PC Engine's promotion had just begun, but the Nintendo empire's counterattack had already stirred up a massive storm.
Under Hiroshi Yamauchi's iron fist, an invisible pressure quickly enveloped the entire Japanese gaming industry.
Inside the offices of major third-party game developers, the atmosphere suddenly grew tense.
Nintendo, under the guise of assisting development and ensuring quality, dispatched "commissioners" to almost all third parties who had signed royalty agreements.
Their title was assistance, but their true purpose was surveillance.
These commissioners, like the Sword of Damocles hanging over the heads of various development teams, constantly reminded them who set the rules.
For a time, the industry was full of complaints, yet dared not voice them.
Meanwhile, on the market, game release plans for the FC in the second half of the year and into next year emerged like snowflakes, covering everything.
This was both a way for Nintendo to flex its muscles and stabilize morale, and it also objectively diluted some of the fervent attention directed at PCEngine.
Inside the Managing Director's office at Sega Headquarters.
Takuya Nakayama lightly tapped his fingertips on the desk, listening to Suzuki Masao report on the latest industry developments.
A meaningful curve played on his lips.
"Hiroshi Yamauchi's move, seemingly tough, is actually him digging his own grave."
Takuya's gaze was sharp, as if it could penetrate layers of fog and see into people's hearts.
"The greater the pressure, the stronger the rebound."
"Those manufacturers who were already dissatisfied with Nintendo's overbearing terms will only become more alienated."
He looked at Suzuki Masao, his tone calm but carrying an undeniable directive.
"I'll go consult with the board of directors to see if we can have our informants embedded in various companies 'amplify' the friction between those commissioners and the development teams appropriately. There's no need to proactively stir up trouble, but an accidental extra word at the right time might achieve unexpected results. The most important thing is not to expose ourselves."
"I want those cracks to widen imperceptibly."
Suzuki Masao's heart tightened, and he subconsciously nodded in agreement.
Soon, Takuya's suggestion was approved by the board, and the public relations department immediately sprang into action.
At Konami Headquarters, the air was so thick it could almost be wrung out. The blinds in the meeting room were tightly closed, leaving only a stifling, dim yellow light.
The young producer, Hideo Kojima, had beads of sweat on his forehead, currently feeling unprecedented pressure.
His game, metal gear, on the MSX2 computer platform, into which he had poured countless efforts, was facing severe scrutiny from Nintendo commissioner Kazuo Okada. Kazuo Okada, a marginalized figure who had fallen out of favor in Nintendo's internal power struggles, was now venting all his pent-up frustration on this non-FC platform game, as if to pour out all his misfortunes.
"Stealth? What kind of low-class gameplay is this?" Kazuo Okada's knuckles rapped loudly on the table, his tone sharp and sarcastic, as he pointed at metal gear's design document, making no secret of his disdain. "Only children play hide-and-seek; adults want direct, skill-based confrontation!"
He flipped through the document and then sneered, "The story text is so long and complex; who has the patience to read it? And these controls, so many buttons, do you want players' fingers to tie themselves in knots?"
"It must be modified!" Kazuo Okada's voice suddenly rose. "Everything must be based on the possibility of future transplanting to the FC platform, greatly simplified! The FC's success relies on being simple and clear, so anyone can pick up the controller and immediately start playing!"
Hideo Kojima's young face instantly flushed red. He clenched his fists, then slowly released them.
"Mr. Okada, metal gear's core appeal lies in its unique stealth experience and profound storyline!" He tried to keep his voice steady.
"This is determined by the MSX2 platform's characteristics; what we pursue is a different experience from the FC! The MSX2 player base is also more mature; they can accept more complex content."
Kazuo Okada let out a scoff, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and looked down at Kojima.
"I am Nintendo's representative." He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, and pointed to the Nintendo-branded briefcase he had brought on the table. "The FC's standard is the industry's standard. If I say no, it's no! Does Konami not want to continue releasing best-selling games on the FC?" There was undisguised threat in his words.
Inside the office, some mid-level Konami executives also began to whisper.
"Mr. Okada is right; the FC's success experience is worth learning from." One person, with a smile on his face, agreed.
"Yes, yes, Kojima-kun is still too young, and his ideas are unrealistic. Our games ultimately depend on sales, after all." Another chimed in.
At this moment, a middle-aged technician in the corner, who had been silent and was responsible for external hardware interfaces, pushed up his glasses and slowly spoke: "Mr. Okada is far-sighted. However, the MSX2's capabilities are different from the FC's. If we completely copy the FC's simplification approach, will we lose the unique characteristics of the MSX2 user base? I heard that some hardcore players enjoy challenging complex operations and deep storylines." He spoke impartially, seemingly just stating facts, yet also appearing to be helping Kojima out of a difficult situation.
This technician was one of Sega's informants embedded in Konami. He knew when to "accidentally say an extra word."
Kazuo Okada frowned, clearly disliking being questioned, even in such a subtle way. He glanced at the technician, unable to find fault with him for the moment, and just snorted coldly: "Hmph, can the preferences of niche players be compared to the mass market? Does Konami want sales, or so-called 'characteristics'?" He heavily emphasized the word "characteristics," dragging out the end of the word, its meaning self-evident.
Hideo Kojima's eyes flickered as he listened to the technician's words. He did not argue further, but his tightly pressed lips showed his inner defiance. The atmosphere in the meeting room grew even stranger. Kazuo Okada's stubbornness made everyone at Konami look at each other, while that seemingly neutral "reminder" added more weight to the already wavering thoughts of some people in the meeting room.
Kazuo Okada looked at the silent Kojima, thinking he had given in, and cleared his throat with satisfaction: "In short, I want to see the revised plan next week. Meeting adjourned!"
Everyone left in succession, with Hideo Kojima being the last to walk out of the meeting room. He looked back at the closed door, as if seeing his painstaking work being brutally dismembered by an invisible hand. He took a breath, and when he raised his head again, his eyes were no longer as dim as before.
The conflict was reported layer by layer, eventually landing on Managing Director Kozuki Kagemasa's desk.
Kozuki Kagemasa's brows were tightly furrowed; he knew Nintendo's dominance well.
He made a phone call to Nintendo, attempting to communicate with them and hoping to mediate the matter.
However, the person Nintendo sent to handle this matter was none other than the esteemed Gunpei Yokoi, a respected figure in the industry.
Gunpei Yokoi clearly disdained such "minor frictions" within third-party companies, adopting a rather arrogant attitude and showing particular disdain for games on non-FC platforms.
Ultimately, although Kazuo Okada was transferred, Hideo Kojima was forced to submit a self-criticism to Kozuki Kagemasa and apologize to Gunpei Yokoi for "contradicting" the Nintendo commissioner.