Ken Kutaragi

Night had fallen in the study of the Setagaya apartment. Outside the window, Tokyo's neon lights gradually began to twinkle.

Takuya lay half-reclined on the sofa in the apartment.

An empty lunchbox, designed for high-end custom-made meals, was casually pushed to the corner of the table.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the lone, blinking cursor on the computer screen.

A blank document is like a game of chess about to unfold, where every move affects countless nerves.

For the sake of that "Super Robot Wars" thing, I've really gone all out and bought a "deluxe Chiaotzu" of Sony LDs this time.

He rubbed his temples, a bitter smile appearing on his lips.

These Chiaotzu are packed with filling and incredibly large, but if you're not careful, they could choke Sega half to death.

Perhaps, subconsciously, there's still a lingering obsession with the once-grand but ultimately unsuccessful merger between Sega and Bandai. Or perhaps it's an intense desire to leverage Bandai's peripheral development capabilities, which explains the relentless effort put into their Bandai.

He knew perfectly well that once Sony tasted success in the hardware market with the game he was about to develop, that sleeping lion would inevitably venture deeper and more fiercely into the jungle of games.

At that time, Sega will face a formidable opponent whose size far surpasses that of Nintendo.

However, on second thought, Sony's entry into the market was an inevitable historical move.

Norio Ohga's ingrained ambition and Sony's massive business empire both indicated that they would never be content with being just a hardware manufacturer.

What I'm doing now is simply giving that giant ship a little push at this inevitable historical juncture, for Sega's own benefit.

Incidentally, Sega can seize the greatest opportunity and value from this wave that is about to change the industry landscape.

Bringing his thoughts back, Takuya refocused his gaze on the screen.

In fact, when he made that seemingly bold suggestion to Mitsui Chuta in the tea room, he already had a general outline of the game he wanted to create.

A week has passed in the blink of an eye.

In the Minato Ward, Sony Headquarters Building soars into the clouds, its glass curtain wall reflecting the cool sunlight, exuding a sense of oppressive power typical of a giant corporation.

Takuya led Masao Suzuki from the Marketing Department, Yoshikawa, a director of Sega, and two solemn-looking legal personnel into the building.

Mitsui Chuta himself was waiting in the lobby, with two distinguished figures standing beside him.

One was Shigeo Maruyama, president of Sony Records, who had a smile on his face but sharp eyes.

The other was a middle-aged man wearing glasses, with a focused expression, who seemed to have the air of a tech geek.

"This is Mr. Ken Kutaragi, a senior technical engineer at Sony."

Mitsui Chuta explained.

Takuya's heart skipped a beat.

Ken Kutaragi.

This name is widely known and respected.

The father of PlayStation from his past life was now standing right in front of him, but his identity was merely that of a "senior technical engineer".

He remained expressionless, simply bowing politely as if he were hearing the name for the first time.

The conference room door was pushed open, revealing a simple yet imposing interior, with a long conference table gleaming with a somber luster.

A barely perceptible tension hung in the air.

Both sides are well aware that today's talks are of great significance.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, everyone took their seats.

Mitsui Chuta took a sip of tea, then turned his gaze to Takuya, his expression carrying a hint of elder's gentleness.

"Takuya- kun, last time you mentioned you were thinking of a promotional game for the LD player."

"Would you be so kind as to broaden our horizons today?"

Takuya nodded slightly, but did not answer immediately.

He gave a wink to the legal staff member beside him.

One of the legal staff members understood, stood up, took out several documents from his briefcase, and handed them to Mitsui Chuta, Shigeo Maruyama, and Ken Kutaragi from Sony's side.

"This is a confidentiality agreement that Sega has drafted before presenting the proposal."

Please take a look.

Takuya's voice was calm, revealing no emotion.

The terms of the agreement were written in an extremely stringent manner.

It is clearly stipulated that if this cooperation fails to be achieved, Sony shall not, in any form, develop or borrow any creative ideas, core gameplay, or even games of similar themes involved in this project.

Mitsui Chuta's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

He picked up the agreement, his gaze sweeping over a few lines of text, a hint of displeasure in his voice.

"Takuya- kun, isn't this... a bit distrustful of Sony?"

This is both a question and a reflection of an elder's scrutiny of the younger generation's behavior.

The air in the conference room seemed to thicken even further.

Both Masao Suzuki and Director Yoshikawa were secretly on edge.

Takuya, however, remained calm.

He met Mitsui Chuta's gaze, his tone calm yet exuding an undeniable confidence.

"Mr. Chuta, everyone."

"Once you've reviewed the proposal, I believe you'll understand the necessity of this confidentiality agreement."

"And its corresponding value."

His subtext was clear: this project deserves such caution.

Shigeo Maruyama and Ken Kutaragi exchanged a glance.

Shigeo Maruyama tapped his fingertips lightly on the table, seemingly weighing his options quickly.

A moment later, he picked up a pen and signed his name at the end of the agreement.

"Hopefully, Special Commissioner Nakayama -sen will not let us down."

Seeing this, Mitsui Chuta's brows relaxed, and without saying anything more, he also signed the document.

Ken Kutaragi silently finished signing, his eyes filled with the inquisitiveness and curiosity typical of a technical professional.

After the agreement was signed, the atmosphere in the meeting room became even more solemn and expectant.

Takuya nodded to Masao Suzuki.

Masao Suzuki immediately presented three beautifully bound proposals to Mitsui Chuta, Shigeo Maruyama, and Ken Kutaragi respectively.

Unlike his previous lengthy explanations.

This time, Takuya chose to remain silent.

He sat quietly in his seat, his hands clasped together, his gaze calmly fixed on the three people opposite him.

He wanted the proposal to speak for itself.

More importantly, he wanted to observe firsthand the raw, direct reactions of these three key Sony figures without any guidance.

This is the first real-world test of the impact of a business plan.

The only sound in the meeting room was the rustling of papers turning.

The first person to show a noticeable change in expression was Ken Kutaragi.

He initially flipped through the pages casually, with the scrutinizing habits of a technical professional.

But soon, he stopped turning the page.

His brows were furrowed, as if he had encountered some incomprehensible technical problem.

Then, a look of disbelief flashed in his eyes.

The light quickly transformed into an intense focus, even bordering on fanaticism.

His fingers, gripping the paper, were slightly white at the knuckles from the force, and even trembled almost imperceptibly.

He turned the pages faster and faster, like a hungry traveler who had discovered an oasis in the desert and couldn't wait to drink every drop of sweet water.

The second person to undergo a change was Shigeo Maruyama.

Unlike Ken Kutaragi, this head of Sony Music is not as emotionally expressive.

His expression remained consistently composed, befitting a business elite.

But during the reading process, he stopped turning the pages several times.

With each pause, he would raise his head and look at Takuya with a sharp and profound gaze.

His gaze was complex and difficult to decipher.

It was as if they wanted to see right through this excessively young man, inside and out.

It contained a mixture of initial surprise, in-depth scrutiny, and a hint of crescente's admiration that even he himself was unaware of.

While Mitsui Chuta wasn't as perceptive as the other two regarding the game's specific technical details and creative ingenuity.

But his ability to read people's expressions and moods was unparalleled.

Ken Kutaragi's almost uncontrollable focus, and Shigeo Maruyama's increasingly inquisitive gaze.

All of this silently demonstrates the extraordinary nature of this project proposal.

He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow meaningfully at Takuya.

The previous displeasure in his eyes had vanished, replaced by undisguised surprise and intense curiosity.

The air in the conference room seemed to freeze.

Only the sound of pages turning was exceptionally clear in the silence.