Monday morning after Valentine's Day, in the Sega MD launch command center.
The Sales Supervisor, with two still-faint dark circles under his eyes, held a stack of fresh reports just retrieved from the fax machine.
He stood in front of the whiteboard, looking at the huge ">" symbol, representing victory, left there from Saturday.
His lips moved, but no sound came out for a long time.
Everyone was looking at him.
"Speak up," the head of the Marketing Department urged impatiently.
The Sales Supervisor suddenly looked up, his face a distorted expression mixed with ecstasy and disbelief.
He picked up a marker, its tip scratching an ear-piercing sound on the whiteboard.
"On Valentine's Day itself! super mario bros. 3, Tokyo area sales—sixty-eight thousand three hundred copies!"
Once this number was written down, the office fell silent for a moment, then erupted into a low roar of laughter.
"What about us?" someone asked loudly.
The Sales Supervisor switched to a bright red marker and heavily wrote another set of data next to Mario's number.
"pokémon adventure: pokémon land—one hundred two thousand copies!"
"The Pikachu limited edition bundle, fifteen thousand sets prepared for the Tokyo area—all sold out!"
"The Nidoran and Nidorina 'Proof of Love' plush dolls, three thousand pairs prepared—all given away!"
"Wahhhhhhh!"
This time, the cheers were no longer suppressed, deafening the room.
The Sales Supervisor threw down the pen and hugged the head of the Marketing Department next to him, patting his back so hard that the other person coughed.
"We won! We really beat Mario down in Tokyo!"
Hayao Nakayama had been sitting on the sofa in the back.
At this moment, he stood up and walked to the whiteboard, looking at the two glaring numbers.
He did not speak, but simply reached out and patted his son Takuya's shoulder, his palm firm and strong.
Takuya gave his father a confident smile, then looked at the head of the Public Relations Department and said only one word: "Start."
With the command given, the media machine, already poised for action, roared to life.
The prepared press releases flew like snowflakes to major newspapers and television stations.
The next day, on Tokyo's newsstands, the battle situation was laid bare before all citizens.
Asahi Shimbun: "Gaming Throne Changes Hands? Sega MD's First Week Sales Outpace Nintendo's New Mario!"
Yomiuri Shimbun's headline was even more provocative: "The Victory of the Akihabara Carnival: How pokémon Defeated the Plumber?"
On the television's midday news, the anchor reported with a slightly exaggerated tone: "—Last Wednesday, we witnessed the social distress brought by the DQ Riot; and last weekend, we saw the joy brought by Sega's 'pokémon land.'
With one tight and one loose, the images of the two companies formed an interesting contrast in the public's mind."
Nintendo's hardcore players were oblivious to all this.
They were either battling all night at home or were at work or school, completely unaware of the storm outside.
Kyoto, Nintendo Headquarters.
Newspapers were slammed fiercely onto the conference table, and Hiroshi Yamauchi's face was so grim it looked like it could drip water.
"These Sega bastards!" a director finally couldn't help but growl, "This is a sneak attack! Our players—our players are just playing dragon quest!"
After he finished speaking, the conference room fell into a dead silence.
Yes, how could they refute it?
Were they going to issue a public statement saying, "Our super mario bros. 3 didn't sell well because another game, dragon quest 3, which sells millions daily, was too fun and kept our core users at home"?
The grand apology meeting last Wednesday was still fresh in their minds.
Bringing up dragon quest 3 now would be akin to hitting themselves in the face, and with both hands at that.
This feeling of frustration was stuck in the throats of every Nintendo executive, neither up nor down, almost making them vomit blood.
Carrying this momentum of public opinion, the Sega MD's sales trend in the following days was like a runaway wild horse, continuously soaring at a high level.
The atmosphere in the command center also shifted from initial tense confrontation to an almost fanatical anticipation.
Everyone felt as if they were sitting on a rocket about to launch, both excited and unreal.
At noon on Friday, the fax machine in the command center once again spat out a long strip of paper.
The Sales Supervisor walked step by step to the whiteboard as if holding an imperial edict.
The entire room was silent, everyone holding their breath.
He did not write immediately, but turned around and looked at everyone, his face a peculiar expression mixed with pride and trance.
"Everyone," he turned back, picked up the marker, and wrote stroke by stroke, as if using all his strength.
"Sega MD console, cumulative sales across Japan—exceeded five hundred thousand units!"
As the numbers landed on the whiteboard, there was a collective gasp from the crowd, followed by uncontrollable exclamations.
He did not stop, continuing to write.
"Total game cartridge sales exceeded one million copies!"
This meant that on average, each Sega MD player purchased two game cartridges.
"Our battle is not over yet!" Takuya's voice rang out at the opportune moment, pulling everyone's ecstasy back to reality, "The battle reports from North America and Europe haven't arrived yet."
Everyone's gaze collectively turned to the international fax machine in the corner.
The wait was agonizing.
Finally, on Saturday evening, the fax machine emitted a crisp "beep-beep" sound.
The staff member responsible for overseas liaison rushed over, tore off the thin fax, his hands trembling.
He quickly walked to Hayao Nakayama, respectfully handing it over.
Hayao Nakayama took it, and with just one glance, the lines on his usually stern face seemed to soften.
He did not speak, but handed the fax to Takuya, who was beside him.
Takuya took it, his gaze quickly scanning.
European Sega MD sales: eighty-three thousand units.
North American Sega MD sales: two hundred fifty-four thousand units.
Takuya gently placed the fax on the table, pushing it towards the Sales Supervisor, who was already somewhat unsteady on his feet in front of the whiteboard.
The Sales Supervisor picked up the fax, raised his marker, took a deep breath, and solemnly added two new lines of numbers below the five hundred sixty thousand sales for all of Japan.
He did not calculate the total, but everyone already had a mental tally.
Global first-week total sales: close to nine hundred thousand units.
After a brief silence in the command center, a thunderous cheer erupted.
Against a backdrop of widespread ecstasy, Hayao Nakayama walked over to Takuya, reaching out and pressing heavily on his son's shoulder.
He said nothing, but the warmth and strength of his palm conveyed everything.
Takuya covered Hayao Nakayama's hand with his own and said, "Next week, Konami will be up to you, Father."
Hayao Nakayama nodded, patted twice more, and then left the command center.
At this point, the goal for the first week of release was perfectly achieved.