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Chapter 87 - National RPG
🕑 Added 2025-09-27 12:35:34 +0000 UTC“Sold out nationwide.”
“Urgent alert: All stores’ stock depleted on launch day!”
Before noon, the news spread like wildfire through TV, radio, and word-of-mouth, sweeping Japan like a tsunami.
Major TV stations interrupted broadcasts, anchors reporting the sales miracle with disbelief. Newspaper offices buzzed, editors slamming desks over timid headlines: “Make them bolder! Special editions! Print more!”
“Birth of a legend! Loto’s heirs conquer the archipelago again!”
“Pinnacle of RPGs! The undisputed king!”
“Millions of players’ frenzy! Akihabara’s sleepless night returns!”
Media exhausted their most evocative vocabulary to capture the unprecedented frenzy, as if lesser words couldn’t convey their shock.
In the secondhand market, Dragon Quest II’s price skyrocketed. Originally around 5,000 yen, cartridges hit 10,000, 20,000, even 50,000 yen, yet remained scarce, a single copy hard to find.
“DQII refugees,” a term blending jest and despair, spread among players. Those who left empty-handed wandered like lost souls near newsstands, eyes wide, scouring for any game tidbits—even a passerby’s comment offered solace.
Game store clerks endured a baptism of heaven and hell.
From opening, they were swamped by customers, no time for breaks. A Shinjuku electronics store worker later recalled feeling like he was distributing relief supplies post-earthquake, not selling games.
Phones rang incessantly with stock inquiries, nearly frying the lines; some stores’ phones broke down.
Cash registers groaned, receipt paper replaced roll after roll, eventually resorting to handwritten notes.
Exhausted, throats hoarse, arms aching from handling cash and goods, clerks were drained.
Yet, seeing empty shelves and overflowing cash boxes, they wore twisted smiles of fatigue and ecstasy.
Dragon Quest II’s overwhelming success spread through Nintendo’s headquarters, a warm current dispelling Kyoto’s lingering gloom and the rival-induced pressure on employees. Every department and office buzzed with long-lost, near-boiling vitality.
In the top-floor president’s meeting room, Hiroshi Yamauchi listened to sales reports, steam rising from his tea, veiling his expression. His stern, scrutinizing face showed little emotion. When the sales chief reported “nationwide sell-out on day one,” he set his cup down, its base grazing the fine wooden table with a faint clink.
In that moment, Yamauchi’s lips twitched upward, a barely perceptible curve, fleeting as an illusion.
But the room’s seasoned veterans, sharp as hawks, caught it instantly.
A soft “phew” escaped someone, as if shedding a thousand-pound burden. Shoulders relaxed, executives exchanged glances, relief and joy shining in their eyes.
“Noted,” Yamauchi said calmly, voice devoid of emotion. “Next item.”
Just three words, but to the room, they were music—a silent, weighty affirmation.
In the New Year’s battle, Nintendo’s Dragon Quest II delivered a stunning victory, sweeping away the gloom from Sega’s Pokémon merchandise craze.
Kenichi Tanaka dove into the adventure immediately.
That night, with near-ritual reverence, he inserted the eagerly awaited cartridge into his Famicom.
The familiar opening music played, grander and more stirring than the first.
Prince of Lorasia, Prince of Samaltoria, Princess of Moonbrooke.
The legend of three heroes began.
A map vastly larger than its predecessor.
A more intricate, twisting plot.
A new three-member party system.
And a battle difficulty, both painful and thrilling, far exceeding the original.
Tanaka slipped back into a state of obsession, neglecting food and sleep.
“Client visit logs” and “market research reports” were forgotten.
He studied company punch-card loopholes and optimized lunch breaks to level up the Prince of Lorasia.
Days later, meeting Mrs. Sato in the apartment hallway, basket in hand, he showed no prior embarrassment.
Instead, he beamed with excitement.
“Mrs. Sato, you won’t believe it! Dragon Quest II is a masterpiece!”
“The Prince of Lorasia is so brave, the Prince of Samaltoria starts weak but shines with spells, and the Princess of Moonbrooke—so tragic, I’ve got to save her fast!”
Mrs. Sato blinked, intrigued. Her Dragon Quest memories lingered.
“Sounds even better than the last one,” she mused, nodding.
Then, leaning closer, she whispered, “Tanaka-san, is Dragon Quest II still available? My no-good grandson cried for days over missing it.”
Clutching her kimono sleeve, her eyes brimmed with hope, as if Tanaka were her only savior.
Seeing her youthful curiosity, Tanaka’s lips curved slightly. She’s hooked too, he thought—she’d cleared Dragon Quest I multiple times.
He patted his chest magnanimously.
“Mrs. Sato, don’t worry.”
“Once I beat it, I’ll let you and your grandson try it first.”
“This game’s worth the wait.”
He calculated silently—he’d need at least a week to rescue the princess from that wretched dungeon.
Mrs. Sato’s wrinkles bloomed into a chrysanthemum smile.
“Oh, thank you, Tanaka-san!”
“You’re too kind.”
Her joy was uncontainable.
“Oh, I made snacks today—I’ll bring some over later.”
“Don’t mind the trouble.”
Her sudden warmth amused Tanaka. So, it’s my Dragon Quest II you’re after, huh.
