After arranging the development work for "golden sun," Executive Director Nakayama finally felt a huge weight lifted from his mind.
The renewed fire in Yuji Naka and Rieko Kodama's eyes gave him even more confidence in the future of RPGs at Sega headquarters.
He was about to turn his attention back to refining the details of the "my neighbor totoro" game when his assistant knocked and entered, handing him a communication letter from Toho and GALLOP.
The first pokémon theatrical film, "Mewtwo Strikes Back," was finally ready to begin its promotion.
From the very beginning of the theatrical film's project initiation, Takuya was unyielding in his insistence that he would fully lead the publicity and distribution plan. This proposal had caused quite a stir in Toho's meeting room.
As an absolute giant in Japanese film distribution, Toho had its own mature, almost rigid, publicity system. For an Managing Director from a game company to dictate terms in their professional field was truly unheard of.
"Managing Director Takayama, we deeply respect your extraordinary achievements in the gaming field," a senior distribution director from Toho said at the time, his tone impeccably polite, but his attitude unmistakably clear, "But film publicity and distribution is our specialty."
Takuya merely smiled, pushing a document gently but firmly to the center of the conference table.
"I understand. But what we are promoting this time is not just a film."
"It is an extension of a social phenomenon that already has millions of core audiences. Our goal is not just to convince passersby on the street to buy tickets and enter.
Instead, it is to send a clear signal to our players, to those children: the story you participated in, the emotions you invested, will reach its true climax on the big screen."
Toho remained unmoved at the time, and the atmosphere in the meeting room reached an impasse.
Ultimately, it was Takuya who threw out an almost arrogant proposal, saving his plan from being immediately shredded.
"How about this, everyone? Consider the MD console's launch promotion as a rehearsal. I will show you the power of my publicity plan."
Now, when that once-questioned publicity plan was reviewed again by Toho's executives, after the miracle of the "pokémon Invasion of Tokyo" and the MD launch frenzy, their mindset had undergone a drastic change.
The ideas conveyed in the plan, which directly targeted the psychology of core players and then progressively ignited social topics, combined with the crazy reality they had witnessed, forced them to admit that this young man's thinking was indeed terrifyingly ahead of its time.
Toho finally agreed.
The first step of the publicity plan was swiftly launched almost simultaneously with the dispatch of the communication letter.
Sega and Toho collaborated efficiently, and an extremely simple poster was hung on the walls of all Pokémon Centers nationwide overnight.
The poster had no actual movie footage, only a large, mysterious pure white question mark.
Below the question mark was a line of much smaller text: "A special invitation awaits every trainer."
The event began. All pokémon electronic pet players could obtain a movie invitation at the Pokémon Center.
In front of the counter, children formed long lines, the end of which even stretched out the store door.
Everyone's face was a mix of nervousness and anticipation, tightly clutching their cherished Poké Balls.
"Next!"
A boy nervously stepped forward and handed his electronic pet to the staff member. The staff member skillfully connected the Poké Ball to the center's special computer via a customized communication cable.
With a soft click, the connection was successful.
On the computer screen, the player's Poké Ball ID number and the pixelated image of the electronic pet flashed by, and data was uploaded in an instant.
At the same time, a special mark was quietly written into the Poké Ball's storage chip.
This was precisely the storage space Takuya had insisted on reserving under immense pressure when he designed the Poké Ball, specifically for future various pokémon linkage activities, a reserved mark writing area.
"Alright, here's your invitation, Trainer."
The boy took the hard card from the staff member's hand, his face beaming with uncontrollable joy.
The card's size was designed just right, perfectly fitting the reserved hook on the Poké Ball.
The front of the card featured the impactful logo of "Mewtwo Strikes Back," while the back clearly printed the release date—July 22nd.
This was not just a piece of paper; it was more like an officially certified proof of participation.
The boy excitedly hung the card on his Poké Ball, then turned and rushed towards his companions in the line, holding it high. "Look! Look! I got an invitation!"
"Wow! Really! Let me see!"
The news spread like wildfire, almost virally. Owning a Poké Ball with an invitation attached quickly became the latest trend and status symbol in the player community. Children who hadn't received an invitation were scratching their heads in frustration, while those who had treated it as their most precious medal, showing it off everywhere.
