Clancy picked up one of the diagrams and remained silent for a long time.
He stared at the familiar tactical terminology on it.
These were the very scenes he had simulated countless times in his study—cigarette in hand, ideas unfolding in his mind.
And this Japanese man… was trying to draw out the scenes living inside his imagination.
"Ha."
Clancy suddenly let out a short laugh—one carrying unmistakable appreciation.
He gently placed the diagram back on the desk, leaned forward, and looked straight at Takuya.
"I'll see what I can do about the military consultants.
When I wrote The Hunt for Red October, I did get to know a few friends in the Navy. I can ask around."
He raised a finger and tapped lightly on the drawings.
"But I have one condition. Before the game launches, I want to personally play the finished version.
If it's not worthy of my books, you can forget about releasing it alongside the movie hype.
You'll wait until after the film is out—otherwise Paramount will come after me."
"That's only fair."
Takuya agreed without hesitation and extended his hand.
"We want to create something you can be proud of."
Clancy grasped his hand firmly and gave it a solid shake.
"And this is only the beginning." Takuya looked him in the eyes, voice serious.
"When the technology matures, your entire world can be recreated inside games.
So please, Mr. Clancy—keep writing more, and write even better stories."
Clancy's eyes brightened.
"Kid, I'm looking forward to it."
Finishing the meeting with Tom Clancy, Takuya felt genuinely satisfied.
Bernard took the initial cooperation agreement and immediately flew back to Redwood City to report to Kalinske.
But Takuya rejected the idea of returning right away.
Instead, he opted for a more "old-fashioned" way to travel.
He wanted to cross the country himself—from east to west—and see with his own eyes the North American market that looked so promising on reports and spreadsheets.
Accompanying him was Mark, a channel department manager—an enthusiastic, confident American middle-aged man proud of his team's work.
"Mr. Nakayama, our first stop is a Walmart in the suburbs of New York.
They're one of our most important partners!" Mark said proudly as he sped down the wide interstate in his Ford Taurus.
Leaning against the passenger seat, watching the scenery blur past, Takuya asked casually,
"How's the shelf placement they gave us?"
"Of course it's the best! Right at the entrance of the Electronic Entertainment section—the most eye-catching spot!"
Half an hour later, when Takuya stood in that Walmart's entertainment area, his expression turned subtly amused.
SEGA's shelves were prominent—
A massive blue Sonic poster, paired with the taunting slogan "Genesis Does What Nintendon't."
Aggressive. Flashy. Eye-catching.
The new Genesis consoles and rows of game cartridges shimmered under the lights.
It all looked impressive.
But diagonally across from it…
Nintendo's red display area looked somewhat old-fashioned.
Mario's smiling face was far less "cool" than Sonic's.
Yet that side was clearly where most of the kids and parents were gathered.
A mother was holding a box of Super Mario World, promising her child she'd buy it if he did well on his finals.
Another father was studying NES cartridges, seemingly picking an entry-level game for his younger child.
By contrast, SEGA's area attracted mostly teenagers—
Pointing excitedly at Streets of Rage and Golden Axe covers—
but with almost no parents accompanying them.
"Mark," Takuya pointed toward Nintendo's counter,
"do you see it?"
Mark followed his finger, looking puzzled.
"Sure, they have more people… but our customers have stronger purchasing power!
Teenagers have more allowance!"
Takuya simply smiled, said nothing, and walked over to a young Walmart employee wearing a red vest.
"Hey, kid. Let me ask you something.
If a father wants to buy his ten-year-old son his first game console, which one would you recommend?"
The employee blinked, glanced at Takuya, then at Mark, scratched his head, and answered honestly:
"Well, sir… most people pick Nintendo.
Mario—you know—it's something the whole family can play together."
Mark's face instantly stiffened with embarrassment.
Takuya thanked the worker, patted Mark on the shoulder, and said quietly:
"We've won the kids…
but we haven't fully won the parents' wallets."
Leaving Walmart, they headed to Toys "R" Us.
The situation there was much more balanced—
SEGA and Nintendo split the territory evenly:
Blue "speed and adrenaline" versus red "family and fun."
As for the GamePocket, it practically had no competitors—Nintendo hadn't pushed their handheld much in North America.
Their final stop was a large arcade hall in downtown Chicago.
The moment the doors opened, deafening electronic sound effects and the raucous shouts of teenagers washed over them.
The air smelled of sweat and pizza.
Flashing screens lit up faces filled with excitement or frustration.
This was gaming in its rawest, most passionate form.
Takuya immediately spotted the long lines at the Art of Fighting and Fatal Fury machines.
Players taunted each other, the atmosphere as electric as a boxing match.
In comparison, SEGA's pride—DDR—had plenty of onlookers…
but the same few people were always the ones actually stepping onto the platform.
Takuya approached a teen who had just stepped down from an Art of Fighting machine and handed him a bottle of cola.
"Hey, nice match.
Let me ask—why not try DDR over there?
Lots of girls watching, you know."
The boy gulped down the cola and wiped his mouth.
"Oh, DDR gets the girls' attention, sure…
but playing it well is hard.
You might get laughed at a lot before you ever impress anyone."
He grinned.
"But here?
If I beat Jamie's Robert using Ryo Sakazaki,
I get to laugh at him for a whole week!"
Takuya didn't ask further.
He already understood.
DDR's entry difficulty was scaring off newcomers.
When it first launched, everyone was new—no problem.
But now that veterans existed…
New players were intimidated.
Still, most of the profit from DDR went to Sony anyway.
And new machine orders were rare these days.
No point dwelling on it.
It was clear:
The charm of arcades wasn't just the games themselves—
but the community culture and competitive atmosphere formed by the players.
As for shooting games and action beat-'em-ups,
they still relied on delivering experiences home consoles couldn't provide—
to earn those precious coins from players.
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