"Welcome! Of course, you're welcome!" Mike stammered, taking the drinks and gesturing wildly at the others. "Alan! Frank! Stop playing dead and get over here! It's Mr. Nakayama!"
Alan Adham emerged from a pile of crumpled papers, his eyes wide as saucers.
Frank Pearce frantically tidied the cluttered desk, trying to clear a space for the legendary figure.
After an enthusiastic greeting, Takuya Nakayama finally revealed the purpose of his visit.
He wasn't here to audit the books; he had seen the PC game Blizzard was developing.
He waved away their formality and urged them to help themselves to cola.
The icy touch of the drinks cooled the tech geeks' excitement slightly, easing the atmosphere.
Takuya Nakayama surveyed the room, his gaze sweeping over the pixelated orcs and humans on the screens, the towering stacks of pizza boxes, and the overflowing coffee cups.
"You've got a bit of... lived-in charm here," he teased with a smile.
Mike Morhaime scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed. "Please excuse the mess, Mr. Nakayama. Once we get into it, we tend to lose track of everything else."
"This is exactly how creators should be," Takuya Nakayama said, waving his hand to put them at ease. "I'm here primarily to talk with you, especially about the project you're currently working on." His gaze returned to the screen, which displayed a top-down view of a battlefield teeming with tiny units in motion.
Nakayama's direct approach immediately dispelled their lingering apprehension.
"Sega invested in Blizzard because we value your talent and creativity, not to turn you into factory workers," he said firmly. "While PC and console markets overlap, their strengths and characteristics are fundamentally different. Console games prioritize the ultimate audio-visual experience and fluid controls, whereas PC games offer greater scope for depth, strategy, and player interaction."
He paused briefly before continuing, "The recent trends in hardware development also indicate that the PC gaming market is a rapidly expanding sector. Certain unique gameplay mechanics on PC, such as the precise control offered by mouse and keyboard, and local multiplayer modes, are currently difficult for consoles to replicate. As long as Blizzard continues to develop good games and make money, Sega has no reason to interfere. We want to see you fully leverage your strengths and create even more brilliant works."
Takuya Nakayama's words brought a collective sigh of relief to everyone present.
They had initially feared that Sega, like other major corporations, would meddle in their development direction or even force them to port their PC projects to consoles.
But now it seemed Sega's attitude was far more progressive than they had imagined.
"Of course, this doesn't mean there's no room for discussion between us," Nakayama continued, his tone shifting without creating tension. "In terms of partnership models, we might need to explore some innovative approaches in the future to benefit both sides. After all, a partnership where one party gains at the expense of the other can never be mutually beneficial or sustainable. That wouldn't align with Sega's investment goals, nor with our shared interests."
Seeing the team still eager to chat, Takuya Nakayama waved his hand, urging the group crowded around him to disperse.
"Alright, enough standing around. Get back to coding, fix those bugs. I'm not your supervisor, so let's skip the formalities."
The group chuckled and scattered, though the clatter of keyboards noticeably livened up.
Takuya pulled over a relatively clean chair in a corner and opened the thick, three-ring binder labeled "Warcraft: Humans vs. Orcs - Internal Development Proposal."
Compared to the few-page business plan sent to Sega Headquarters, this document was clearly the team's true labor of love.
The corners of the pages were slightly curled, and the pages were densely filled with notes, even interspersed with a few hand-drawn sketches stained with coffee.
He turned the pages slowly. Seeing familiar unit names like "Footman" and "Peon," along with early concepts for resource gathering and unit counters, Takuya felt a momentary sense of temporal dislocation.
This wasn't just the prototype of an RTS game; it was the future king of PC internet cafes for two decades, the starting point of countless people's youth.
At this stage, "Azeroth" was still quite immature.
Its setting bore a strong resemblance to Warhammer, with humans representing righteousness and orcs embodying evil—a simple, brutal dichotomy.
But for the current market, this was sufficient for now.
Half an hour later, Takuya Nakayama closed the folder and turned his gaze toward a young man with a buzz cut standing nearby, gesturing animatedly with an artist.
"Mike, and the young man over there drawing, Chris, right? Come over here and let's talk."
Chris Metzen blinked in surprise, pointed at his own nose, and when Takuya nodded, he awkwardly set down his pencil and followed Mike Morhaime over.
The three men sat down at the conference table piled high with pizza boxes.
"I've reviewed this internal development proposal," Takuya Nakayama said, tapping the folder's cover with his fingers. "The gameplay logic is solid. As long as the programming doesn't go completely haywire, this game is guaranteed to be a hit."
Mike relaxed, about to boast, when Takuya's tone shifted.
"But I don't think your ambition is big enough."
Chris Metzen looked up, his eyes filled with confusion. "Ambition?"
"Yes, ambition." Takuya Nakayama flipped open the folder and pointed to a sketch of a human castle. "Are you making a game where little red and blue figures hack at each other, or are you creating a world?" Mike and Chris exchanged a glance.
"Right now, it's just a battlefield," Nakayama said, locking eyes with Chris, knowing exactly what was going on in the young man's mind. "Humans fight for survival, orcs for slaughter. The reasons are sufficient, but only sufficient. After a match, players might just shut off their computers and remember that green-skinned monster had a lot of health."
"I want to do more than that," Chris blurted out, his voice urgent. "I've thought about orc clans, human kingdom divisions—"
"Then make it deeper, make it thorough," Nakayama interrupted, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Why are the orcs green? Did they always live here? If not, where did they come from? Who taught them how to build that portal?"
Chris's pupils contracted sharply.
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