1988, the start of a new year.
The air in Tokyo was crisp, carrying the lingering warmth of the post-holiday festivities.
Under the Japan signs of Akihabara, a peculiar sight was unfolding.
Groups of young foreigners, with blonde hair and blue eyes, or brown skin, hung new cameras around their necks, but clutched tightly to a map of Tokyo's arcades.
They didn't flock to Senso-ji Temple or the Imperial Palace, but instead headed straight into the dimly lit arcades, where the air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and electronic sounds.
Inside one arcade named "GIGO," people were packed three deep, surrounding a DDR dance machine, making it impossible to get close.
The machine's speakers were blasting Yoko Oginome's "Dancing Hero" at maximum volume.
On the dance floor, a tall boy from Los Angeles, wearing loose sweatpants, was engaged in a "dance battle" with a Japanese high school student dressed in a black school uniform.
Sweat soaked their foreheads, yet their footwork was as precise as a metronome.
The onlookers around them cheered excitedly for both sides, using fragmented words mixed with Japanese and English.
Flashbulbs flashed intermittently; some keen-nosed entertainment weekly reporters, and even writers for political and economic magazines, had already squeezed into the front row, writing furiously, documenting this unprecedented cross-cultural exchange sparked by a game.
More overseas players arrived in Tokyo between January 6th and 8th.
This caused hotels and capsule hotels in Akihabara, Shinjuku, and their surrounding areas to become overcrowded for a time.
January 9th, the night of the finals.
Under the night sky, the National Stadium appeared like a giant light tower descended upon the human world.
Traffic on the main roads leading to the venue was completely paralyzed.
Although Sega and Sony had repeatedly communicated with the Traffic Department beforehand and deployed detailed crowd guidance plans.
However, the young players who had rushed from all over the world were already ignited with excitement, completely disregarding the planned routes.
Countless taxis were stuck on the road, unable to move, and the drivers could only helplessly watch as thousands of young people surged past their cars, merging into that sea of light.
On the outer walls of the venue, sixteen giant player posters were hung.
The posters had national flags as backgrounds, and the players struck dynamic poses with strong personal styles.
The champion from Brazil infused the wildness of samba into his opening move.
The champion from France gracefully performed a ballet-like leap.
These figures, already deified in their respective cities, now looked like modern gods overlooking the mortal world.
Countless fans screamed wildly under the posters, vying to take photos, and even before the competition began, the atmosphere had already reached a fever pitch.
Inside the stadium, every seat was filled.
Tens of thousands of seats held tens of thousands of young and excited faces.
They waved their national flags, as well as colorful glowing light sticks, forming a surging river of stars.
The massive player posters encircling the venue, combined with the pulsating crowd inside, created a grandeur and fanaticism comparable to the Olympic Games.
Signals from dozens of television stations worldwide had already been connected to the venue, transmitting the explosive atmosphere, and viewership ratings had already surpassed regular programs during the same time slot. Even though it was still early morning on the US West Coast, many viewers had woken up early to watch.
As soon as the live broadcast footage was transmitted back to the headquarters of various TV stations, the phones in the Marketing Department were almost ringing off the hook.
"Increase the Marketing Department's quote by twenty percent!"
"No, thirty percent! As long as you can give us a fifteen-second window during the next round of the competition!"
New Marketing Department quote sheets flew like snowflakes to the various broadcasters.
The embedded Marketing Department advertisements in the broadcasters' hands were, naturally, new Marketing Department time slots that Sega had painstakingly carved out from the tight schedule, based on their experience from the previous fatal fury tournament, and distributed to the broadcasters' timetables before the live broadcast began.
In the organizing committee, a Sony employee looked at the skilled and efficient operations of Sega's Marketing Department, his eyes full of admiration.
Beside him, a supervisor with access to Sony's higher-level strategies watched the constantly rising viewership curve on the screen, and an idea had already formed in his mind.
Sony was planning to acquire Columbia Pictures and its CBS television station, but this was still in the secret planning stages. He was thinking that after acquiring a US television station in two years, perhaps they should also open a dedicated gaming program slot.
Inside the VIP box.
Crystal glasses clinked, making a crisp sound.
The executives of Sega and Sony were beaming with the joy of success.
"Nakayama-san, Sega's event planning and organizational capabilities are truly astonishing."
A Sony director praised sincerely.
"Not at all, without Sony's powerful global resource mobilization capabilities, we would never have been able to host such a grand event in such a short time."
Takuya Nakayama smiled in response, attributing the credit to their cooperation.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the box, the senior official from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was completely overwhelmed by the scene before him.
He did not participate in the commercial flattery, but simply stood silently in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the fervent sea below.
