At Bandai Headquarters, the sales department's phone lines were swamped with calls.
The same public relations manager who had previously been desperate to get the product out early was now shouting at the Sanrio representative on the other end: "Increase the order! Yes, even if the sewing machines smoke, you better get it done! What? Not enough materials? I don't care! If you don't want to make money, I sure do!"
In contrast, Sega's reception area seemed almost aloof.
After all, game cartridges costing several thousand Japanese Yen were no small expense, and you needed an MD console at home to play them.
Even so, the shelves were quickly emptied.
This craze even swept through seemingly unrelated industries.
In an era where private car ownership was widespread, Takuya Nakayama had already realized he could capitalize on the merchandise market.
His casual mention of "Autobacs" during a press conference earlier had proven to be a stroke of genius.
Inside an Autobacs store in Nerima Ward, several car enthusiasts were gathered around the shelves, carefully selecting their items.
"This car decal is pretty cool," remarked a young man with a buzzed haircut, picking up a Tyrannosaurus Rex silhouette sticker emblazoned with the classic warning: "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear."
"Sticking it on the rear bumper would look totally badass," his companion agreed, fondly holding a gearshift knob shaped like a dinosaur bite mark.
That day, Department Manager Sato of Toho was so engrossed in reviewing the flood of incoming data that he forgot to swallow his tea.
The craze wasn't limited to merchandise; even Akihabara's electronics stores were benefiting.
To experience that earth-shattering bass at home, high-end audio zones from Sony and Matsushita were surprisingly crowded with customers.
"This isn't just a movie," Sato muttered, setting down the report. "It's a printing press for money."
Naturally, the media's antennae were quick to pick up on this phenomenon.
Overnight, it seemed every TV channel in Japan had collectively time-traveled back to the Cretaceous period.
Turning on NHK, the usually solemn morning news anchor had, for the first time ever, placed a Tyrannosaurus Rex model on their desk. Switching to Fuji TV, a comedy show featured a funny actor rolling around in a muddy pond in a cheap dinosaur costume, grimacing for laughs while the exaggerated caption "Great Panic!!" scrolled across the screen.
Even the usually aloof Nikkei, which usually focused solely on politics and economics, opened its front page with a "Dinosaur Special" column.
Economists who usually spoke only of interest rates and exchange rates suddenly became paleontological experts, debating whether the prehistoric behemoth could bite through the recession that followed the bursting of the economic bubble.
Some even predicted that paleontology would become a popular major at universities the following year.
Of course, the ones suffering the most were the two Hollywood leads sent to Japan.
Sam Neill, a serious actor, probably never imagined he'd be forced to endure the pungent spiciness of wasabi sushi while maintaining a terrified expression alongside a staff member in a cheap dinosaur costume during a prime-time variety show.
Laura Dern, meanwhile, found herself trapped in Ginza by enthusiastic high school girls, her hands filled with various quirky Q-version dinosaur keychains, her face wearing a smile that was both touched and bewildered.
In this nationwide frenzy, anything with "dinosaur" in the title was guaranteed to boost ratings and sales.
It was August, and in a conference room at Sega Headquarters in Tokyo...
Everyone crowded around the newly installed fax machine, staring intently at the thermal paper slowly emerging, their expressions like expectant fathers waiting outside a delivery room.
"It's here!" Kobayashi from Sales shouted, his voice cracking.
Before the paper could fully detach, a hand yanked it out.
Tom Kalinske's thick California accent boomed through the speaker, reaching Tokyo from across the Pacific.
"Listen up, you guys! Sit tight!"
Tom must have just taken a big gulp of something. His voice sounded both exhilarated and slightly breathless. "As of yesterday, including the latest data from Europe—the combined shipments for the Mega Drive cartridge edition and the Sega CD version in North America and Europe—"
He deliberately paused. Even across the Pacific, everyone could picture the smug, almost taunting expression on his face.
Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his chair, twirling his pen, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Three million, two hundred thousand units!" Tom roared.
The conference room fell silent for a beat, then erupted in a deafening cheer that could have lifted the roof.
Several young employees even jumped up and hugged each other, while even the usually stern Financial Director was beaming, his folding fan whirring like a helicopter's rotor blades.
Add to that the over 2.3 million units already sold in Japan alone.
And a global total of over 5.5 million units.
What does that mean? In an era where game cartridges routinely cost 6,000 to 7,000 Japanese yen or more, this was a windfall that could instantly turn any publicly traded company's financial report into a "gold mine."
In just over a month, this Tyrannosaurus Rex had raked in astronomical cash flow for Sega.
"And this isn't the end!" Tom shouted from the other end of the line. "The procurement manager from Walmart just contacted me—they need another 200,000 units next week! Takuya, make sure the contract factory doesn't stop production."
Takuya Nakayama shook his head with a smile and replied into the phone, "Don't worry about the factory, Tom. Just focus on the cargo plane landing in San Francisco tomorrow."
After hanging up, he stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Below, a long queue of delivery trucks was driving out of the warehouse gates.
And in Akihabara, a hastily scribbled sign was posted outside the Messe Sanoh store: "Jurassic Park completely sold out—next shipment arrives tomorrow afternoon."
This was actually the second wave of the craze.
A month earlier, it had been hardcore gamers buying the game based on Sega's reputation. But ever since the movie's release in Japan two weeks prior, the demographics of buyers had completely changed.
That day, Takuya visited the stores and saw a housewife in an apron, fresh onions in hand, trying to buy her son a copy of Jurassic Park.
The movie's universal appeal across all age groups was the key to the game's sales surpassing 5.5 million copies.
Bandai Headquarters Building.
The Sales Department Manager loosened his tie, two buttons on his shirt already popped. Holding two phones, he roared into the receivers, "Don't even mention inventory turnover rates! Right now, every truck that dares leave the warehouse is a sale! We don't need statistics—the shipping slips are the sales slips!"
The conference room was thick with smoke. The old-timers who usually bickered for hours over half a percent profit now grinned like foxes who had just stolen a chicken, their eyes fixed on the shipping curve on the wall.
Please Support me by becoming my patreon member and get 30+ chapters.
[email protected]/Ajal69
change @ with a
Thank You to Those who joined my Patreon