Director Hoshino explained the core strategy over and over, making it crystal clear.
Lock in the gains. Low cost. Low risk. Easy exit.
Never be the first to stick your neck out. Never bear the burden of high interest costs.
The spies Director Hoshino had planted on Wall Street had already sent word: the Quantum Fund was preparing to build its positions in Thailand.
Sega would wait. They would wait until Soros and his pack of Wall Street wolves had drained the Bank of Thailand's foreign exchange reserves, pushing their defenses to the brink of total collapse. Only then would Sega seize the opportunity to dump their chips and claim the most secure piece of the pie.
This meticulous breakdown—detailing the key profit points, the cost structure, and the risk contingency plans—left no room for doubt.
Takuya Nakayama stopped spinning his pen and snapped the cap back on with a sharp click.
"Director Hoshino, that was a brilliant lecture," Nakayama joked, breaking the heavy tension in the room. "The Investment Department is now Sega's true God of Wealth. Everyone, be extra polite to our God of Wealth. Visit him often during the holidays—don't just show up when you're begging for a handout. If you piss him off, you might find your funding requests denied when you're desperate for cash next year."
A wave of lighthearted laughter swept through the conference room.
The heads of several business departments exchanged glances, and the previously tense atmosphere instantly relaxed.
Director Hattori smiled along, put his reading glasses back on, and straightened the documents in front of him.
"Since the Investment Department has already made the money, our spending plans can't fall behind," Director Hattori said, taking the lead and transitioning to the next agenda item. "Initial contact with Sotsu has already begun. Their management is very interested in Sega's offer, but they're still playing hard to get, trying to probe our bottom line and squeeze out more benefits. As for Bandai, their recent moves have slowed down noticeably. They must have heard rumors about Sega acquiring Sotsu and are starting to panic."
"Ignore Bandai," Takuya Nakayama said, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, his tone radiating unquestionable dominance. "Stick to our own pace. Push the Sotsu acquisition forward quickly—any problem that can be solved with money is no problem at all. Once the funds from Southeast Asia are recovered, I want to see a fully integrated and flawless copyright management system. By then, if Bandai even wants a seat at the table, they'll have to wait and see if we're willing to give them one."
The agenda was progressing with remarkable smoothness.
There were no pointless arguments, no buck-passing between departments. Everyone knew exactly what they needed to do.
Mid-November.
Akihabara, Sega Building No. 1's flagship arcade.
The early winter chill was blocked by the heavy glass doors, separating the outside world from the feverish atmosphere within.
The place was packed. A cacophony of voices, electronic synth music, the frantic clacking of joysticks, and the crisp clink of coins dropping into machines all merged into a symphony unique to the 90s arcade scene. The air was thick with the faint scent of tobacco and the sweat of young gamers.
In the second-floor lounge, Takuya Nakayama leaned casually against the railing, looking down at the main hall.
It had been a long time since he'd personally inspected one of their arcades.
But today was different. Today marked the first day of the Dead or Alive arcade rollout, a Tecmo title they were distributing.
On a whim, he wanted to see firsthand how this "Demon Blade"—forged by Sega's own hand—would carve a bloody path through this battlefield.
In the most prominent "golden zone" at the center of the first floor, a large area had been specially cleared.
A dozen brand-new arcade cabinets stood in a row, their neon signs flashing with an aggressive red glow.
The surrounding walls were plastered with massive promotional posters. Kasumi and Ryu Hayabusa occupied the central spots. Kasumi, in particular, wore a blue ninja outfit with minimal fabric that left her fair skin and stunning curves fully exposed. In the arcade scene of that era, she was a visual bombshell.
Oguchi Hisao stood respectfully beside Takuya Nakayama, holding a freshly printed report.
"The initial rollout is complete," Oguchi said, his voice tinged with barely suppressed excitement as he looked at the data on the report. "All Sega-owned stores and franchised channels across Japan are fully operational. The occupancy rate is incredibly high. These dozen machines have been fully occupied since the moment we opened, with long lines forming behind the players."
Takuya Nakayama didn't look at the report. His gaze was fixed on the players below, fighting for a chance to play.
He needed Tecmo as his blade.
He intended to use this game to completely disrupt the arcade market and snatch the players' attention away from Namco's Tekken and Capcom's fighting games.
"What's the initial player feedback?" Takuya Nakayama asked calmly.
"To be honest, most people are initially drawn in by the graphics and the... posters," Oguchi Hisao said, his expression turning a bit awkward as he flipped through the reports. "That madman Tomonobu Itagaki really threw the Model 2 Arcade Board's massive floating-point processing power into those... 'physics reactions'."
Just as he spoke, a sudden burst of enthusiastic cheering and whistling erupted from downstairs.
Two high school students in black gakuran uniforms were seated at the center cabinet, surrounded by three layers of curious players all trying to get a glimpse.
"Holy shit! Look, look! It's moving! It's actually moving!" the high schooler on the left shouted, his face flushed with excitement as he frantically hammered the joystick, his eyes glued to the screen.
"The amplitude of that shake completely defies the laws of physics! This is insane!" the high schooler on the right retorted, though his body betrayed him as he leaned forward, desperate not to miss a single frame of the animation.
On the screen, Kasumi had just defeated her opponent and performed a backflip to celebrate.
As she landed, her impressive chest bounced with an exaggerated yet strangely realistic jiggle.
The surrounding players immediately erupted into a chorus of knowing cheers and whistles. A few middle-aged men were even seen swallowing hard.
"This is Tecmo's ace in the hole," Oguchi Hisao said, closing the report and shaking his head with a wry smile. "Using the most primal, direct visual stimulation to instantly grab every passerby's attention. It's a crude tactic, but it definitely works."
Takuya Nakayama picked up the paper cup beside him and took a slow sip of warm water.
"Relying on fan service alone isn't enough," Nakayama remarked with sharp precision. "The 3D fighting game community is incredibly discerning. Virtua Fighter and Tekken have already spoiled them. If this game only offers a pair of bouncing breasts without a solid core engine to back it up, it won't survive a month. The players will abandon it in a heartbeat."
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