The screen cut again.
A pixelated little figure wearing a straw hat was swinging a hoe in a field. Beside him were a few cows and a flock of chickens. It was a refreshing pastoral style.
Harvest Moon. Another new title making its debut on Jupiter.
The montage ended, and the lights came up.
Oguchi Hisao stood in the center of the stage and bowed slightly.
"This is Sega's answer for this year. Thank you all for your time."
No superfluous nonsense, no dr
The screen cut again.
A pixelated little figure wearing a straw hat was swinging a hoe in a field. Beside him were a few cows and a flock of chickens. It was a refreshing pastoral style.
Harvest Moon. Another new title making its debut on Jupiter.
The montage ended, and the lights came up.
Oguchi Hisao stood in the center of the stage and bowed slightly.
"This is Sega's answer for this year. Thank you all for your time."
No superfluous nonsense, no drawn-out industry outlooks. The press conference ended cleanly and efficiently.
David closed his notebook and let out a long sigh.
"Those Japanese," David said, tucking his pen into his pocket. "They're holding so many good cards, yet they're playing them so calmly. Sony and Nintendo are going to have a hard time in the days ahead."
Paul stood up and stretched his sore neck.
"Let's go to the press center," David said. "The stories I've got today should be enough to make the Editor-in-Chief double my bonus. Especially that pink ball—it'll definitely be the headline in every major gaming magazine tomorrow. Nintendo's Legal Department is probably scouring their contracts for loopholes as we speak."
In the front-row VIP section, Takuya Nakayama stood up and tossed his empty water bottle into a nearby trash can.
Oguchi Hisao walked over from backstage, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"Good performance," Takuya Nakayama said, patting him on the shoulder. "The pacing was better than the rehearsal. Especially the Ghost in the Shell segment—you explained the commercial logic of the simultaneous video tape release perfectly. The reporters in the audience got it."
Sega's press conference had just concluded, leaving the audience with only a ten-minute break.
Ten minutes later.
The lights on the main stage dimmed.
The screen lit up with Enix's blue and white logo.
No executives came on stage to deliver a long-winded speech.
The head of Enix's Public Relations Department walked up to the microphone, gave a brief greeting, and got straight to the point.
"Today, we are here to present several upcoming titles for the Super Nintendo."
A stir rippled through the audience.
At a time when Sony's PlayStation and Sega Jupiter were locked in a fierce battle over next-gen 3D graphics, Enix was still focusing its efforts on the 16-bit Super Famicom. With Nintendo's N64 on the verge of release, the SFC was already entering the twilight of its lifecycle in the mainstream market.
David scribbled in his notebook: Squeezing the last drops of value out of an old platform?
The first game was The Mystic's Quest.
The opening cinematic began to play on the screen.
Traditional 2D top-down perspective, exquisite pixel art.
The release date was set for the end of this month.
Paul glanced at his watch. "What a pace. No talk of development philosophy, no grand narratives—just listing the titles."
"Character designs by the master Akihiro Yamada," David noted, recording the producer list on the screen. "An RPG developed by Produce. For this team to achieve such a level of color tuning so late in the SFC's life cycle, their technical skill is formidable. The combat system incorporates complex puzzle elements. With such a massive installed base, as long as the game quality is high, the profit margins will be far better than risking a new platform."
The screen changed.
Star Ocean.
A gameplay demo began to play.
The scene cut to a battle. Characters dashed across the screen, unleashing skills.
Clear voice lines emanated from the speakers.
The venue fell silent for a moment, followed by a low murmur of discussion.
Implementing a large amount of voice acting on a Super Famicom cartridge required immense technical skill. Cartridge space was precious; audio data was typically compressed to the extreme, resulting in coarse, scratchy sound.
Yet the voices in the demo were exceptionally clear.
"It's a new title from tri-Ace," a Japanese reporter whispered in English to his colleague. "They were the original development team for Namco's Tales of Phantasia. They left after a fallout over their creative vision and formed a new company. Enix scored a huge win here."
"They must be using a custom compression chip," added an editor from a technical column. "That's top-tier hardware for the SFC era. The cartridge costs alone must be astronomical."
David stared at the screen.
Enix's influence in the RPG field remained undiminished. Even without direct development, they could leverage their powerful distribution network and financial backing to attract top-tier production teams.
