"In recent years, Urgent Crisis, Hook, and the runaway hit Jurassic Park—Sega has developed a mature business logic for releasing games simultaneously with their film counterparts."
Ken Kutaragi nodded. "Capcom and Konami have also developed many licensed movie games. While some were successful, most were just reskins, and none truly broke through to a wider audience. This time, Sega directly participated in building the film's world, even influencing Pixar's storyboard designs. This deep integration created a powerful resonance between players and moviegoers."
The office fell silent for a moment.
"We have our own assets," Nobuyuki Idei broke the silence. "We acquired Columbia Pictures years ago, but beyond licensing their film library, we haven't truly leveraged its potential in the gaming business. It's unacceptable that Sega is thriving in Hollywood while our own resources remain dormant."
Kutaragi's eyes lit up. "Are you suggesting we have Columbia Pictures support PlayStation's marketing campaigns?"
"We can't let such a valuable resource go to waste," Idei said, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a document. "Columbia Pictures has several big-budget films coming out next year. Find some time to fly to Los Angeles and visit their sets. See if there are any projects suitable for adaptation into 3D games. If Sega can do it, there's no reason Sony can't. I can't help with this, so I'll have to trouble you."
"I'll leave next week," Kutaragi said, standing up. "We can try to create a demo on PlayStation using the scripts and art assets from those big-budget films. If we can get a working demonstration ready before the movies are released, the results will be just as good as Toy Story."
Idei waved his hand. "Don't rush it. Half the year is already gone, so we'll definitely miss the Christmas release window. And these adaptations need to be done cleverly, not just reskinned. Remember, movie tie-in games have a history of being the biggest failures in gaming history."
Idei paused before continuing. "The North American Christmas market is a gold mine. We can't let Sega have it all to themselves. Go to Hollywood and dig deep—unearth every usable IP you can find."
The buzz from the Los Angeles E3 Exhibition had far from faded.
Players still gathered at various parties, trading videotapes and special event brochures, eagerly discussing the visual impact of game trailers.
Hardcore fans were even willing to pay ten times the market price on the secondary market for limited-edition merchandise.
Sega had played a winning hand with its cross-industry collaborations, successfully bringing console gaming into the mainstream.
But that summer, the true currents shaping the next decade of technological dominance flowed not from the Los Angeles Convention Center, but from the glass-walled office buildings in the San Francisco Bay Area.
A storm was brewing in the Internet world.
Rumors quickly spread from Silicon Valley to Wall Street, eventually crossing the Pacific to land on Takuya Nakayama's desk.
Let's rewind to June 21st, two weeks earlier.
In a Mountain View conference room, executives from Microsoft and Netscape sat across the table from each other.
This meeting would later become a classic "Rashomon" in tech history.
The two sides gave diametrically opposed accounts of the proceedings.
Netscape leaked to the media and investors that the meeting had been nothing short of a "mob-style" negotiation.
During the meeting, Microsoft made a brazen proposal: Netscape must cease development of its browser for the upcoming Windows 95, ceding the market to Microsoft's IE. In exchange, Microsoft offered to invest in Netscape and generously share some crucial underlying technology information.
Marc Andreessen, Netscape's co-founder, privately vented his lingering fear. He likened the meeting to a classic scene from The Godfather. "Before going to bed that night," he told someone, "I specifically checked under my bed, afraid I'd wake up to find a bloody computer monitor tucked under my covers."
Jim Barksdale, Netscape's CEO, responded with far more resolve. He immediately rejected Microsoft's offer and escorted the representatives to the door.
Microsoft's public relations narrative, however, told a completely different story. They vehemently denied all allegations. Dan Rosen, a Microsoft executive who attended the meeting, even dismissed Netscape's claims as unreasonable. Rosen publicly stated that the meeting had been a "very basic technical exchange" with a "friendly atmosphere," devoid of any hostility.
Microsoft struck back, pointing out that Jim Clark, Netscape's founder, had actively emailed them after the meeting, begging for an equity investment.
However, Microsoft believed that the Mosaic Browser technology license they had acquired earlier from Spyglass held greater potential. With IE 1.0, developed based on this technology, nearing completion, they saw no need to invest in Netscape.
The two sides clashed fiercely.
The media, relishing the drama of a corporate giant bullying a rising star, published endless articles.
By July, Tokyo had been soaked by the rainy season for more than half a month.
Outside the window, the rain continued to fall. In his office at the Sega Headquarters Building, Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his chair, reviewing the summary of emails on his computer screen.
He couldn't help but chuckle softly.
Microsoft remained the same as ever, their domineering style unchanged after decades.
Their talk of "friendly exchange" was merely a tactic—a polite approach before resorting to force.
Bill Gates had recognized the strategic value of the Internet's gateway. With Windows 95 on the verge of release, Microsoft would never allow Netscape to carve out territory on their operating system.
At that moment, Takuya pressed the speakerphone button on his desk and dialed an international number.
After a few seconds of static, Frank's voice came through.
"Boss, it's morning there, right?" Frank's voice sounded tired, with the constant clatter of a keyboard in the background.
"I just finished reading the briefing on the Microsoft-Netscape meeting you sent," Takuya said, picking up a steel pen from his desk and twirling it between his fingers. "What's the reaction in Silicon Valley?"
"Netscape is making a big fuss," Frank replied, stopping his typing. "They're trying to portray themselves as fighters against tech monopolies. Wall Street is eating it up, which has sent Netscape's IPO fervor through the roof. Morgan Stanley says the subscription multiples for the roadshow are already outrageously high."
"Marc Andreessen is a smart man, knows how to leverage public opinion," Takuya observed.
Another voice joined the call—Tom Kalinske, President of Sega of North America.
He had just connected to the conference line.
"Takuya, I think Netscape is playing with fire," Tom said bluntly. "Angering Microsoft won't do them any good. With Windows' massive installed base, even if Netscape's browser is superior, it will be difficult to withstand such a low-dimensional attack if Microsoft forcibly bundles IE into the system."
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