Akihabara on the weekend was bustling with the heat of surging crowds.
At the entrance of Sega Building No. 1, the scene was completely different from usual.
It was no longer a uniform sea of male faces; in the dense crowd, many young girls, noticeably, appeared in pairs.
Their goal was clear, chattering as they surged towards the newly installed machines—the arcade version of tetris.
On the screen, colorful blocks continuously fell, accompanied by crisp and pleasant elimination sound effects, almost instantly capturing all their attention.
The area, usually filled with gunfights, explosions, and engine roars, was now occupied by a new kind of electronic melody with an Eastern Europe exotic flair.
The girls waiting in line had undisguised excitement and curiosity on their faces, chattering about techniques or exclaiming at their friends' mistakes on the screen, forming a striking and interesting contrast with the serious-faced, hard-core players around them who were engrossed in their battles.
"Oh no, that long piece was placed incorrectly!"
"Watch me this time, I'm clearing four lines!"
"The next one is a Z-shape, leave a space!"
Cheerful female voices replaced the usual sounds of joystick clacking, button mashing, and hardcore game BGM in the arcade.
This liveliness was even somewhat "disturbing."
Several arcade players, smoking cigarettes, wearing leather jackets, and clearly regulars, frowned as they looked at these "intruders," their eyes filled with annoyance at being disturbed and confusion about this "childish" game.
One guy even took the cigarette he had just put in his mouth out, unsure whether to light it or not.
But it wasn't long before the incredibly addictive music and the constantly accelerating blocks, challenging the limits of their reactions, gradually drew their gaze.
The guy who was muttering earlier had, at some point, joined the crowd, standing on his tiptoes and watching with great interest.
Several young people nearby, who were originally engrossed in the high-speed shooting of space harrier, were also drawn by the commotion and couldn't help but come over to watch.
Looking at the girls engrossed in the game in front of the screen, their faces showed more than just impulses related to the game.
A technician wearing a Sega uniform, responsible for patrolling the floor, looked at this unprecedented spectacle, especially the girls who used to disdain traditional arcade games but were now arguing over queuing to play tetris, and couldn't help but grin.
He pulled out his notebook, quickly jotting something down, and casually asked about the day's game coin sales.
The numbers reported back made his heart pound.
The ecosystem of Akihabara's arcades seemed to be undergoing some profound, unprecedented changes due to the appearance of these few tetris machines.
This trend, sparked by colorful blocks, was like a stone thrown into calm water, its ripples quickly spreading within Sega, creating layers of waves.
The first and most direct to feel this impact were the departments responsible for arcade operations and sales.
Feedback data from various partner arcades in Akihabara poured in like snowflakes, with surprisingly consistent content—the coin-in rate for tetris was skyrocketing like a rocket!
What surprised them even more was that this growth was not just concentrated during peak hours after work or on weekends.
The daytime, which used to be relatively quiet, was now exceptionally lively due to the influx of many female players.
"Reporting to the (Department Head), the daily average coin-in for tetris at Building No. 1 has already surpassed space harrier!"
"It's not just Building No. 1; data from several major partner stores also shows that the proportion of female players has increased by at least 50%!"
"There's also feedback that many players come into the store specifically to play tetris, or to play with girls who are playing tetris, and it has even driven the coin-in rate for other games…"
In the office, the ringing of telephones, the spitting sound of printers, and the excited yet somewhat incredulous discussions of employees intertwined.
This immense fortune had come a bit too suddenly.
The operations staff, who had not been very optimistic about this "simple" game initially, now looked at the soaring curves on the report with complex expressions, a mixture of embarrassment from being proven wrong and ecstasy from the skyrocketing performance.
This craze was undoubtedly the best validation of Takuya's previous strategy and the most timely market endorsement for the proposal he was about to submit.
"The young master of the Nakayama Family family indeed has sharp foresight."
"Who would have thought that such a simple game could draw girls into arcades?"
"I heard he personally negotiated the game's copyright."
"Takuya… Takuya Nakayama…"
This name began to be frequently mentioned within Sega, especially among younger employees.
He was no longer just "the president's son" but was associated with terms like "unique vision" and "keen market sense."
Some even jokingly called it the "Takuya Effect," quipping that he had single-handedly changed the gender composition of arcades.
Some mid-to-high-level managers who had initially harbored doubts about this "parachute" and thought he was just here to "gild his resume" now had to re-evaluate.
The success of tetris was not accidental; behind it, there seemed to be a precise ability to capture market gaps.
Well-informed individuals privately inquired and learned that Takuya was not just "lucky" in the tetris copyright negotiations; he had offered many practical suggestions for the negotiations, did not claim credit, and showed business negotiation skills and decisiveness beyond his age, as well as the subtle demeanor of a "prince."
The regular "Group Leader Game Development Seminar" next week also became unusual because of this.
This meeting was usually a forum for various development teams to report on recent work progress and discuss future project directions.
But this time, many high-level managers who rarely appeared publicly expressed their desire to attend as observers, making the meeting organizers feel a strange atmosphere.
"I heard President Hayao Nakayama's youngest son, Takuya, is going to propose a new game plan at the meeting?"
"It seems so; I heard the President even specifically instructed us to listen carefully to his ideas."
"What ideas could he have? Isn't he just relying on being the president's son to show off?"
"You can't say that; his tetris project is doing so well, maybe he really has something."
"Hmph, arcade games are all pretty much the same, aren't they? What new tricks can he come up with?"
There was a lot of private discussion, with all sorts of speculation.
Some believed that this was Hayao Nakayama paving the way for his son, wanting to use the seminar as an opportunity for Takuya to establish authority within the company.
Others scoffed at this, believing that Takuya lacked experience and qualifications and could not possibly come up with any truly valuable proposals.
Even more, some were dissatisfied with Hayao Nakayama's "nepotistic" approach and secretly plotted how to give Takuya a "cold shoulder" at the seminar.
The head of the development department was informed that several rarely seen high-level executives had been added to the list of attendees, and he vaguely felt a sense of pressure.
He privately asked Hayao Nakayama about the general direction of Takuya's proposal, hoping to be prepared in advance.
Hayao merely smiled meaningfully and said, "Just wait and see."
This short sentence further sparked speculation and anticipation among the executives.
While the outside world was abuzz with discussions and undercurrents, Takuya seemed oblivious, fully engrossed in the final refinement of his proposal.
The lights in his office often stayed on late into the night these past few days.