Time quickly advanced to May amidst the busy work.
Two weeks had passed since metal gear was released.
The first detailed sales and market feedback report was delivered to Takuya Nakayama's desk by his assistant.
The numbers themselves were not bad, showing considerable profit, but ultimately, there was no overwhelming explosive growth that some in the Marketing Department had anticipated. It did not create a sales storm sweeping the market as some had expected.
Compared to the several action games of the same period on PCEngine, which focused on vibrant colors and fast-paced rhythm, metal gear even fell slightly short in pure sales figures.
Inside the office, the few staff members who had read the report exchanged glances, revealing a subtle worry.
Was this overly serious and innovative style truly a bit too ahead of its time?
Takuya Nakayama's fingertips tapped lightly on the smooth report cover, his expression unusually calm.
His gaze swept over the most prominent sales curves, finally settling on two inconspicuous data points at the end of the report.
"Average Playtime" and "Used Cartridge Outflow Rate."
The former far exceeded all other games of the same period, reaching an astonishing value.
The latter was also far lower than all other games of the same period.
He looked up, scanning the worried or puzzled subordinates in the office.
A slight curve appeared at the corner of Takuya Nakayama's mouth.
"This means that those who bought it are treating it as a treasure, not fast food."
The facts were just as Takuya Nakayama had predicted.
A player-initiated "metal gear Content Mining Movement" was quietly emerging in various fan clubs and private player circles.
Completing the game was merely the beginning for them.
The players' enthusiasm was channeled into a deeper exploration.
What kind of mysteries of origin were hidden in the sharp dialogues between Solid Snake and Big Boss?
The game's metaphors for nuclear deterrence and Cold War thinking were analyzed piece by piece.
Background information inadvertently revealed by a seemingly insignificant NPC in radio communications was compiled into lengthy background research by enthusiasts.
Even more, some, like archaeologists, studied Yoji Shinkawa's promotional artworks one by one, trying to find clues that corroborated the game's plot from those powerful yet impressionistic brushstrokes and light and shadow.
Even a seemingly insignificant background detail inadvertently revealed by an NPC could trigger a small-scale "research" craze among players.
This near-fanatical research precisely validated Takuya Nakayama's initial strategic intent.
What he wanted were these mature players who were already aesthetically fatigued by fairy tales of "defeating the demon king and saving the world."
In the third week of release, the cover of a mainstream gaming magazine was dominated by the resolute man drawn by Yoji Shinkawa.
A ten-page feature.
A special report titled "A Lonely Poem Beneath Steel – A Complete Narrative Interpretation of metal gear" integrated players' discoveries and speculations from various corners with the editorial team's in-depth reviews, forming a substantial cultural commentary.
Takuya Nakayama was holding this magazine, just distributed from the front desk, and was about to go find Hideo Kojima.
Passing the pantry, a familiar figure made him stop.
Hideo Kojima stood there alone, his back to the door, his entire posture appearing somewhat rigid.
His shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly.
He saw that Hideo Kojima held the same magazine tightly in his hand.
He made no sound, just watched quietly.
His world, built with painstaking effort, those thoughts buried deep within the code and pixels, were so profoundly understood and resonated with by players. This creator, who had been so resolute during development, now had slightly reddened eyes.
An unprecedented sense of satisfaction enveloped him.
Takuya Nakayama's steps were light as he stopped behind Hideo Kojima, not startling him. He could see Kojima-san's knuckles turning slightly white from gripping the magazine so hard, and the magazine's cover was already wrinkled from his grasp.
The air was silent for a moment, with only the ice maker working monotonously.
"Kojima-san."
Takuya Nakayama's voice broke the silence. Hideo Kojima's shoulders jolted, as if waking from a dream. He turned around hastily, trying to hide the moisture in his eyes, his movements appearing a bit clumsy.
"Nakayama-sensei—" His voice was a little hoarse.
Takuya Nakayama did not offer congratulations or mention sales. He simply handed over the brand-new, smooth magazine he held, opening it to a page that was the core of the special report: a detailed analysis diagram of the metal gear machine's design.
"They understood your story," Takuya Nakayama's tone was calm, yet it was like a stone dropped into still water. "This is more important than any sales figure."
Hideo Kojima's gaze fell on the analysis diagram, watching as players used red arrows and annotations to mark every detail he thought he had buried so deeply. He opened his mouth but couldn't utter a single word, only nodding heavily, his eyes welling up again.
"Player enthusiasm is a resource more precious than gold," Takuya Nakayama's fingertip traced the promotional artwork drawn by Yoji Shinkawa on the magazine, the man in the drawing having resolute yet weary eyes. "After finishing the game, they are left wanting more; they crave to understand more, to touch the very bones of this world."
His gaze shifted from Hideo Kojima's face back to the pages of the magazine. An idea quickly formed in his mind.
He looked at Hideo Kojima, his eyes sharpening.
"We'll partner with this magazine company to launch a reader interest poll in the next issue. Just one question: Do you want to own a metal gear setting collection and OST cassette?"
Hideo Kojima's breathing hitched.
"If the response is enthusiastic, we'll compile all of Shinkawa-kun's original art, your design drafts, the in-game BGM—everything," Takuya Nakayama's voice was not loud, yet it was filled with undeniable power. "We'll make it into a limited, numbered hardcover setting collection, and include an original soundtrack cassette. Printed on the best paper, with a hot-stamped cover, making it look like a exquisite collectible."
He paused, allowing Hideo Kojima to process the information.
"We're not just selling games, Kojima-san," Takuya Nakayama gazed at him, speaking each word distinctly. "We want to make 'playing games' something worth studying, worth collecting. We want to create a culture."
The moisture in Hideo Kojima's eyes had completely receded, replaced by a burning light.
He seemed to see a brand new battlefield, one even vaster than the screen. His heart, belonging to a creator, was ignited once more.
"Culture—" He murmured the word, his clenched fists slowly relaxing, his fingers tracing Solid Snake's face on the magazine, his eyes filled with a new fighting spirit.
To compile and publish the unseen efforts behind the scenes.
For a creator, this was the highest recognition and praise.
The excitement in his eyes was almost overflowing; he nodded repeatedly, even somewhat incoherently.
The next second, he almost immediately turned around, filled with a new sense of mission, and excitedly rushed towards the telephone, ready to personally contact the magazine company.