Support and read on patreon 30+ chapters :
patreon.com/StylishSlayer
----------------------------------
Five minutes later, Ethan entered the reception room on the second floor of Kismet Game.
The middle-aged man sitting on the sofa immediately stood up, extended his right hand warmly, and introduced himself.
"Hello, Mr. Jones. I'm David Rosen, CEO of Sega. It's a pleasure to meet you."
As the saying goes, you don't hit a smiling face. Faced with Rosen's friendly enthusiasm, Ethan responded politely. He reached out and gave his hand a firm, brief shake.
"Mr. Rosen, I'm very happy to see you as well. I've heard your name before and I genuinely admire your legendary career."
This wasn't mere flattery. The man standing before him wasn't just any executive — he was the founder of Sega, the man who once sold arcade machines. When Sega's slot machines appeared in Hawaii, Japan, and even on U.S. military bases in Southeast Asia, their sales performance had been nothing short of astonishing.
"Oh, Mr. Jones, you flatter me. Compared to your creativity, my sales are nothing." Rosen shook his head with a modest smile.
After a few words of polite exchange, Ethan invited him to sit down and signaled to Julis Noble to bring two cups of tea.
"black tea — rinse it with cold water first," he instructed.
Ethan himself didn't care much for tea, but when it came to business hospitality, it was important to cater to common tastes.
Once Julis left the room, Rosen got straight to the point.
"Mr. Jones, I came to visit your company today because I'd like to discuss something regarding Snake.
We at Sega have been watching closely. Since you ended your cooperation with Atari, no one in North America is producing the Snake arcade machine anymore.
Judging from market feedback, most merchants are still satisfied with their current inventory — the more than ten thousand machines already out there meet most players' needs. But to be honest, we believe there's still room in the market. Based on our estimates, demand could be as high as three to five thousand more units. If that market is left empty… well, it would be a waste."
Rosen smiled sincerely as he spoke. Although he hadn't stated it outright, Ethan understood immediately.
He wants to be the one to manufacture Snake. In fact, after ending his deal with Atari, Ethan had also wondered whether Snake still had enough value to justify continued production. But at the time, the looming threat of Magnavox's patents — a sword of Damocles hanging over his head — had made any arcade production too risky.
So, he shelved the idea. Later, when the patent issue was finally resolved and he had the freedom to produce again, Ethan discovered that making new games would be a far better investment.
Yes, Snake was still profitable, but its potential market was exactly as Rosen said: no more than three to five thousand units.
If he focused solely on arcade cabinets, the gross profit might reach 1.8 million dollars — a tempting figure. But if Sega insisted on splitting the production with a 50/50 motherboard-sharing model, that profit would be immediately cut in half.
Such a wide profit margin swing made the cost of running a dedicated production line extremely difficult to control.
No one could accurately predict how many cabinets to manufacture.
No one knew which regions of the continent still had real demand for Snake.
If sales could be executed with precise, targeted distribution, then the business would still be worth doing.
But if the machines had to be scattered across the entire country just to move units, then the venture would lose its meaning entirely.
Selling a few dozen here, a few hundred there — slowly scraping revenue together over time — was exactly the kind of low-efficiency business every company hated.
As for the second point — a new company needs new products.
Right now, every Snake arcade machine on the market still bears Atari's logo.
In other words, anyone who hears the name Snake will almost certainly think of it as an Atari game.
Ethan had used Atari's channels, Atari's brand, and benefited from Atari's market reach. That shortcut brought him quick profits — but at a price.
Sure, he could re-release Snake now under the banner of his own company, kismet Games. But doing so wouldn't help him build a distinctive brand.
If Ethan hadn't retained the memories of his previous life — if he were just another ordinary North American entrepreneur — he might have milked the Snake IP for all it was worth.
But with three trump cards in his hand and enough funds to support himself, why waste time pushing an old game that would only confuse the players?
Better to bring out something new — something that would make the industry take notice.
With these two reasons firmly in mind, Ethan decided to temporarily halt any further production of Snake.
And now Sega's founder, David Rosen, wanted the distribution rights for Snake?
Dream on. Ethan made up his mind and politely declined.
"Mr. Rosen," he said, his tone calm but firm, "Snake was the first game I ever made. It holds a very special meaning for me.
When we partnered with Atari, I thought it was the beginning of something wonderful. But no one could have predicted it would end the way it did.
Atari hurt me — and they hurt the game I created. That pain still lingers.
But fortunately, the people who love Snake weren't hurt. That may be the best outcome we could hope for.
For now, I don't think we'll be able to cooperate. We have no plans to continue producing Snake in the near future.
If the public loves the game, they can still find joy in the machines already on the market.
And if, one day, people forget about it… then let it fade into history."
There was a trace of melancholy in Ethan's voice.
This wasn't just for show — though it was also a calculated move. He hoped Rosen would back off gracefully. After all, he knew that successful businessmen had one thing in common: they never let go until they get what they want.
