The blue SEGA logo in the bottom right corner of the packaging box had become a mark of quality and reliability this week.
Many PC gamers who had initially only planned to browse casually were surprised to discover that SEGA was now also distributing PC games. Driven by curiosity and trust in SEGA's reputation, they casually picked up a copy of Warcraft: Humans and Orcs.
If we had signed with Davidson back then, we'd still be struggling to find a PR firm to get us on Walmart's shelves.
Frank Pearce kicked the empty pizza box at his feet and slumped back in his chair.
Davidson Company certainly had distribution channels, but their approach of selling educational software was no match for SEGA's artful cultivation of games as artistic creations.
Mike Morhaime repeatedly checked the SKU reports from various regions.
Seventy thousand units were just the beginning. As online discussions about Warcraft: Humans and Orcs on the BBS heated up, subsequent orders kept pouring in.
"Leaning against a big tree offers shade"—a truth that holds forever in the business world.
Sega provided more than just funding; they offered a direct ticket to the global gaming market.
He picked up his phone, ready to send a text message to Takuya Nakayama in Tokyo.
The success of this partnership had completely tamed these once-rebellious geniuses.
They realized that as long as they could create great games, Sega's massive influence would become the ultimate booster, sending Blizzard's name soaring to the clouds.
With their first battle won, it was time to move Takuya Nakayama's long-term plan for the Burning Legion and Azeroth from the drawing board to the development schedule.
December 3rd, Saturday.
The temperature in Tokyo plummeted, but it did nothing to cool the fervor of Akihabara Electric Town.
Though the crowds weren't as frenzied as during the Sega Jupiter launch two weeks prior, when they nearly burst through the store doors, long lines still snaked outside Lao and Yodobashi Camera.
The composition of the queues was intriguing.
Unlike the Sega stores, which were filled with young faces and rabid fans, today's lines included a surprisingly high proportion of middle-aged office workers.
"Tanaka-kun, you're here too?"
In the middle of the line, two middle-aged men carrying briefcases exchanged awkward glances. The Tanaka-kun, addressed by name, adjusted his glasses and pointed to the "39,800" figure on the promotional poster. Lowering his voice, he said, "I couldn't help it. My CD player at home just broke. This machine has good specs, and I mainly want it for listening to music—and, well, cough, and to buy a toy for the kids."
"Same here. That's exactly how I explained it to my wife. And I have to work overtime this weekend, so I had to come out—"
The two men exchanged knowing smiles, understanding each other without a word.
This was the excuse Sony had left for its consumers. Among a certain demographic, the "premium audio-visual equipment" priced under 40,000 yen, even in this economic downturn, would at worst earn a few complaints from their wives after they got home.
Of course, there were also the hardcore gamers in the line, the ones who wanted to "collect all the models."
For them, even though their wallets had been thoroughly emptied by Sega just two weeks prior, as gaming enthusiasts, they couldn't bear to miss the launch of another highly anticipated next-generation console.
"You again, Yano-kun," the manager of Lao said, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them as he eyed the bespectacled, overweight man at the front of the line. "You just took home a Jupiter two weeks ago. Back again to throw money at Sony? Is your year-end bonus that big?"
"It's a hobby, purely a hobby," the man, Yano, replied with a chuckle. He pulled several crisp bills of Yukichi Fukuzawa from his down jacket pocket. "I'm the kind of man who wants to conquer every model. I can't miss out on any gaming platform."
Ken Kutaragi stood in the second-floor office of Lao, a window framing the long queue stretching below. He held a can of coffee that had long since gone cold, his gaze fixed on the crowd.
"Shipments are faster than expected," Nobuyuki Idei said from behind him, flipping through a freshly faxed inventory report. "The first batch of 100,000 units should be gone by today. The 'buy a CD player, get a game console' concept seems to be taking hold in the market."
Kutaragi didn't turn around. He simply tossed the empty can into the trash with a crisp clatter.
"Selling the machines is just the first step," his voice was tense. "The real challenge is the activation rate. If they just buy them to listen to CDs, we'll be philanthropists losing money on every sale."
At the display counter downstairs, a PlayStation was running Ridge Racer.
You had to admit, Namco really knew their stuff.
The vibrant yellow sports car sped across the track. While the polygonal environments lacked the boundless, imaginative depth of Sega's Sonic 3D, the realistic, mechanical aesthetic still drew gasps of admiration from the crowd.
Aside from Ridge Racer, the other launch titles were a mixed bag.
A-Train 4, a simulation management game, catered to a niche audience. As for the mahjong games—mocked by the industry as "Mahjong Station"—they proved surprisingly popular among middle-aged men who bought the console primarily to "listen to music."
Sony hadn't made any mistakes.
And that was precisely what made Ken Kutaragi so anxious.
They had studied the collapse of the Atari 2600, dissected the expensive failure of the 3DO, and even dug up and dissected Bandai's laughable tape-based game console, the DigiCasse, from a decade prior.
Sony had avoided all the known pitfalls: they priced the PlayStation competitively with the Sega Saturn, ramped up production to meet demand, launched a massive marketing campaign, and while their initial lineup of games wasn't as dazzling as Sega's, it was far from disappointing.
It was a textbook—even excellent—example of industrial product development.
But their opponent was the unreasonable Sega.
"Namco is reporting that they're digging deep into the GTE Engine's capabilities," Nobuyuki Idei said, trying to ease the tension. "Give them time, and the graphics will reach another level. After all, our hardware foundation is solid—no worse than the Jupiter's."
"Time."
Ken Kutaragi savored the word, then turned to look at the calendar on the wall.
Sega had already raised players' aesthetic standards through games like Sonic 3D and Paper Pokémon Adventure—by several floors, so to speak.
Now, PlayStation games were met with lukewarm reviews like "not bad."
But if Sony failed to produce similarly earth-shattering exclusive blockbusters within three or six months, the PlayStation would be reduced to mere background noise for the Sega Jupiter.
"Inform the marketing department to stop fixating on the phrase 'game console' in our promotions," Ken Kutaragi said, grabbing his jacket and striding toward the door. He was heading to check on other more important retail locations.
"If people want to treat it like a CD player, let's go with the flow. Contact record labels and arrange bundled promotions with compilation CDs featuring both Sony Music and PlayStation titles. First, we need to get the machine into living rooms. As long as it's plugged into a TV, we have a chance to turn things around. After all, DDR alone has generated so much revenue for Sony Music; asking for a little help shouldn't be too much to ask."
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