Ajal.
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Chapter 85 - New Year Counterattack
🕑 Added 2025-09-27 12:31:39 +0000 UTCIn Nintendo’s headquarters meeting room, the air felt frozen, stiflingly oppressive.
Hiroshi Yamauchi’s knuckles tapped the polished mahogany table, each “tap, tap” like a drumbeat on the attendees’ hearts. His usual commanding presence was heavier than ever.
On the projector screen, a market analyst concluded their report. A stark chart revealed a gaping chasm between Nintendo’s Famicom cartridge sales and Christmas expectations. The actual sales curve looked dragged down, leaving an ugly gap. Following it was a report on Pokémon’s recent sales—electronic pet sales kept climbing, while Pokémon Center evolution stones, trading services, and colorful merchandise drew a steep, heart-stopping growth curve.
“Sega’s combo isn’t just selling toys anymore,” a typically composed director said, his temple vein twitching, voice slightly hoarse. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, as if to see this opponent clearer.
A marketing executive spoke, lacking his usual flair, voice heavy: “They’re weaving a net—from anime storylines to kids’ electronic pets to offline Pokémon Center experiences, capturing young attention and their pocket money, even siphoning parents’ Christmas gift budgets.”
Executives exchanged glances. Their proud Famicom, still the king of living room entertainment, faced Pokémon’s portable, social, life-integrated fun, eroding market share at a speed they hadn’t anticipated or fully understood. A young planning manager muttered, “It’s like boiling a frog in warm water—by the time we feel the heat, it’s nearly boiling.”
Yamauchi’s eyes flicked up, sharp behind his tinted glasses, piercing. He spoke slowly, voice lower than usual: “We underestimated these ‘electronic pets’ from the start—or rather, the chemical reaction Takuya Nakayama created by linking these seemingly unrelated products.”
He paused, lifting his teacup but not drinking, stirring the leaves with the lid. “Consumers’ wallets aren’t infinite, nor are kids’ time and energy. As those little creatures take more share, our Famicom cartridges get less.”
“Sega’s cheating! They’re not competing on our track!” a hot-tempered development chief griped, voice tinged with frustration.
Yamauchi glanced at him, noncommittal. Cheating? In business, only victory or defeat mattered.
The discussion hit a rut, with analyses and suggestions raised and dismissed. Traditional strategies—price cuts, bundling, channel control—felt like scratching an itch through a boot against this viral, subculture-forming phenomenon.
Shigeru Miyamoto sat quietly, back straight, calm to the point of detachment. But his clenched, whitening knuckles betrayed his resolve—not panic, but a do-or-die determination. He knew fancy tactics were useless; only raw strength could counter this.
After a long silence, Yamauchi spoke, breaking the gloom. “However…” he drawled, eyes sweeping over Nintendo’s core team, “Christmas isn’t over. It’s time to settle the score with Sega.”
His voice, though soft, carried undeniable authority, each word a hammer. “We need to remind the market, the players, and Sega who truly rules home gaming!”
His finger struck the table with a heavy “thud,” like a war drum for counterattack.
“The Legend of Zelda II: The Adventure of Link,” he paused, eyes blazing, “and Dragon Quest II: Luminaries of the Legendary Line.”
The room’s air shifted, electrified. Those names exploded like thunder in everyone’s ears. If before was anxiety, now excitement and anticipation surged.
“These two cards,” Yamauchi’s lips curved faintly, “will be our trump bombs! I want Sega and everyone to see that before absolute quality and gameplay, all their flashy tricks are just clowns!”
The marketing chief sprang from his chair, back straight as a spear, face flushed with excitement: “Yes, President! The campaign’s ready to roll out!” He swallowed, voice trembling with zeal. “TV commercials—we’ll dominate prime time! Game magazines—cover plus full-color spreads! Partner stores—giant posters, the biggest, most eye-catching! Every kid, every player, must know the true national games are back!”
“Let those kids clutching plastic pets toss them aside, begging parents for our cartridges!” another executive said, waving a fist, drawing stifled chuckles, lightening the mood.
Yamauchi nodded, satisfied, his tinted glasses glinting. He’d reclaim the ground Pokémon took with fierce, direct firepower. Christmas’s winner would be Nintendo.
At Enix, Yuji Horii worked at a life-burning pace on Dragon Quest II’s final tweaks.
The release deadline, set with Nintendo, hung like a Damocles’ sword.
He knew the sequel carried immense expectations and heavy responsibility, yet felt spurred by Nintendo’s equal treatment alongside Zelda.
It wasn’t just a game—it was a heavy weapon against the new tide.