The July release date placed them squarely in the summer window, promising impressive sales projections.
The subsequent showcase was equally efficient.
The Apostles of the Renas Seal.
The screen flashed images of alien towns and bizarrely shaped monsters. The previous title had built a significant fanbase during the early SFC era, and this sequel maintained its unique art style while completely overhauling its systems. Its release date was also set for July. It seemed Enix planned to launch a concentrated blitz of their own titles during the summer season.
Project J2.
A continuation of the nurturing-sim genre. A growth diary of a mechanical boy. The visuals were fresh, and the interactive elements were abundant. It was scheduled for release in November. This game was clearly aimed at expanding into the female and casual gamer markets, filling the void left by hardcore RPGs.
Simple game footage was spliced together, each clip paired with its release date.
Enix was operating like an assembly line, playing its cards one by one.
Each title was a solid, reliable Super Famicom game.
"They're stalling," Paul muttered, circling a note in his notebook. "Filling the schedule with these late-generation SFC titles to pad the quarterly reports. Their real trump card hasn't even shown up yet."
The press conference was drawing to a close.
The giant screen went black.
A familiar 8-bit synth melody began to play—the iconic opening theme of the Dragon Quest series.
The atmosphere in the venue ignited. Many Japanese journalists stood up, leaning forward to see the stage.
The screen lit up.
It wasn't the crude Famicom graphics, but a beautifully redrawn, vibrantly colored 16-bit image.
Dragon Quest I & II: The Beginning of the Legend.
The subtitle appeared in the center of the screen: Remake.
Releasing at the end of the year.
The entire audience erupted in thunderous applause.
As the pinnacle of Japan's national RPG, the remake of DQ3 was enough to make any platform go wild—even if it was landing on the aging SFC.
The footage showcased the newly added Sugoroku board game and the refined personality system.
The engine was the same one used for DQ6, released last year, pushing the 16-bit console's lighting and shadow effects to their absolute limit. Monsters in battle now featured subtle idle animations, no longer static sprites.
"This is Enix's trump card," David said, staring at the back of the Erdrick hero on the big screen. "As long as they have this brand, Nintendo won't turn on them. Even if they've already been secretly colluding with Sega or Sony."
Enix's presentation took up less than twenty minutes in total.
No grand promises, no next-gen gimmicks—just a concrete release date and a classic promotional video.
Applause echoed through the venue.
David closed his notebook, tucked his pen into his shirt pocket, and turned to Paul.
"Something's not right," David said, lowering his voice.
Paul was packing his camera bag, not even looking up. "What? Did the SFC's graphics make you sick? I know you're used to 3D polygons."
awn-out industry outlooks. The press conference ended cleanly and efficiently.
David closed his notebook and let out a long sigh.
"Those Japanese," David said, tucking his pen into his pocket. "They're holding so many good cards, yet they're playing them so calmly. Sony and Nintendo are going to have a hard time in the days ahead."
Paul stood up and stretched his sore neck.
"Let's go to the press center," David said. "The stories I've got today should be enough to make the Editor-in-Chief double my bonus. Especially that pink ball—it'll definitely be the headline in every major gaming magazine tomorrow. Nintendo's Legal Department is probably scouring their contracts for loopholes as we speak."
In the front-row VIP section, Takuya Nakayama stood up and tossed his empty water bottle into a nearby trash can.
Oguchi Hisao walked over from backstage, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"Good performance," Takuya Nakayama said, patting him on the shoulder. "The pacing was better than the rehearsal. Especially the Ghost in the Shell segment—you explained the commercial logic of the simultaneous video tape release perfectly. The reporters in the audience got it."
Sega's press conference had just concluded, leaving the audience with only a ten-minute break.
Ten minutes later.
The lights on the main stage dimmed.
The screen lit up with Enix's blue and white logo.
No executives came on stage to deliver a long-winded speech.
The head of Enix's Public Relations Department walked up to the microphone, gave a brief greeting, and got straight to the point.
"Today, we are here to present several upcoming titles for the Super Nintendo."
A stir rippled through the audience.
At a time when Sony's PlayStation and Sega Jupiter were locked in a fierce battle over next-gen 3D graphics, Enix was still focusing its efforts on the 16-bit Super Famicom. With Nintendo's N64 on the verge of release, the SFC was already entering the twilight of its lifecycle in the mainstream market.
