"What kind of press conference is this—a memorial service?"
The father of PlayStation pointed at the list, his tone crackling with gunpowder. "Look at this garbage. Rehashed arcade titles or 2D games from the MD and Super Nintendo forced to run at higher resolutions. You think we can stand on stage with these things after Takuya Nakayama's lineup of next-gen titles? That won't be a press conference—it'll be a public execution."
No comparison, no harm.
Nobuyuki Idei didn't get angry. Instead, he nodded with a "I knew it" expression. "There's no choice. Our first-party studios are all relatively new. Expecting them to produce 3D blockbusters that can go toe-to-toe with Sega right now would be harder than expecting Columbia Pictures to turn a profit next year."
He paused, then tapped twice on the "39,800" sticky note on the table, producing dull, hollow thuds.
"But, Mr. Kutaragi, we can't let this opportunity slip away. The suicidal pricing you've staked your career on will be a complete waste if it doesn't come with a spectacular launch. That billion-dollar loss would be for nothing." Idei's voice was calm, but his words struck like daggers. "Even if it's a feigned retreat, you have to open the city gates and play your lute. We might be outmatched, but we can't lose face."
Kutaragi irritably grabbed the cigarette pack on the table, found it empty, and crumpled it in frustration.
Indeed, no matter how powerful the hardware, without compelling software, it would just be a useless box.
But the arrow was already nocked and ready to fly.
Since the product's capabilities couldn't keep up for now, we had to compensate elsewhere.
Kutaragi offered no further argument. He tossed the empty pack into the trash bin with a soft clatter.
Admitting inferiority was difficult, but admitting there were no games to play was even harder.
If we couldn't go head-to-head with Sega in a direct confrontation, we had to change our strategy.
"Then let's change the battlefield," Kutaragi said, exhaling a heavy sigh. He tapped twice on the "39,800" written on the table. "I'll talk to the marketing team. At the press conference, downplay the term 'game console' and focus on the concept of a 'home entertainment terminal.'"
Idei, who had paused while adjusting his tie, turned to look at him.
"So you mean—"
"Takuya Nakayama is selling an arcade experience, something for otaku and kids. We're selling Sony Electronics." Ken Kutaragi's eyes gleamed with the shrewdness of someone cornered. "A Sony entertainment system that can play CDs, boasts a top-tier audio decoding chip, and can run the latest games—all for just ¥39,800."
In an era when a Sony Discman cost ¥20,000, a machine that combined 3D graphics gaming with high-fidelity CD playback for less than ¥40,000 was a nuclear bomb to housewives controlling the family budget.
If the kids were begging for a console, why buy a Sega that only offered violent games when they could get a "home entertainment center" everyone could use?
This was precisely why Sony had insisted on including CD playback functionality when designing the PlayStation.
Nobuyuki Idei smiled, this time genuinely.
He knew this tactic all too well. It was pure Sony. "Package the game console as a home appliance to lower parental resistance. That's a brilliant angle. It avoids Sega's strength in game lineup while leveraging Sony's brand premium in home entertainment."
"Not only that," Ken Kutaragi said, standing up and straightening his slightly rumpled suit jacket. "If Sega wants to be the Toyota of the gaming industry, we'll be the Trojan Horse in the living room. We'll slip this machine into every household, under their TVs. Once our software lineup catches up, this CD player..." he paused, letting the implication hang in the air, "...will show its fangs."
"Agreed," Nobuyuki Idei said, picking up his briefcase and leading the way out of the conference room. "Let's do it."
October 27th, Akasaka Prince Hotel.
In stark contrast to Sega's rock-and-roll-themed "Midnight Show," Sony's press conference was brightly lit and resembled a formal high-end home appliance product launch.
There was no smoke, no lasers—only a massive white backdrop and solemn Sony executives in sharp suits.
Ken Kutaragi stood at the microphone, casually adjusting his cuffs as his gaze swept over the audience of reporters and industry peers, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
This was Sony's way.
Cold, precise, and tinged with the arrogance of an industrial giant.
"Before I demonstrate this machine," he began, his voice steady and measured, "I want to correct a common misconception."
Ken Kutaragi's voice, amplified by state-of-the-art sound systems, filled the auditorium, as steady and measured as if he were reading an experimental report.
"Many have asked why Sony is making a game console. The truth is, Sony has never left this industry."
Behind him, a massive projection screen shifted, displaying a complex circuit diagram. This was followed by a list of core components Sony had supplied to other manufacturers.
"From cathode ray tubes to audio chips, from storage media to processor architectures. For the past decade, every note you've heard and every frame you've seen on other consoles has been powered by Sony technology." Kutaragi paused, his tone radiating an unshakeable confidence. "We've always been the bedrock of this industry. Today, we're simply tearing down that veil of secrecy and stepping into the spotlight ourselves."
A low murmur rippled through the audience.
This wasn't just a display of strength; it was a subtle, devastating jab at their rivals: Without Sony's support, you couldn't even survive in this industry.
Kutaragi didn't give them time to digest this. Without even a clicker, he merely tilted his head slightly, and the screen behind him instantly transformed.
The original white backdrop vanished, replaced by a striking black screen displaying a blue-text parameter table.
There were no superfluous artistic flourishes, only cold, hard data—the ultimate romance for a tech enthusiast.
"PlayStation."
He enunciated the name with deliberate clarity.
"Featuring a 32-bit RISC processor based on the MIPS R3000A architecture, running at 33.86MHz."
As these specifications were read aloud, the faces of several knowledgeable hardware editors in the audience changed. In an era where 16-bit and even 8-bit systems still dominated, stuffing a workstation-grade RISC chip into a console was nothing short of a dimensional shift.
"But that's not the main point," Ken Kutaragi said, pointing to the rotating cube demonstration in the center of the screen. "We've equipped it with a specialized GTE—the Geometry Transformation Engine. Its sole purpose is to process 360,000 textured polygons per second."
360,000.
The number landed like a hammer blow on the heads of the crowd, which had been whispering just moments before.
"Of course, as a Sony product, it would be disrespectful to only talk about polygons."
Please Support me by becoming my patreon member and get 30+ chapters.
[email protected]/Ajal69
change @ with a
Thank You to Those who joined my Patreon