And the last thing Ethan wanted was someone pestering him endlessly about Snake.
Rosen listened quietly, then nodded with a hint of sympathy.
"Oh, Ethan, I know a bit about what happened between you and Atari. Nolan Bushnell's actions were… disgraceful. His shameless tactics tarnished the very brand that pioneered the arcade industry."
He sighed, his tone sincere. "I can understand your feelings — and your pain. So… I'm very sorry."
Ethan smiled politely and nodded, but inside, he was practically snapping his fingers in triumph.
As long as he doesn't push, this will be easy.
But just as Ethan thought Rosen would stand, say a few polite words, and leave.
The man sitting across from him went quiet for a moment, then spoke again.
"Mr. Jones, although I understand your thoughts and respect your decision, I also believe that an excellent game should not be allowed to end like this."
"Although Snake has brought great joy to the people of our country, the rest of the world still hasn't experienced its excitement!
We have 200 million people here in the United States — but there are 4 billion people in the world!"
David Rosen leaned forward slightly, his tone rising with each sentence.
"That means there are still 3.8 billion people who have never played your game!
Three-point-eight billion people who have never felt the happiness you created!
So… doesn't that mean there's still room for cooperation?"
Rosen finished with a raised eyebrow and a playful smile.
The subtle humor in his expression and the sudden rise in his voice made Ethan chuckle.
Now he fully understood. Sega wasn't just here for the North American rights — they wanted overseas distribution for Snake!
And yes… that was a massive market. Even just the Japanese market alone had purchasing power comparable to North America's.
Europe wasn't as developed, but there was still a market worth hundreds of millions.
This was practically free money lying on the ground — no reason to leave it uncollected.
That's right! Ethan's earlier sentimentality vanished in an instant.
After all, his moral bottom line was… flexible. But exactly how to take this money — that required some thought.
So Ethan simply smiled and said, "Sorry, Mr. Rosen, Snake isn't just my game. I need to discuss this with my sister before I can give you a reply."
Rosen smiled and nodded. "No problem. I'll wait patiently for your call."
Then, glancing at the sofa, he picked up his handbag, pulled out a stack of documents, and handed them to Ethan.
"Mr. Jones, this is Sega's cooperation proposal. Please review it with your sister."
"Absolutely," Ethan replied with a nod and a smile.
After seeing Rosen out, Ethan returned to his office, placed the file on his desk, locked the door, and left.
The overseas release of Snake was important — but right now, something else was urgent.
Ten minutes later, he emerged from the restroom, freshly washed and feeling like a new man.
But just as he was about to head back to review Sega's documents, a figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
It was Damio Dean, another administrator.
"Mr. Jones," Damio said as soon as he saw him, "there are two Asians downstairs who want to meet with you. They said they're from Japan — and their leader claims to be the president of Nintendo."
What? Ethan, still shaking the water from his hands, froze.
"Nintendo is here?"
Are they here for Snake too? With that thought, Ethan instructed Damio to bring them to the reception room.
A few minutes later, two middle-aged men entered Ethan's view.
One wore a black suit and tie, sitting perfectly upright. The other, in a beige plaid suit, held a pair of light-brown toad sunglasses casually in one hand.
When they saw Ethan, they both stood and bowed slightly.
Then the man in plaid spoke: "Hello, Mr. Jones. We are representatives of Nintendo from Japan. I am Hiroshi Yamauchi, the current president of Nintendo. This is my companion. Thank you very much for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with us."
Ethan nodded slightly, replying politely. Since they weren't yet familiar with each other, there was no need for excessive small talk.
When Ethan asked about their purpose, Hiroshi Yamauchi — the man who had led Nintendo to the top of the gaming world in Ethan's previous life — smiled and said,
"Mr. Jones, our purpose is very simple. The Snake game you invented is an excellent piece of work, and we would like to bring it to Japan so that more players can experience the joy of video games."
As he spoke, his companion opened a briefcase, pulled out a stack of documents, and handed them to Yamauchi, who then passed them to Ethan.
"This is the plan we've prepared. Please take a look, Mr. Jones."
Seriously?These guys are here for Snake too?!
Ethan smiled, nodded, and accepted the file. Now that this had turned from a single quote into a bidding war, he decided to wait before saying anything.
He had no intention of opening the proposal in front of Hiroshi Yamauchi. Instead, he exchanged a few polite words, then got up and personally escorted the guests out.
Back in his office, curiosity got the better of him. Ethan opened both Sega's and Nintendo's plans.
After a quick glance, he closed them again. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling.
After a long pause, he looked down again, reopened the plans, and—
"Good lord…"
He swallowed hard. Because all he could see in those pages was one thing—Money. Sega's proposal came in two versions: a buyout plan and a revenue-sharing plan.
The buyout plan was straightforward: Sega wanted a five-year exclusive deal for $3 million per year.
