Ajal.
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Chapter 117: Memory Management Program
🕑 Added 2025-10-07 11:36:07 +0000 UTCWatching the taillights of Director Terai and Director Hatano’s cars merge into the traffic and vanish at the horizon, Takuya Nakayama finally withdrew his gaze and returned to the headquarters building.
Their trip was packed: first, Hong Kong to deeply assess the electronics factories already loosely partnered with Sega—evaluating production capacity, cost control, and critical yield rates to finalize outsourcing for the new console’s peripheral components.
Then, Taiwan to test contacts with potential “Plan B” semiconductor firms Takuya had mentioned, sowing seeds that could reshape industry landscapes.
This bought Takuya precious time to push forward boldly in Japan.
No sooner had he seen the directors off than Takuya headed straight to the hardware development department without pause.
In its conference room, he gathered leads from several core game dev teams.
“Everyone, thank you for your hard work.”
Takuya’s eyes swept over the slightly weary team leads.
“The launch titles’ progress is heartening—thanks to your efforts and ingenuity.”
After brief praise, he pivoted smoothly.
“Our new console’s power is undeniable—you’ve all witnessed it.”
“The MC68000 delivers unprecedented processing; the Z80 ensures rich, nuanced sound.”
“This direct-to-developer architecture lets elite teams wring every drop of performance for stunning creations.”
He paused, gauging reactions.
“But,”
His tone weighted.
“This ultimate freedom poses a steep technical barrier for some third-parties—especially those with limited coding expertise, smaller teams, or new to our platform.”
“Direct memory access means developers handle complex allocation, reclamation, and protection themselves. One misstep spirals into endless debugging hell, delaying projects and degrading quality.”
Takuya’s vivid scenario resonated; the veteran devs furrowed brows unconsciously.
They knew the pitfalls all too well.
“So, I have a proposal.”
Takuya leaned forward.
“I’d like to pull top programmers from your teams—those deepest in our new hardware—who best grasp the architecture—for a temporary task force.”
“The goal: design a low-overhead, highly reliable memory management program for the new console, with efficient fragment reclamation.”
The room stilled briefly.
“This program,”
Takuya explained clearly, unwavering.
“Will be an optional tool—or ‘dev aid kit’—for third-parties.”
“No mandate: performance obsessives can still code direct to hardware.”
“But for those seeking quick onboarding or games not demanding max squeeze, it’ll slash dev difficulty, shorten cycles, speed ideas to reality—lowering overall costs for devs.”
“Ultimately, enriching our console’s game ecosystem, drawing more stellar third-party titles.”
The leads pondered briefly.
Takuya’s idea was profoundly farsighted.
As industry vets, Famicom’s thriving, diverse third-party scene vividly showed: a robust ecosystem rivaled hardware in console success.
Nintendo’s Famicom triumphed largely on its vast ally network.
Takuya’s plan paved that path for Sega’s new console.
“I agree with Takuya-kun,” Yuji Suzuki from Team 2 spoke first, versed in complex hardware. He knew direct memory’s headaches—and how a handy tool eased teams.
“A solid memory manager would make mid-to-small teams join us easier.”
“Team 1 supports,” Yuji Naka added.
“It’s essential—lowers porting barriers.”
“Later, bundle monitoring tools and APIs in the dev kit. More devs can fully exploit the hardware.”
The other leads nodded, signaling understanding and backing.
They trusted Takuya’s judgment—and grasped the long-term value.
“Excellent,” Takuya smiled, relieved.
“Then, post-meeting, coordinate and select the best fits. I want this task force formed within a week, starting initial design.”
He set a timeline, underscoring priority.
“We’ll cooperate fully.”
The leads chorused.
Post-meeting, Takuya didn’t leave hardware dev but headed to Department Head Nakamura’s office.
Nakamura, a seasoned vet, was buried in tech docs, thick glasses perched on his nose.
At the knock, he looked up, seeing Takuya; his tired face brightened.
“Executive Director Nakayama, come in.”
He rose, gesturing Takuya to the opposite sofa, pouring hot tea personally.
The office felt cozier than the conference room, scented with faint tea aroma.
“Minister Nakamura, sorry to interrupt,” Takuya said, smiling as he took the cup.
“You heard the meeting?”
Nakamura sipped his tea, inquiring.
“Yes, the memory manager—I’m briefed.”
Takuya nodded.
“It’s a great idea—a boon for third-parties.”
Nakamura endorsed.
“But I’m here about another concept.”
Takuya set his cup down, leaning forward, a subtle excitement in his tone.
Nakamura eyed him with interest: “Oh? Takuya-kun has another brainstorm?”
“Yes—one for the future portable gaming market.”
Takuya began sketching his vision.
“I envision developing a brand-new handheld console.”
Nakamura’s brow arched slightly, his pen halting mid-air.
