"Then you need to switch to an SUV with higher ground clearance, Tom," Frank teased. "Driving that Porsche of yours, with a chassis so low it could sweep the floor, over the speed bumps in Silicon Valley is pure torture."
"That's a classic!" Tom retorted. "What do you Internet types know about mechanical romance? You spend all day staring at code on a screen; you can't even appreciate the roar of a car's exhaust."
Takuya Nakayama listened to the two men bickering from across the ocean, a pleasant smile on his face.
These two were the perfect combination of brains and brawn—one managing Internet products, the other overseeing offline channels and gaming operations. They worked together with remarkable synergy.
Sega's foundation in North America rested entirely on their shoulders.
"Alright, save the mechanical romance for the weekend," Takuya interrupted their argument. "Frank, remember to coordinate the AOL stock accumulation plan we just discussed with Sega's finance department. Tom, help Frank keep an eye on the channel replacement. You're more familiar with those ISPs and PC vendors than he is."
"You got it," Tom promised. "Half the procurement managers at those PC companies are my golf buddies. It's just a matter of a few drinks of whiskey."
"Then I wish you both a pleasant evening," Takuya said, preparing to end the call. "Get off work early. Let's not give those Wall Street types the idea that we're exploiting our workforce."
"Boss, it's early morning over there," Frank said with a chuckle. "We're off for beers. You keep enjoying your Tokyo coffee."
"Goodbye."
"See you."
The line went dead, followed by a faint dial tone from the speakerphone.
Takuya Nakayama pressed the mute button, and silence returned to the office. He tore off the sticky notes covered in memos and fed them into the shredder. The machine hummed low as it devoured the paper.
After the lengthy transoceanic conference call with the North American branch, Takuya leaned back in his spacious executive chair and let out a long sigh. He picked up his cup and drained the last sip of cold black coffee. The bitter liquid slid down his throat, instantly dispelling the last remnants of his drowsiness.
Piles of progress reports and market briefings from various departments were neatly stacked on his desk. He reached out, shifted a few papers aside, and began to flip through them quickly.
The vast majority of the projects were steadily progressing through their middle stages.
As Sega's Executive Managing Director, now wielding immense power, he had long since ceased to expend his energy on these tedious, unresolved processes. The core value of management lay in setting the general direction and focusing on the final results. As for the grinding and execution in between, that was what the high-paid managers below him were paid to push forward relentlessly.
If he had to oversee every detail personally, Sega's current, sprawling operations—spanning hardware, software, and even expanding into general entertainment—would have long ago crippled his schedule.
Pushing a thick stack of administrative documents to the side of his desk, he skillfully drew out the file at the very bottom: Global Game Market Autumn Trends Report.
Since taking office, this had become an unshakeable habit. He always saved the most critical, most nerve-wracking business for the final review.
Even though the day-to-day management of the Game Division had gradually been handed over to Oguchi Hisao, he had never broken the habit of personally gauging the market's pulse.
Just then, there was a soft knock on the office door.
"Come in."
Oguchi Hisao walked in briskly, several freshly printed supplementary data sheets tucked under his arm. He habitually pulled out the chair opposite the desk, sat down, and spread the reports before him. Without a word of greeting, the two men dove straight into the review of the autumn game releases across all major platforms.
"The data for Nintendo's second wave of launch titles is in for North America and Japan," Oguchi said, handing over a report highlighted in red. "Wave Race 64 launched simultaneously last week. Overall market feedback is mediocre—no major complaints, but no buying frenzy either."
Takuya Nakayama took the report, his eyes quickly scanning the sales figures as a knowing smile touched his lips. "Shinya Takahashi's obsession with the physics engine has certainly paid off technically. The fluid simulation is rock solid; the refraction of the water ripples and the physical drag feedback are absolutely unparalleled in today's 3D gaming scene. But unfortunately—"
He tapped his knuckles on the desk. "Constrained by the N64 cartridges' pitiful production capacity and their steep price point, and with the game itself easily becoming a competitor to racing games, its sense of speed and road feedback are far inferior. The positive feedback is mostly focused on the buoy system, but the competitive drive is weak—it's more of a pure obstacle course. In terms of replay value, it can't even compete with our The Fast and the Furious or Namco's Ridge Racer. Its shipment volume simply can't be compared to our optical disc games. While the industry has offered some praise, it hasn't been exceptionally high, and it's all concentrated on the technical aspects of water and light. Naturally, players have to think twice before spending their money."
"Exactly," Oguchi Hisao nodded in agreement, offering a sharp, incisive critique. "Nintendo's stubborn adherence to a cartridge-based hardware strategy is now backfiring, eating away at the sales of the very software they take such pride in. And this is only the beginning of the pain."
He flipped to the next page of the briefing, which detailed the Sony PlayStation camp's autumn strategy.
"Sony played a very smart card this autumn," Takuya Nakayama said, pointing to a game title on the page—Popolocrois Story. "At a time when the rest of the world and every other developer are frantically chasing 3D polygons, desperate to cram their screens full of crude, pixelated blocks, Sony went against the grain. They released a pure 2D, hand-drawn animated RPG. By leveraging the existing fanbase from the anime of the same name and utilizing the massive storage capacity of the PlayStation's CD-ROMs, this counter-intuitive move not only avoided a direct, head-on clash in 3D technology but also perfectly rounded out their product lineup."
"This isn't just a defensive counter-strike in the RPG arena," Oguchi Hisao added, a flicker of wariness in his eyes. "Naughty Dog's Crash Bandicoot went on sale last month. The market feedback has been stellar, with North American and European media scores generally above nine. Players have embraced that somewhat neurotic-looking orange bandicoot far more than our Marketing Department ever anticipated."
Takuya Nakayama leaned back slightly, his body pressing against the chair's backrest, hands clasped over his stomach.
Sony had finally secured the platform mascot they had been coveting.
Naughty Dog's proprietary data-streaming technology could be said to have squeezed every last drop of performance out of the PlayStation's meager hardware.
They had brilliantly adopted a linear level design, perfectly bypassing the hardware rendering bottlenecks caused by a free-look camera. At the same time, they compensated for the lack of 3D exploration depth with high-density action feedback and exaggerated art style.
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