David scribbled in his notebook: Squeezing the last drops of value out of an old platform?
The first game was The Mystic's Quest.
The opening cinematic began to play on the screen.
Traditional 2D top-down perspective, exquisite pixel art.
The release date was set for the end of this month.
Paul glanced at his watch. "What a pace. No talk of development philosophy, no grand narratives—just listing the titles."
"Character designs by the master Akihiro Yamada," David noted, recording the producer list on the screen. "An RPG developed by Produce. For this team to achieve such a level of color tuning so late in the SFC's life cycle, their technical skill is formidable. The combat system incorporates complex puzzle elements. With such a massive installed base, as long as the game quality is high, the profit margins will be far better than risking a new platform."
The screen changed.
Star Ocean.
A gameplay demo began to play.
The scene cut to a battle. Characters dashed across the screen, unleashing skills.
Clear voice lines emanated from the speakers.
The venue fell silent for a moment, followed by a low murmur of discussion.
Implementing a large amount of voice acting on a Super Famicom cartridge required immense technical skill. Cartridge space was precious; audio data was typically compressed to the extreme, resulting in coarse, scratchy sound.
Yet the voices in the demo were exceptionally clear.
"It's a new title from tri-Ace," a Japanese reporter whispered in English to his colleague. "They were the original development team for Namco's Tales of Phantasia. They left after a fallout over their creative vision and formed a new company. Enix scored a huge win here."
"They must be using a custom compression chip," added an editor from a technical column. "That's top-tier hardware for the SFC era. The cartridge costs alone must be astronomical."
David stared at the screen.
Enix's influence in the RPG field remained undiminished. Even without direct development, they could leverage their powerful distribution network and financial backing to attract top-tier production teams.
The July release date placed them squarely in the summer window, promising impressive sales projections.
The subsequent showcase was equally efficient.
The Apostles of the Renas Seal.
The screen flashed images of alien towns and bizarrely shaped monsters. The previous title had built a significant fanbase during the early SFC era, and this sequel maintained its unique art style while completely overhauling its systems. Its release date was also set for July. It seemed Enix planned to launch a concentrated blitz of their own titles during the summer season.
Project J2.
A continuation of the nurturing-sim genre. A growth diary of a mechanical boy. The visuals were fresh, and the interactive elements were abundant. It was scheduled for release in November. This game was clearly aimed at expanding into the female and casual gamer markets, filling the void left by hardcore RPGs.
Simple game footage was spliced together, each clip paired with its release date.
Enix was operating like an assembly line, playing its cards one by one.
Each title was a solid, reliable Super Famicom game.
"They're stalling," Paul muttered, circling a note in his notebook. "Filling the schedule with these late-generation SFC titles to pad the quarterly reports. Their real trump card hasn't even shown up yet."
The press conference was drawing to a close.
The giant screen went black.
A familiar 8-bit synth melody began to play—the iconic opening theme of the Dragon Quest series.
The atmosphere in the venue ignited. Many Japanese journalists stood up, leaning forward to see the stage.
The screen lit up.
It wasn't the crude Famicom graphics, but a beautifully redrawn, vibrantly colored 16-bit image.
Dragon Quest I & II: The Beginning of the Legend.
The subtitle appeared in the center of the screen: Remake.
Releasing at the end of the year.
The entire audience erupted in thunderous applause.
As the pinnacle of Japan's national RPG, the remake of DQ3 was enough to make any platform go wild—even if it was landing on the aging SFC.
The footage showcased the newly added Sugoroku board game and the refined personality system.
The engine was the same one used for DQ6, released last year, pushing the 16-bit console's lighting and shadow effects to their absolute limit. Monsters in battle now featured subtle idle animations, no longer static sprites.
"This is Enix's trump card," David said, staring at the back of the Erdrick hero on the big screen. "As long as they have this brand, Nintendo won't turn on them. Even if they've already been secretly colluding with Sega or Sony."
Enix's presentation took up less than twenty minutes in total.
No grand promises, no next-gen gimmicks—just a concrete release date and a classic promotional video.
Applause echoed through the venue.
David closed his notebook, tucked his pen into his shirt pocket, and turned to Paul.
"Something's not right," David said, lowering his voice.
Paul was packing his camera bag, not even looking up. "What? Did the SFC's graphics make you sick? I know you're used to 3D polygons."
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