"Whatever it is, as long as it can be plugged into the TV to play games, get me one of each!"
This was no longer about buying toys; it was about buying an admission ticket to the "Sega Office Water Cooler Talk."
The phenomenon was like pouring a ladle of hot oil into an already raging fire, instantly igniting flames three feet high.
Media outlets that had been observing from the sidelines now had their "smoking gun."
Cameras were set up at the exit of Akihabara Electric Town, and without even trying to frame their shots, the lenses were filled with crowds of people carrying shopping bags emblazoned with the logos of various game manufacturers.
A young reporter from NHK finally managed to push through the crowd and thrust his microphone toward the mouth of a middle-aged, balding man who had just emerged from a store.
"Excuse me, sir. We noticed you purchased Sega's latest Jupiter Console. Is this a Christmas gift for your child?"
The man adjusted his crooked glasses and glanced at the NHK logo on the camera. His previously timid expression suddenly turned serious, the same stern look he reserved for company morning meetings.
"For my child? No, this is for myself." The middle-aged man cleared his throat and lifted the shopping bag in his hand, displaying its prominent logo. "I watched a WBS program last night, and the experts made some very sensible points. Our generation can't afford to stagnate; we need to keep up with the times. This isn't just about games; it's also a way to relax while staying informed about emerging industries."
The reporter was taken aback, clearly not expecting such a "sophisticated" answer. He quickly pressed on, "So, which features are you most interested in experiencing?"
"Uh—that Live Power Baseball game." The man's gaze flickered for a moment before he straightened up, his tone resolute. "I'm doing it to train my reflexes. The experts said it's better for preventing cognitive decline than taking supplements. Besides, as a Section Chief, how can I lead my team if I can't even join the conversation when my subordinates are talking about it?"
Six months ago, such an explanation would have been dismissed as a flimsy excuse for neglecting his responsibilities.
But now, the surrounding crowd nodded in agreement, their eyes filled with the approval of kindred spirits.
Not far away, another Fuji Television crew had surrounded a housewife with permed hair.
She was carrying not only the Jupiter console but also a box of Paper Pokémon optical discs, along with The Fast and the Furious and Sonic 3D.
"Ma'am, you've bought quite a lot. Do you enjoy playing games often?"
"I used to think it was just childish nonsense, but my neighbors have been talking about it lately." The housewife adjusted her scarf and gave the camera a practiced smile. "I heard it has this... 'Flow' mechanism? That it can relieve anxiety? My husband's been under a lot of stress lately and just comes home to drink. I figured it would be better to let him play this than turn into a drunk, and it might even give me more time with the kids. At least they'd get to see a more engaged version of him on mornings and weekends. The young man at the store called it 'digital mental massage'—much more cost-effective than going to a izakaya."
Even an elderly gentleman leaning on a cane was interviewed.
Though he spoke slowly, his logic was remarkably clear: "My grandson wanted me to buy it, so I came to take a look. The young man working here showed me this racing game. Hey, it reminds me of driving a taxi back in my day."
"I was thinking of buying one for myself," he said. "That way, the kid won't have to keep running off to the arcade, and I can practice my hand-eye coordination. It's called... what's that word again? Oh right, 'intergenerational communication.'"
As these interviews aired during the evening news, the last vestiges of adult restraint crumbled.
Those who had been hesitant to embrace the trend watched as well-dressed, respectable-looking interviewees—a bank section chief and a retired elderly person—spoke confidently on screen. The shame they had felt instantly vanished.
If even a bank section chief and a retired person were playing, then buying one for some "digital mental massage" or "Alzheimer's prevention" seemed perfectly reasonable.
The media manufactured the topic, the public consumed it, and then the public's consumption habits became new fuel for the media.
It was a perfect closed loop.
Heavy snow blanketed Tokyo in silver, but for Sega Headquarters' logistics department, this Christmas required no heating. Everyone was working so hard their heads were practically smoking.
In the cargo warehouse at Haneda Airport, the dispatcher was hoarse from shouting, and truck drivers guzzled Red Bull like water, just to cram those black Jupiter Consoles into every retail channel Sega had.
And the man responsible for all this was hiding in his private villa in Karuizawa, peeling an orange by the warm stove.
"Mr. Sato just called again. He said the inventory in Hokkaido has also triggered an alert."
Nakayama Eri placed a freshly warmed sake on the low table and glanced at her husband, who was wrestling with Lego bricks on the carpet.
Outside the window lay a tranquil snow-covered pine forest, while inside, the sukiyaki pot bubbled and simmered. If Hideki Sato, currently struggling through a hellish overtime shift, could see this idyllic scene, he'd probably have a heart attack on the spot.
Takuya Nakayama popped a peeled orange segment into his mouth and mumbled indistinctly, "Don't answer. Tell him I've already finalized all the arrangements for this release. If they can't even handle such basic tasks, they don't deserve a promotion. I've got other things to do."
"Other things?" Eri asked with amusement, pointing at their three-year-old son, Kazuki, who was riding on Takuya's back like a horse. "Is this your other thing?"
"This is called a parent-child interaction research project," Takuya Nakayama said, turning to shield his son's bottom and prevent him from falling off due to overexcitement. "How can I understand what parents who bought the Jupiter are thinking if I'm not a father myself? I'm just catching up on my homework."
Kazuki waved his Sonic doll, shouting "Charge!" as he slapped Takuya on the forehead.
As the mastermind behind the entire "December Third-Party Frenzy," Takuya ran with a clear conscience.
By ceding the Christmas and New Year's prime slots to third-party developers, he not only won over the developers but also executed a cunning strategy of "driving the tigers to devour the wolves."
Now, the market was flooded with hype for major releases from various manufacturers, dazzling players with a dazzling array of choices and draining their wallets dry.
Faced with at least half the industry's third-party developers, Sony was powerless to intervene and could only maintain its current sales pace.
"Your husband said on the phone yesterday that your move was too ruthless," Eri said, kneeling beside him and smoothing the collar of his shirt, which his son had rumpled. "The GG Department at TV Tokyo has been receiving a lot more ad revenue from game GG lately. Those smaller studios that were hesitant to invest in GG are now throwing money at it like crazy, seeing Sega clear the way."
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