As Nintendo and Sega both drew their swords, setting the release date on the same day, a ground war centered around channels, retail, and promotion erupted the moment the announcement was made.
The intensity of the war exceeded the imagination of all onlookers.
Morisato, a sales specialist from Nintendo, currently stood in a slightly crowded game store. His well-tailored suit seemed somewhat out of place amidst the cluttered surroundings.
The air was filled with the unique smell of old cardboard and plastic, and the walls were plastered with various game posters, some already slightly faded and curled at the edges. This was the culmination of Shopkeeper Takeshi's efforts.
As a cog in the precise war machine that was the'Shoshin-kai' (Beginner's Club), his mission was simple and clear.
"Good afternoon, Shopkeeper Takeshi." Morisato wore a professional smile, as if he were just visiting an old friend.
The shop owner, a slightly plump middle-aged man named Takeshi, quickly leaned forward from behind the counter, his smile a bit stiff. "Mr. Morisato, what brings you here?"
Takeshi's heart pounded. Shoshin-kai specialists never idled; their every visit meant the latest directives from headquarters. Usually, it was about allocation quotas for a major title, but today, he felt something was different.
Morisato didn't answer immediately, his gaze sweeping around the small shop. His eyes lingered for half a second on an old the legend of zelda poster on the wall, finally resting behind the counter. There stood a small, handwritten sign in marker: "MEGADRIVE Pre-orders Accepted."
A fine sweat broke out on Takeshi's back.
"Shopkeeper Takeshi, you should have already received the official notice from headquarters." Morisato's tone remained polite, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. He gently placed a document on the counter and pushed it over.
The cover of the document bore a striking headline: "super mario bros. 3 Priority Sales Cooperation Agreement."
Takeshi didn't look at the document; his full attention was on Morisato's face. He tried to explain: "Mr. Morisato, that—Sega's sign is just—"
"Shopkeeper Takeshi," Morisato interrupted him, his voice not loud, but weighty, "the Shoshin-kai is a big family, and Nintendo has always prioritized the interests of its partners. Headquarters places great importance on the first batch of super mario bros. 3 allocations and hopes to prioritize the needs of our most loyal partners."
The word "loyal" was softly uttered, yet it struck Takeshi's heart like two stones.
He, of course, understood what this meant. "Priority Sales Cooperation" was implicitly "Exclusive Sales Cooperation." Signing this meant that his store could not display any promotional materials related to the MD console.
"But—but we're just a small shop, having more options—" Takeshi's voice trailed off.
The smile finally vanished from Morisato's face. He pointed a finger at the agreement: "Shopkeeper Takeshi, there are many paths, but the path to the future is often only one. You are a smart man."
With that, he said no more, simply standing there quietly, awaiting Takeshi's decision.
The shop was eerily quiet, save for the ticking of an old wall clock. Sweat beaded on Takeshi's forehead. He looked at the agreement that would determine his business for the next few months, then at the pre-order sign he had written himself. The ink on the sign was still fresh, as if mocking his naivete.
He just wanted to earn a little more money. What did the war between Sega and Nintendo have to do with him, a small shop owner?
But now, the war was laid out on his counter.
A few seconds later, Takeshi let out a long, silent sigh. He looked up, forced a smile at Morisato that was worse than a grimace, then silently turned around, reached out, and took down the "MEGADRIVE Pre-orders Accepted" sign, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it into the trash can at his feet.
The smile reappeared on Morisato's face; he nodded with satisfaction.
"Happy cooperation, Shopkeeper Takeshi. Regarding the super mario bros. 3 allocation, I will apply for the highest quota for you."
Carrot and stick.
The most classic and effective tactic. This once again proved that in the battlefield of channels, Nintendo's dominance was absolute.
He left the small shop, heading to his next target, his heart filled with the pride of a soldier of the empire.
However, this pride faced an unprecedented challenge the moment he stepped into the next store.
It was a Pokémon Center.
Unlike the traditional game shop he had just left, this place was bright, spacious, and full of modern flair.
On the walls and shelves, the adorable images of Pikachu, Charmander, and Squirtle were everywhere.
Children excitedly exchanged pokémon stickers in a specially designated area.
This didn't feel like a game store; it felt more like a trendy amusement park for young people.
Morisato frowned. He saw MD console promotional stands and vibrant pokémon adventures game posters displayed in the most prominent position at the store entrance.
He found the shop owner and repeated his practiced spiel.
But this time, he faced a young man wearing a pokémon employee uniform, with a gentle smile but firm eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Morisato."
