David agreed.
"EA has always been skilled at squeezing the remaining value out of old IPs," David remarked, watching Larry on stage. The CEO was eloquently pitching the "new" title. "With Sega charging them exorbitant royalties on consoles, they can only recoup their profits on the PC platform. With no middleman taking a cut, this is a guaranteed win. Larry is a competent businessman."
On stage, Larry timed his next point perfectly.
"Beyond the single-player mode, the PC version of Road Rash will fully support LAN multiplayer," Larry announced. He pressed a button on the remote, and the screen split in two, displaying live footage of two computers connected. "In the office or a college dorm, you can connect with your friends via the IPX protocol. Settle your differences with baseball bats right on your computers. No more enduring the cramped view of split-screen mode—everyone gets a full screen."
This feature drew a ripple of light laughter from the audience.
By 1996, LAN multiplayer was becoming a standard feature for PC games.
As Ethernet network cards became more common, linking a few computers together to play games had become the trendiest way for young people to socialize.
Compared to grinding against AI that followed fixed patterns in single-player mode, the joy of fighting against real people increased exponentially.
"This is a winning strategy," David noted in his notebook. "It hits the PC user's pain point perfectly. Beating up your colleagues in the office after work without any legal repercussions—that's a much stronger selling point than a graphics upgrade. EA knows exactly what adult gamers want."
Paul smiled and pushed up his glasses.
"Larry has mastered the commercial logic," Paul said, looking at the CEO on stage in his sharp suit. "He doesn't strive for absolute technical leadership; he only pursues projects with the highest return on investment. The annual sports titles ensure a steady cash flow, while porting old games boosts profit margins. This company is transforming into a cold, emotionless money-making machine. The EA built by Trip Hawkins, filled with geek spirit, is gone."
David closed his notebook.
"It's a way of surviving," David said, recalling the showgirls in jerseys and the artificial turf that looked like a real stadium he'd seen at the EA booth earlier.
The presentation on stage was drawing to a close.
Larry announced that the PC version of Road Rash would be released this autumn, just in time for the back-to-school season and the Thanksgiving shopping rush.
EA's press conference ended right on schedule.
The crowd below began to move in small groups. Some headed to the restrooms, others to the hallway outside to smoke.
The venue's air circulation system worked at full capacity, carrying away the human warmth and the heat radiating from the electronic equipment.
David turned to a new page in his notebook and wrote Tecmo's name at the top.
"We've only got a dozen minutes or so for a break," Paul said, glancing at his watch. "Tecmo is up next after EA. They're under a lot of pressure. Do they have anything worth showing this year?"
"A new title for the arcade," David replied without looking up. "A fighting game. They dropped some hints last year. But Sega and Namco have pretty much split the 3D fighting market between them these past two years. Tecmo wants a piece of the action."
Paul crushed his empty coffee cup and tossed it into a trash can by the aisle. "The barrier to entry for 3D fighting games is incredibly high. The physics engine, polygon count, frame rate—every single one of these is a money pit. Does Tecmo even have the technical expertise for this? Their previous titles were mostly stuck in the 2D era. The growing pains of transitioning to 3D are brutal. Developing a major 3D game takes a long time and costs a fortune. Plenty of veteran arcade companies have gone bust trying to pull it off."
"You'll see soon enough," David said, capping his pen.
Around them, other industry professionals were also whispering.
Japanese game developers had always dominated the North American market, but with the rise of PC gaming and the surge of local studios, the competition was becoming increasingly fierce.
As an established company, Tecmo desperately needed a heavyweight title to solidify its position. Especially after last year's nearly 500 million yen loss, a flagship game like this was more crucial than ever.
The lights in the hall dimmed.
A spotlight on the main stage focused on the center.
A man walked out.
No suit, no tie.
He wore a black leather jacket and distressed jeans.
But the most striking detail was the oversized black sunglasses on his face.
Wearing sunglasses in the dimly lit indoor environment, his attire stood in stark contrast to the other Japanese producers at the E3 Exhibition, who were all dressed in suits and ties.
"Who is that?" Paul asked in a low voice.
"Tomonobu Itagaki," David replied, flipping through the exhibitor's brochure in his hand. "A producer from Tecmo. He's known in the industry for being an eccentric. I heard he's very aggressive when pushing projects within the company."
Tomonobu Itagaki walked up to the microphone. Without any unnecessary pleasantries, he skipped even a self-introduction.
He simply raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
The massive screen behind him lit up.
Intense electronic music kicked in.
On the screen, a figure in a tight-fitting ninja suit sprinted across the roof of a Japanese castle under the night sky, bathed in moonlight.
The camera zoomed in, revealing a face partially covered by a mask.
A brief gasp rippled through the audience.
"Ryu Hayabusa," David quickly scribbled the name in his notebook. "The protagonist of Ninja Gaiden. Tecmo is bringing out their flagship character. Using an old IP to promote a new game—standard procedure."
The trailer didn't linger on Ryu for long.
The scene cut to a bamboo forest where fallen leaves drifted in the air.
A female character appeared in the center of the frame.
She wore a blue ninja outfit with an extremely short skirt, slit all the way up to her waist. White leg wraps accentuated her long, slender legs. Her long hair was tied back with a headband, fluttering in the wind.
"Kasumi," her name appeared at the bottom of the screen.
The footage quickly cut to actual gameplay. Without any long CG cutscenes, Tecmo showcased the game's content in the most direct way possible.
Ryu Hayabusa and Kasumi clashed in the bamboo grove. The sounds of their strikes echoed through the venue's high-fidelity speakers. The animations flowed seamlessly, devoid of the stiffness common in early 3D fighting games.
Kasumi's spinning kick was blocked by Ryu, and the two quickly pulled apart, only to immediately engage in another fast-paced exchange of attacks.
David's eyes were glued to the screen.
"This footage... something's off," David said, tapping his pen against his notebook. "The character models are too detailed. This is way beyond Tecmo's technical capabilities. How did they pull off hardware like this?"
Paul pushed up his glasses and leaned forward. "It's not just the models. Look at the hit reactions—the hitstun timing, the move hitboxes. This underlying logic is too polished, too familiar. And the frame rate is rock-solid, with no signs of dropping."
The battle on screen reached a fever pitch.
Kasumi unleashed a combo, finishing it with a graceful throw that slammed Ryu heavily to the ground.
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