When players from various countries appeared on stage, tens of thousands of people in the audience, regardless of nationality or skin color, shouted his name with all the pronunciation they could muster, and the official's heart was impacted like never before.
That cold visa data report, at this moment, finally transformed into a flesh-and-blood, vibrant and real power.
This was a type of civilian cultural diplomacy he had never encountered before, entirely driven by commerce, yet growing wildly and full of vitality.
He finally understood intuitively why an electronic game could make young people all over the world willingly cross oceans to come here.
The lights on the main stage suddenly went out.
The entire National Stadium plunged into a brief, heart-pounding darkness and silence.
The next second, a dazzling pure white spotlight tore through the night sky, hitting the center of the stage precisely.
Yoko Oginome, dressed in a sparkling stage costume, holding a microphone, appeared under the gaze of tens of thousands.
The prelude began, that classic melody of "Dancing Hero" that had already echoed through arcades in Tokyo and around the world.
"Boom! Boom boom!"
The powerful beat was like a heavy hammer, fiercely striking everyone's hearts.
Tens of thousands of light sticks throughout the venue were simultaneously lit in an instant, forming a swaying sea of light.
"Love"
As Yoko Oginome's singing began, dancers came onto the four corners of the stage, performing dynamic dance moves to the rhythm of the song.
The entire stadium was completely ignited.
The long-accumulated energy transformed into a mountain-shaking, tsunami-like roar, almost lifting the stadium's dome.
This was no longer just a simple competition opening show.
This was an ode to an era, a coronation ceremony dedicated to all the young people who were crazy about DDR.
After the song ended, the host walked onto the stage, his voice trembling slightly with excitement.
"Thank you, Miss Yoko Oginome, for your wonderful performance!"
He paused briefly, waiting for the cheers to subside slightly.
"Now, I will introduce to you the brand new scoring rules for this Global Finals!"
On the giant screen behind the stage, the image switched accordingly.
Four large titles occupied everyone's vision.
"Aesthetic Appeal, accounting for thirty-five percent!"
"It will comprehensively evaluate the player's stage presence, dance choreography, costume styling, and personal charm."
"Difficulty of Execution, accounting for thirty-five percent!"
"It will assess the player's additional, extraordinary high-difficulty moves beyond the basic completion of game instructions."
"Game Score, accounting for fifteen percent!"
"This remains the foundation, representing the player's precise control over the game itself."
"Finally—"
The host deliberately drew out his voice, pointing his hand towards the audience.
"Audience Cheer Decibel Level, accounting for fifteen percent!"
"That's right! Your cheers, your enthusiasm, will directly determine the champion! Let's create history together!"
The new rules momentarily stunned the audience both at the venue and in front of their televisions, immediately erupting into even more intense discussion and applause. This was no longer just about who had faster feet, but the ultimate showdown of art, skill, and popularity.
As soon as the host's voice fell, the contestants walked onto the stage in the order of their draws.
After all the contestants had made their appearances, the competition entered the stage of an epic battle among gods.
The rankings on the large screen changed rapidly, and the unveiling of each score brought forth exclamations or regrets like mountains and seas. Hours later, the host walked onto the stage again, and the final rankings were frozen on the screen behind him.
"Ladies and gentlemen! After a brutal battle, our top four contestants have emerged!" He loudly called out four names, each representing an extreme style.
"Next, will be the most exciting showdown! These four contestants will be paired up, fighting in one-on-one battles.
The winners will enter the final championship match, competing for the sole throne!"
"However, the contestants are still preparing their songs for the ultimate showdown, so let's relax for a bit!"
As soon as the host's voice fell, the music style in the venue suddenly changed.
Relaxed and lively electronic music replaced the passionate dance music.
Several huge and clumsy figures wobbled out from both sides of the stage.
The audience looked closely and were instantly amused.
They were several dancers wearing pokémon mascot costumes: a Pikachu, a Charmander, and a Squirtle. Their round bodies performed various simple but endearing dance moves, sometimes spinning in sync, sometimes pushing each other, displaying all sorts of cuteness.
The nerves that had been tense due to the competition were completely relaxed at this moment.
Countless flashlights lit up, capturing this cute and slightly surreal scene.
"So cute!"
"What is this? A new Sega game?"
The venue was filled with good-natured laughter. This unexpected interlude, on the contrary, greatly increased the global audience's goodwill towards this Japanese company's creativity.
After a brief moment of relaxation, the final round of the competition officially began.
The lights focused on Isabella, the contestant from Spain.
She wore a fiery red flamenco dress, and her golden wavy hair swayed gently with her steps, each step exuding a queen-like aura.
The music started, it was Madonna's Latin-infused song "La Isla Bonita."
Isabella's performance began.
Her feet precisely stepped on every arrow of the DDR, while her upper body and skirt performed a pure flamenco.