Within just a few days, the news of "Mewtwo Strikes Back" being set for July 22nd had completely exploded among millions of pokémon electronic pet players, becoming an unspoken sacred agreement.
The first wave of publicity was like a pebble dropped into a lake, precisely stirring up ripples within the pokémon player community.
Takuya looked at the report handed to him by his assistant; the number of invitation cards claimed at Pokémon Centers across the country was climbing at an astonishing rate.
This was just the beginning.
A few days later, as the first wave of excitement had not fully subsided, a second, heavier "pebble" was quietly dropped.
Tokyo, Shinjuku Station.
Crowds flowed like a surging river, ceaselessly moving through the vast underground labyrinth.
A high school student suddenly stopped, his classmate almost bumping into him.
"Hey, what's that?"
Following the direction of his finger, the spot where a GG light box once stood was now replaced by a highly futuristic transparent mechanical cocoon.
The object was about a person's height, with a cylindrical lower part covered in a smooth metallic shell, and several ethereal blue light bands slowly flowing through the gaps, as if alive. The upper part was a transparent flexible tube, connected at the top to a large machine casing with flowing light strips nearby.
Through the tube and the liquid injected inside, a curled-up creature could be seen, quietly sleeping—it was a pokémon!
Next to the cocoon was a small control panel, with only a single glowing circular button on it.
Not just Shinjuku Station, but Shibuya Crossing, Ginza's commercial plaza—almost overnight, these mysterious mechanical cocoons appeared in Tokyo's most bustling corners.
Curiosity was completely ignited.
Finally, a daring young man, egged on by his companions, pressed his palm onto the glowing control panel.
A slight vibration emanated from the control panel.
Immediately after, a slightly hoarse male voice, mixed with fatigue and fanaticism, intermittently flowed from the built-in speaker,
interspersed with static noise, echoing in the noisy environment.
"This machine of ours—"
"The first cloned pokémon absolutely must be 'The purpose of this machine… is for sampling—'
"As long as we analyze the pokémon's gene sequence within it—"
"We'll have a way to clone another pokémon—."
"How about it? The clones we made are more precise than you imagined, aren't they—?"
"This is—discovered—the legendary pokémon—
"Its name is Mew—."
"We successfully found a fossilized Mew eyelash—"
"After bringing it back, we analyzed its pokémon's gene sequence—"
"We used this machine to create Mewtwo—."
"To create the world's strongest pokémon is our dream—"
"However, Mewtwo's personality is violent and unpredictable—."
"It's over—"
"This research facility is destroyed; the only path left is to abandon this place and escape——"
The message abruptly stopped.
The control panel screen went dark, leaving only the cloned pokémon still sleeping in the mechanical cocoon, like a silent exhibit. The crowd fell into a brief silence, then erupted into a huge discussion.
"Gene cloning?"
"Is this real? Creating a new pokémon from Mew's genes?"
A middle-aged man in a suit and tie's expression slightly changed; he thought of the term frequently mentioned in recent news—the "Human Genome Project."
Ethical discussions about genetic technology were instantly pulled from distant parliamentary halls to the front of every ordinary person by this mysterious mechanical cocoon.
Was this a display of skill by some organization, or a serious social experiment?
Questions spread like a virus.
And keen-nosed media soon swarmed, long and short lenses aimed at the silent mechanical cocoons.
A newspaper known for gossip and tracking strange occurrences, after dispatching reporters to all deployment locations in Tokyo, published a startling report.
They discovered that all the cloned pokémon released this time, from Bulbasaur to Dragonite, were exactly the same types as those in the previous "pokémon Invasion of Tokyo" incident, with all Pokedex numbers stopping at 149.
This discovery instantly ignited another group.
"It's 149 again! Just like last time!"
"Let's go! Let's go look! The newspaper marked all the locations! Let's see if we can find all types of cloned pokémon this time!"
Children who loved pokémon took action again, each with a map and a newspaper, excitedly traversing the city, treating the search for cloned pokémon as a grand puzzle game.
And this issue of the newspaper, because it marked all the deployment locations, also sold out.
