Ajal.
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Chapter 70 - Stirring the Waters
🕑 Added 2025-09-22 12:02:06 +0000 UTCSeveral influential gaming outlets published scathing investigative reports almost simultaneously.
The reports targeted Nintendo’s recently released Super Mario Bros. USA in North America.
“Truth Revealed! Super Mario Bros. USA Isn’t the Real Sequel!”
“Doki Doki Panic—Mario’s North American Stand-In? Nintendo’s Deception!”
“Nintendo’s Lie? Japan Got the Real Super Mario Bros. 2! Are We Second-Class Players?”
Bold headlines, paired with side-by-side comparisons of Super Mario Bros. USA and Japan’s Famicom Disk System game Doki Doki Panic, presented undeniable evidence.
Images showed similar levels and nearly identical enemies, only with the protagonist swapped from a capped plumber to a turbaned Arabian boy.
The reports detailed how Japan’s true Super Mario Bros. 2, deemed too difficult for “fragile” North American players and reliant on the yet-to-be-widespread Famicom Disk System, was shelved by Nintendo.
Instead, they released a “reskinned” game—Doki Doki Panic—with similar visuals but different gameplay and characters.
The news sparked an uproar.
The fuse for this bombshell was a trans-Pacific call.
In Tokyo, Takuya Nakayama, spotting Nintendo’s North American release plans, caught this “little secret.”
He swiftly relayed the tip through his father’s connections to Sega of America’s head, David Rosen.
Rosen instructed his team to “casually” leak the details to media outlets close to Sega, eager for a scoop.
“Hey, Jim, I’ve got an exclusive tip that could double your magazine’s sales. It’s about Mario, but not the Mario you think…”
The revelation detonated in the North American gaming community.
Game stores were swamped with return calls, and player clubs buzzed with skepticism and complaints about Nintendo.
“We were scammed! This isn’t Mario!”
“Nintendo’s playing us for fools again! Japan gets the real deal, and we’re stuck with a knockoff? Who do they think we are?”
“No wonder this Mario felt off—it’s a fake! My birthday gift, ruined!” a kid wailed in a game shop.
Anger and disappointment spread like a virus.
The narrative of “Nintendo treating North American players as second-rate” cut deep, wounding loyal fans.
Some diehards even vowed to “make Nintendo taste Atari’s fate.”
Nintendo’s brand image darkened overnight.
In Kyoto, Japan, Nintendo’s headquarters grew colder than days before, an icy vault.
In Hiroshi Yamauchi’s office, subordinates stood with heads bowed, barely breathing, as Minoru Arakawa’s frantic, near-wailing report crackled through the phone. Sweat beaded on foreheads; some had soaked backs.
Yamauchi’s face was ashen, his teacup creaking in his grip, fine cracks spiderwebbing from his fingers.
Crack! The cup shattered, scalding tea spilling, unnoticed by him.
“Sega!” he hissed through clenched teeth, voice low but seething with rage and menace.
His staff shivered in unison.
Nintendo of America (NoA) launched crisis PR, issuing a statement claiming Doki Doki Panic was “optimized” for North American players, arguing the original Super Mario Bros. 2 was “too hardcore for mainstream tastes.”
The flimsy excuse, against ironclad facts, seemed laughable and hollow.
Players shot back: “We’d rather play a tough real game than an easy fake!”
“Treating us like toddlers?”
Internally, both Nintendo’s Japan HQ and NoA pointed to Sega as the mastermind behind the “reskin” scandal.
They saw Sega’s esports push and media manipulation as a multi-pronged assault on their North American foundation.
Their focus remained on countering Sega’s overt product competition and market moves.
They still hadn’t realized the real killing blow often hides in plain sight.
El Segundo, California.
In a tightly secured meeting room, negotiations were wrapping up.
David Rosen, with his signature calm smile, shook hands with several blonde, blue-eyed Americans.
They were top executives from Mattel, one of the world’s largest toy makers.
A thick, signed cooperation agreement lay on the table.
At Sega’s headquarters, production head Mr. Ishida frowned at a production plan, brows knitted.
Across from him, Takuya Nakayama sat relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips, as if the astronomical production targets were mere scribbles.
“Nakayama-san, this… this production goal is too high,” Ishida said, voice tinged with doubt, as if questioning whether the numbers were arbitrary, hoping his tone conveyed skepticism without causing offense.
“Our Japan factories, even at full capacity, can’t meet this deadline.”
He pointed to Nakayama’s latest proposal: an electronic pet project called Pokémon.
Its compact LCD screen, simple buttons, and sleek design weren’t complex to produce.
Ishida didn’t doubt Nakayama’s vision—Out Run and Sega Rally’s successes proved plenty.
But the requested production volume was staggering, far beyond Sega’s factories and subcontractors’ capabilities.
“I know it’s challenging, Ishida-san,” Nakayama said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze warm yet firm.
“Tell me the specific hurdles.”
Ishida took a deep breath, steeling himself.
“Nakayama-san, honestly, young people today would rather chase fortunes in finance or real estate than work in factories. Hiring is tough. Expanding staff means buying production lines—even low-tech manual ones cost a fortune. And future profits… no one can guarantee them. Our subcontractors face the same issues.”
He shook his head, but noticing Nakayama’s unsurprised expression, he faltered.
Nakayama, unfazed, continued, “Post-Plaza Accord, the yen’s sharp rise spiked Japan’s export prices. Manufacturing’s getting harder to sustain.”
“Worse, the Bank of Japan’s rate cuts to stimulate the economy funneled hot money into real estate and finance, drawing young workers. Manufacturing’s slim margins are losing appeal, and labor costs are soaring.”
Ishida gave a bitter laugh, his wrinkles deepening.
“So, your production demands are nearly impossible.”
He spread his hands, voice heavy with resignation.
To him, Nakayama’s goals seemed unfeasible in this economic climate.
The office air grew heavy with Ishida’s words.
Nakayama listened quietly, his confident smile unwavering.
