"Mr. Suzuki, you're overthinking it," Takuya replied, his gaze radiating a knowing certainty. "If they stick solely to family-friendly games, they may secure the children's market, but they'll be unable to aggressively pursue the youth and adult markets. Players would be forced to passively choose their offerings. Remember, the money is in the hands of adults. Since adults earn the money, they need outlets to release the stress of earning it—something a generic family-friendly game can't provide, especially for those without children."
In Tokyo's Ota Ward, at Namco Headquarters' fortress-like building:
A black Toyota Crown glided silently into the underground garage.
The car door opened. Nobuyuki Idei straightened his tie and glanced at Ken Kutaragi beside him.
The younger man clutched the briefcase stuffed with technical documents tightly to his chest.
"Mr. Kutaragi," Idei reminded him quietly, "when we go in, you handle the technology, I'll handle the business. Don't start cursing their engineers out before we've even exchanged pleasantries."
Kutaragi chuckled softly. "They're the company that developed a 3D arcade platform that can rival Sega's. Of course I'll be courteous."
The elevator took them straight to the top floor, to the president's office.
Masaya Nakamura sat behind his massive redwood desk, fiddling with a Pac-Man figurine. As the founder of Namco, this man, known as the "Father of Pac-Man," now scrutinized the two visitors from Sony with a keen, appraising gaze.
Idei and Kutaragi exchanged a glance. This is it.
"Has President Oga been well?" Nakamura asked, setting down the figurine and gesturing for his secretary to bring tea. "I hear you signed a promising agreement with Nintendo in Chicago."
The words pierced them like a sharp thorn, striking true at their sore spot.
Nobuyuki Idei remained composed, picking up his teacup and taking a sip. "The agreement was indeed signed, but that's only for public consumption. We're here today to discuss Namco's future with you."
Masaya Nakamura raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"That agreement is nothing more than a piece of worthless paper," Ken Kutaragi interjected, slamming his briefcase onto the coffee table. "President Nakamura, let's be blunt. Nintendo's been treating us like monkeys, and we've decided to overturn the table. Sony is going to develop its own console, completely independently, with no connection whatsoever to Nintendo."
The bluntness of Kutaragi's words made Idei's eyelid twitch, but it also piqued Nakamura's interest.
"Develop our own console?" Nakamura chuckled, a condescending smile playing on his lips. "Sony has money and technology, I'll give you that. But in the gaming industry, you don't even know which way the door opens. Hardware without software is just an expensive CD player."
"That's why we need Namco," Idei interjected, his tone sincere. "Or rather, we need each other."
He pulled a briefing document from Kutaragi's briefcase.
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