Adults were discussing serious topics of gene ethics.
Children were embarking on an urban adventure to find pokémon.
Two seemingly parallel lines were strangely intertwined by the same event, imprinting the name "Mewtwo" into the subconscious of the entire Japanese society in an unprecedented way.
Late at night, a highly-rated talk show focused its cameras on the city's hot topic. On the large screen behind the host, ethereal blue light bands flowed through the gaps of the mechanical cocoon, and the image showed a curled-up, sleeping Squirtle. In the studio, a renowned sociology professor and a sharply dressed government official sat upright.
"Professor," the host turned to the white-haired scholar, "How do you view this event, which we might call 'performance art' for now?"
The professor adjusted his glasses, his tone flat: "It's nothing more than commercial promotion. There was a similar one at the beginning of the year, I believe it was to promote a new game. This time, it's probably the same old trick, just with more eye-catching methods."
"But this time's promotion is a bit different." The host didn't easily let go of the topic. He motioned for the director to cut to the audio clip flowing from the mechanical cocoon. The hoarse male voice intermittently sounded in the studio.
"'The research facility is destroyed,' 'abandon this place and escape'—Professor, that doesn't sound like ordinary GG words; it sounds more like—a kind of dying message."
The professor's eyebrows twitched, but he remained unimpressed.
He waved his hand: "Young people like these exaggerated stories; the more bizarre, the faster they spread. It's just basic commercial publicity logic. These details aren't important. What's important is that it brings a serious issue to our attention—gene technology. This happens to coincide with the 'Human Genome Project' that is currently attracting global attention."
When it came to his professional field, the professor immediately became animated. "Gene technology is a double-edged sword. The benefits are obvious: we can eliminate genetic diseases at their root, conquer cancer, and even delay aging. Human lifespan and health levels will experience a qualitative leap."
"But the risks are equally great," he emphasized.
"Firstly, ethics. If you clone a 'person,' what is he? A product? A replica? Who are his parents? Does he have an independent personality and rights? These questions cannot be answered by current laws and morals."
"Even more terrifying is bioseosecurity," the professor's expression grew solemn. "Once the human gene sequence is fully deciphered, weapons targeting specific ethnic groups or specific genes could emerge. Didn't the recording mention it? That cloned pokémon called 'Mewtwo,' 'its personality is violent and unpredictable.' If someone uses gene technology to create a virus that only targets a certain race, or an uncontrollable 'super soldier,' that would be the end of human civilization. This is not alarmist."
The host keenly caught the keywords and turned his gaze to the silent government official.
"Sir, since this 'gene'-related matter carries such high risks, has the government taken any measures? For example, contacting Sega, who created pokémon?"
This question instantly made the atmosphere tense.
However, the official had already received information provided by Sega from the show's production team before the program.
He cleared his throat and calmly gave a standard official statement: "We have contacted Sega and confirmed that these devices are merely display models for movie promotion and pose no inherent harm. Sega and Toho submitted complete reporting materials and relevant contingency plans to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government's Bureau of Urban Development, Greenery and Landscape Division a month ago, so there will be no problems."
"However, regarding whether Japan will participate in the 'Human Genome Project,' the Japan Academy is still researching and evaluating."
In front of their televisions, many adults who watched this interview fell into deeper thought.
Just as the social discussion was pushed to its peak, the joint promotion by Sega and Toho finally revealed its true colors.
On the television screen, the talk show was interrupted by a commercial.
Amidst stirring music, Mewtwo suddenly opened its eyes, its purple pupils filled with power and confusion.
The explosion of the research facility, the shattered mechanical cocoons, and that cold question: "Who am I? Where do I come from?"
At the end of the screen, the huge movie title appeared— "Mewtwo Strikes Back."
Below it was a line of small text: July 22nd, witness the birth of the strongest pokémon.
All previous mysterious events, all social discussions, now had answers at this moment.
"It was movie promotion all along!"
"Oh my God! Sega's scale is too grand!"
Public surprise quickly transformed into immense curiosity about the film. The serious discussions previously sparked by the mechanical cocoons now all turned into extreme anticipation for the movie's plot.