Every finger snap, every turn of the head, every sudden flick of the skirt with the rhythm, was like a burning flame, instantly igniting the audience.
She did not pursue extreme speed, but perfectly combined the allure of dance with the game's commands.
The audience spontaneously clapped along to the rhythm of the song, and the entire venue seemed to transform into a giant Spanish tavern.
When the last note fell, she froze in a classic flamenco finishing pose, proudly raising her chin, her sweat-soaked wisps of hair clinging to her cheeks, her eyes still bright as fire.
"Her 'aesthetic appeal' is, without a doubt, the highest tonight!"
A judge gave an extremely high evaluation.
On the other side of the audience, a female spectator from France pouted and said to her companion in a sour tone.
"The judges and audience must have been captivated by her beauty."
"That red dress and that head of golden wavy hair are too unfair."
Next to appear was Liam, the boy from London.
His song choice was a-ha's "Take On Me."
This fast-paced synth-pop song heralded the arrival of a storm.
The moment the music began, Liam's body transformed into a phantom.
His feet performed dazzling ghost dances on the dance floor, so fast that his movements were almost invisible, yet he always hit every falling arrow perfectly.
During the breaks, he even supported himself with one hand on the ground, his body spinning at high speed, connecting the next dance step with a series of incredible Breaking moves.
The entire stadium was silent.
Everyone was shocked by this pure technical prowess.
This was no longer just dancing; this was challenging the limits of human ability.
"Oh my god—"
In front of their televisions, countless young people practicing street dance exclaimed.
"This style of play will definitely ignite a global street dance craze again!"
Liam's "completion difficulty" score was, without suspense, directly maxed out.
Finally, it was the turn of the Black brothers from Los Angeles, Marcus and Jamal.
They chose Michael Jackson's "Bad."
When that iconic bassline sounded, the two simultaneously moonwalked backward, their movements perfectly synchronized like a mirror image.
The competition began.
But what they brought was something entirely new.
They were no longer fighting individually.
In a gap between a series of continuous arrows, the slightly shorter Jamal suddenly stepped onto his brother Marcus's thigh, using the leverage to leap into the air,
Then flipped down to precisely light up the next arrows.
The whole venue was in an uproar.
Immediately after, the two stood back-to-back, handling the arrow sequences coming from two directions purely by muscle memory and tacit agreement.
During the climax of the song, Marcus even lifted Jamal entirely, and Jamal performed a beautiful flip in the air, his feet still not missing a single command.
Their performance had completely exceeded the design scope of the DDR game.
They transformed DDR from a solo dance into a collaborative art full of creativity and cooperation.
"This is insane!"
A judge excitedly grabbed the microphone, his voice hoarse from over-excitement.
"Their creativity has surpassed the game itself! We must redesign a whole new DDR for this style of play!"
The entire audience went wild.
They shouted, screamed, and stomped with all their might, unleashing their shock and reverence without reservation.
On the giant screen, the "highest audience decibel" meter soared at an unprecedented speed, instantly breaking all previous record peaks.
It was this decisive score that helped the American brothers defeat the technical Liam by a narrow margin, successfully reaching the top.
Liam, with his undeniable technical prowess, won the runner-up.
Isabella, relying on her far superior "aesthetic appeal" and a once-maxed-out "audience decibel" score, secured the third place.
Amidst the sound of celebratory cannons for the awards, countless ribbons fell from the sky.
Three groups of contestants stood on the podium. Isabella elegantly lifted her skirt and performed a curtsy to the audience; even though she only won third place, her posture remained like a queen. Liam stood in the runner-up position, his expression calm. He glanced at the two brothers beside him, holding up their trophy, and there was no jealousy in his eyes, only a pure scrutiny and fighting spirit belonging to a technical fanatic.
The championship belonged to Marcus and Jamal. The moment the host called out their names, Jamal excitedly jumped onto his brother's back, and Marcus steadily held him, the two taking the huge trophy like a human pyramid. This comical yet powerful movement once again ignited the entire venue. The audience roared with laughter, and the applause and whistles almost tore off the stadium roof.
Global players and television viewers feasted their eyes on this diverse and creatively explosive dance extravaganza.
The television ratings curve steadily rose, and the GG Department's phones did not stop ringing until the end of the competition.
GG merchants watched their brands repeatedly exposed in such a grand global event, contentedly calculating their return on investment.
In the VIP box, executives from Sega and Sony had already stood up, their champagne glasses clinking crisply.
And the official from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs looked at the screen, at the Black brothers from Los Angeles, holding up the championship trophy emblazoned with the Sega and Sony logos, calculating where this year's Ministry of Foreign Affairs budget would go.
The DDR Global Finals slowly drew to a close in such a win-win situation where all participants were satisfied.