The shop owner politely refused.
Morisato was somewhat surprised. He emphasized his tone, mentioning the'Shoshin-kai' regulations and the possibility of cutting off popular cartridge supplies.
The smile on the shop owner's face didn't change in the slightest.
"Mr. Morisato, please look."
He didn't argue but took out a photo album and opened it.
Inside the album were photos taken by the shop owner's son during a bustling weekend, with crowds of people almost filling the entire store.
"Many of them aren't here specifically to buy games."
The shop owner pointed to the joyful children and their parents in the photos.
"They come to exchange stickers, buy a T-shirt, a Pikachu plushie, or simply to experience the atmosphere here."
He then took out an account book and pushed it in front of Morisato.
It clearly recorded that the sales of pokémon-related merchandise and co-branded snacks had far exceeded the total sales of all FC game cartridges combined.
"The pokémon brand brings me the entire young family demographic."
The shop owner's voice was sincere and powerful.
"If I refuse MD, if I refuse pokémon adventures, what I lose will not just be one game, but the very foundation that supports my store's existence. This is a cost that Nintendo's advertising fees cannot compensate for."
For the first time, Morisato directly confronted a business ecosystem outside of Nintendo's sphere of influence.
He looked at the innocent smiles on the children's faces, and at the rows of adorable pokémon merchandise.
He suddenly realized that Sega, using the pokémon IP, had quietly built a commercial barrier, a fortress that Nintendo's iron fist could not easily smash.
Morisato silently left the Pokémon Center, his confidence and pride from earlier now completely gone.
He urgently reported this situation, and this report prompted a re-evaluation and high alert regarding the power of the pokémon IP within Nintendo's Marketing Department.
The flames of war quickly spread to broader areas.
In the convenience store network, a fierce territorial battle unfolded.
FamilyMart, deeply tied to pokémon, already had its shelves filled with MD flyers and various co-branded snacks, becoming Sega's most stable stronghold.
At 7-Eleven, after symbolically raising the agency prices for a few rounds, Sega's representatives "generously" backed off, allowing Nintendo to secure exclusive selling rights at a price far exceeding expectations.
As for Lawson, its supplier, Mitsubishi Corporation, was already an important member of the'Shoshin-kai,' making it naturally Nintendo's turf.
On the surface, Nintendo had secured two major convenience store chains, achieving an overwhelming victory.
But only those in the finance department, looking at the huge expenses of each cooperation agreement, would feel a hint of unease.
In large department stores like Seibu Department Store and Toys "R" Us, Nintendo launched an undisguised money-bombing offensive.
Giant posters of Tanooki Mario almost covered the exterior walls of the department stores.
At the entrance of the department store, staff dressed in Mario and Luigi mascot costumes tirelessly handed out flyers.
Facing Sega's bidding, Nintendo's regional manager made a bold declaration.
"Whatever they offer, we'll offer ten thousand yen more every day!"
However, each time, Sega only raised the price to an astonishing level, then quietly withdrew.
While Nintendo's sales staff celebrated yet another "victory," they privately mocked Sega for being "strong on the outside but weak on the inside, lacking funds."
It was late.
In the Nintendo Headquarters building, the light in one office was still on.
A junior market analyst, Maeda, was organizing promotional reports from across the country.
He was a meticulous young man who had recently joined the company.
As he compared rows of data, his brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
In core cities like Osaka, Nagoya, and Fukuoka, although Sega's advertising investment was not as high as Nintendo's, their targeting was precise, and their offensive was fierce. Both sides went back and forth, locked in a fierce battle.
Only in Tokyo.
In this capital region, with the highest media exposure and strongest symbolic significance, Sega's actions were almost negligible.
Except for initially raising the prices of advertising spots a few times, they completely ceased their efforts afterward. Only natural Sega strongholds like Pokémon Centers and traditional Sega allies like Toka could display promotional materials, but the intensity of the promotion was far less than in other places.
This was illogical.
Maeda felt a vague sense of unease. He wrote this doubt in bold in the report's footnotes.
The next day, the report was returned.
His superior had written a line in red ink next to the footnote.
"The enemy is afraid to fight, lacking funds. This is a sign of great victory, no need to worry."
Maeda looked at that triumphant line, but the unease in his heart grew stronger.
This didn't seem like a retreat; it was more like a strange vacuum.
He vaguely felt that Sega had not given up on Tokyo due to a lack of funds.
They seemed to be passively enduring Nintendo's saturation attack, but in reality, they might be concentrating all their resources on some unknown, fatal point.