When Tetsu Kobayashi arrived at the office, Minoru Tanaka was indeed still fiddling with his crossword puzzle. Seeing Tetsu walk in, Tanaka greeted him warmly and invited him to sit. Yet from that very "warmth," Tetsu could clearly sense a degree of distance.
Because Dad isn't here, no matter what I do, I'm still just a kid…
Tetsu thought to himself but said nothing, quietly taking the seat opposite Tanaka.
Tanaka had claimed he was busy earlier, then suddenly said he was free. Even without asking, Tetsu knew he had been free all along—he simply hadn't wanted to see him.
Now that he changed his mind, something must have happened to make Tanaka take him seriously.
When he arrived, Tetsu noticed the publicity department was reviewing last week's sales records.
No doubt the reason was related to that.
Tetsu didn't bother pretending to be polite. As a recently returned student with American habits, he didn't feel obliged to follow Japanese formalities.
"Director Tanaka, how are the game sales? They should be pretty good."
Tanaka finally looked up from his crossword.
"I was just about to bring that up. Yes, it sold very well. Normally Sega distributes dividends quarterly, but since September is coming right up, we can settle this month's bonus early."
Tetsu quickly scanned the pile of documents. He ignored everything else—the only thing that mattered was the numbers for Tetris.
"Ten thousand units? That many?!"
He looked again and relaxed.
It wasn't ten thousand sold to customers—ten thousand units had been shipped to distributors.
Actual sales to players might only be a few thousand.
Even so, the figure exceeded his expectations.
"It's only been one week!"
Tanaka nodded. "Exactly, just one week. I've played the game myself—it's quite good. Results like this aren't surprising."
Internally, Tetsu rolled his eyes.
How could they not be surprising? You didn't seem surprised at all just now.
"I've already started planning follow-up promotional activities," Tanaka continued. "So then, Tetsu—what did you want to see me about?"
Watching Tanaka's casual attitude, Tetsu shook his head slightly.
No helping it. No matter how well the game sold, to Tanaka he was still just a kid—not nearly as important as his father, Kentarō Kobayashi.
Thinking of Kentarō's words, Tetsu took a deep breath.
Time to give him a good slap—figuratively.
"I actually have an idea about publicity," Tetsu said.
Tanaka nodded, his eyes already drifting back to his crossword.
Tetsu continued, "I don't know if you've heard, but there's a Sega distributor who really loves this game—so much so that he wants to host a tournament in Shinjuku."
Tanaka abruptly looked up.
"But he's only a regular distributor. His resources are limited, and he's acting purely out of passion. If Sega were willing to offer support—say, promotional help or sponsoring prizes under Sega's name—I think it could produce an excellent effect."
Tanaka folded his arms and pushed the crossword aside.
He leaned forward slightly. "Interesting idea. But this level of publicity can't be covered by just a few million yen from the home console budget."
Tetsu replied, "But I imagine TV stations are always short on newsworthy material. If we provide them with something they can continuously follow up on, they might even pay for the footage themselves. A tournament directly sponsored by Sega, centered on a Sega game, is absolutely newsworthy. In other words, with just a small amount of prize support from us, we might save most of the advertising budget."
Confusion flashed in Tanaka's small eyes.
This is the kid Kentarō raised? Something's… off.
Still, he couldn't deny it—this was a solid idea.
Not paying for TV ads, but providing news content.
TV stations need good stories to report!
And in the summer of 1983, what better news than a Sega-sponsored event featuring a hot Sega title?
"I'm starting to believe this game really was made by you," Tanaka said at last.
He lowered his arms and finally looked at Tetsu seriously.
"Seems I'll need to request a budget increase from the division director."
Tetsu asked, "Which director?"
"Head of the Home Console Division—Hideki Satō."
Hideki Satō.
Tetsu instantly remembered the name. Kentarō had often complained about Satō—how Satō constantly applied pressure to the hardware division.
Tetsu's mouth twitched.
He wondered what Satō's reaction would be once he heard the news.
...
Sega was a large company, divided into many departments.
The SG, and later the MD and Dreamcast, all fell under the Home Console Division, whose director was Satō Hideki.
Under him were deputy directors like Kentarō Kobayashi, Tanaka Minoru, and other managers.
Therefore, nearly all home console decisions passed through Satō.
Sega had historically prioritized the arcade and overseas divisions while giving far less attention to home consoles—a key reason Sega's consoles kept falling behind Nintendo.
In short: lack of attention.
At this very moment, Satō Hideki was meeting with Kentarō Kobayashi in his office.
Satō sat comfortably on his slightly elevated swivel chair, looking down at Kentarō, who was half-sunk into a soft sofa beneath him.
Satō's angle forced a subconscious pressure on whoever sat below.
"Kobayashi-kun, it's been a week. What's the progress on optimizing the SG hardware?"
But Kentarō showed no awareness of being looked down on. He even had his legs crossed, speaking lazily.
"Good progress. We've already devised an effective approach. Testing is underway. In two or three weeks—within a month—we can begin implementation."
Satō clicked his tongue, momentarily speechless.
"Kobayashi-kun, I want an effective solution, not a baseless plan."
"Please rest assured, Division Director Satō," Kentarō replied. "This solution has already gone through internal discussion. If successful, it will increase SG's performance by at least 30%."
He handed over the optimization report.
The idea, inspired by Tetsu, involved a cache-like structure—essentially pre-stocking a 'virtual shelf' to speed up response time and thus improve performance.
Satō nearly crushed his desk.
Thirty percent was no small number.
And they even had documentation to back it up.
Just then, the secretary knocked.
"Division Director Satō, Director Tanaka from Publicity has a report."
"Tanaka? Send him in."
Satō needed something—anything—to dilute the shock Kentarō had just delivered.
Seeing Tanaka enter, Satō's expression softened slightly.
"Tanaka-kun, what matter is so urgent that you need to report in person?"
"Yes." Tanaka bowed low, demonstrating the typical Japanese humility toward a superior. He presented the folder with both hands.
"A recent home console title is selling very well. I've drafted a promotional plan, initially for the Tokyo metropolitan area. Because of the scale, it requires your personal approval."
Satō nodded.
He opened the folder—and immediately snapped it shut.
No way. Not this again.
He opened it once more.
Sure enough—the cursed name.
Kobayashi Puzzle.
Satō felt irritated just reading the syllables Ko-ba-ya-shi now.
But the numbers were undeniable.
"14,000 units shipped in Tokyo?"
"Estimated 7,200 units sold by retailers?"
"Even SG hardware sales are rising?"
"How is this happening?!"
"SG hasn't even reached 50,000 units total!"
"And all this from one… game?!"
Satō nearly swore, but restrained himself.
He truly couldn't understand what made the game fun.
He looked up at Kentarō.
He wanted to reject Tanaka's plan with every fiber of his being.
But—
SG was his project.
With no other strong products available, how could he possibly reject good news?
Kentarō remained sunk in the sofa, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers.
Nothing special to him. All routine.
Because the creator was Tetsu Kobayashi.
Seeing Satō so deeply irritated yet forced to approve every part of the promotion for Tetsu's game made Kentarō's heart soar.
When the director is miserable, he feels fantastic.
He was, at this moment, unbelievably, wonderfully elated.
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