In other words, $15 million up front to secure the rights to sell Snake arcade machines worldwide outside of North America.
Although Ethan knew this price was far below the actual value of the Snake IP, he also knew what it meant.
Based on the deal he'd had with Atari, Sega's $15 million offer meant they were confident they could sell at least 100,000 arcade machines in five years.
One hundred thousand units.To put that into perspective: Atari and its distributors had only been able to produce about 20,000 motherboards a year.
Sega, on the other hand, was betting on selling 100,000 full arcade cabinets globally.
That kind of confidence only came from a company with a rock-solid supply chain.
But then again, Sega had been building arcade machines for decades. If they couldn't pull this off, they would have gone bankrupt long ago.
Ethan couldn't help but smile. So this is the strength of an established company, huh?
The revenue-sharing plan was more complex. Sega proposed a five-year contract with tiered royalties based on total global sales:
Under 40,000 units → 16% of the selling price per machine40,000–80,000 units → 14%80,000–120,000 units → 12%Over 120,000 units → 10%
At first, Ethan thought this was a cumulative plan — meaning he'd get 16% on the first 40,000 units, 14% on the next 40,000, and so on.
But after reading more carefully, he realized it was actually a declining rate contract — a kind of sales-performance bet.
For example: If Sega only sold 20,000 units in the first year, they would pay Ethan 16% royalties.
But if they sold another 40,000 units the following year (for a total of 60,000), then the royalties for all 60,000 units would be recalculated at 14%.
That meant Sega would deduct the extra 2% they had already overpaid in the first year when settling in the second year.
And the same adjustment would continue each time the sales volume crossed a new threshold.
At first glance, this retroactive clawback felt a bit harsh — almost predatory.
But the more Ethan thought about it, the more he realized this was Sega's way of putting their confidence on the table.
They were basically saying: We are so sure we can sell 120,000 units worldwide that we're willing to sign this deal.
Ethan leaned back in his chair and exhaled. Only an industry veteran would dare offer a plan like this.
Not only that — there was even a handwritten note at the end of the document:
"Mr. Jones, I am very sorry that we did not treat you as well as we should have during your last visit. The employee who received you previously was deemed unfit for our company and resigned yesterday — with my approval.
—— David Rosen"
Ethan laugh. Sega, so even you have days like this!
Back then I asked you to represent me and you turned me down — but now… ~
Truth be told, Ethan had never forgotten how Sega had rejected him when he was trying to promote the Snake arcade machine.
He hadn't brought it up in front of David Rosen — not out of generosity, but because he still hadn't decided whether to work with Sega.
If he really decided to cooperate, he would definitely use that rejection as leverage during negotiations to squeeze out a few more benefits.
But for now…David Rosen was being very tactful!
Unfortunately, tact wasn't enough — because compared to Sega, Nintendo's proposal was downright explosive.
Nintendo had also provided two options — a buyout plan and a revenue-share plan.
But unlike Sega, Nintendo only wanted rights for their home market. And even so, they were willing to offer $20 million over five years — for a single market!
Their revenue-sharing plan was even more aggressive than Sega's:
A fixed 14% royalty rate for the full five years. And not just that — Nintendo also guaranteed shipments of at least 50,000 units.
That was a staggering display of sincerity. Because as soon as Ethan signed, Nintendo would be obliged to pay him a guaranteed $8.4 million in licensing fees.
That might be slightly less than the $20 million buyout, but under a share agreement, it was essentially a bet on sales volume.
Faced with these two generous offers, Ethan couldn't even pretend to be surprised — it was almost too much to take seriously.
At the same time, a thought crossed his mind:
"The three industries of vice, gambling, and… love — they really are the easiest ways to make money!
Each of these gambling-equipment makers is richer than the last!"
Notes:
① One thing worth noting: arcade cabinets are only sold in North America after being disassembled. According to Minoru Arakawa — Hiroshi Yamauchi's son-in-law and former president of Nintendo of America — selling arcade cabinets in North America is extremely troublesome.
With the country's vast territory and sparse population, selling directly to arcades would be a financial disaster. That's why operators buy only the boards and install them into existing cabinets themselves — just like Ethan did when he built and sold Snake. (This comes from an interview Minoru Arakawa gave to Playboy magazine in the 1990s.)
② North American arcade sales figures are notoriously mysterious. In Chapter 39, I mentioned that Space Invaders sold about 100,000 cabinets per year worldwide — but North America accounted for less than that. Even more outrageous is that Donkey Kong, despite being a huge hit in North America, only shipped a cumulative 68,000 units over several years.
Honestly, I've never understood why the numbers are so low, and no professional analysis seems to explain it either. So the figures I use in this book are my best estimates. If you think the gap between worldwide and North American sales seems too large — trust me, I think it's outrageous too.
③ Nintendo's Hanafuda cards are often called "playing cards," but that's not entirely accurate — they're their own unique traditional card game.