Preparing a New Project

Akihabara on the weekend was swept up in a heat wave of surging crowds.

Yet the scene outside Sega First Hall was vastly different from usual.

Instead of being filled exclusively with male faces, the dense crowd now conspicuously included many young women who had come in groups. Their destination was clear as they chattered their way toward several newly installed machines—the arcade version of Tetris.

On the screens, brightly colored blocks kept falling. Accompanied by crisp, pleasant clearing sound effects, they captured the girls' attention almost instantly. The area that had once been filled with gunfire, explosions, and roaring engines was now occupied by a new kind of electronic melody with an exotic Eastern European flavor.

The girls waiting in line wore undisguised excitement and curiosity on their faces. They chirped about strategies or cried out over a friend's mistake on-screen, forming a vivid and amusing contrast with the hardcore players around them, who were bent over their machines with grave expressions.

"Ah! You put that long piece in the wrong spot!"

"Watch me this time—I'm clearing four lines!"

"Next is the Z-shaped one! Leave an opening!"

Cheerful female voices replaced the simple clacking of joysticks, button-mashing, and hard-edged game BGM that usually filled the arcade. The liveliness was almost disruptive.

Several regular arcade players, cigarettes dangling from their mouths and leather jackets on their backs, frowned at these "intruders." Their eyes were full of annoyance at being disturbed and confusion over this "childish" game. One guy even took the cigarette he had just put in his mouth out again, unsure whether he should light it or not.

But before long, the addictive music and ever-accelerating blocks that pushed reaction speed to the limit gradually drew their attention in. The guy who had been grumbling earlier had somehow already edged up behind the crowd, standing on tiptoe and watching with keen interest.

A few young men nearby who had been engrossed in the high-speed flying and shooting of Space Harrier were also drawn over by the commotion. Looking at the girls absorbed in the game, their faces showed impulses that had little to do with gaming alone.

A technician in a Sega uniform, responsible for patrolling the floor, watched this unprecedented scene. Seeing girls who normally dismissed traditional arcade games now arguing over their place in line to play Tetris, he couldn't help breaking into a grin. He pulled out a notebook and quickly jotted something down, then casually asked about the day's token sales. The figure he received made his heart pound.

The arcade ecosystem in Akihabara seemed to be quietly undergoing some profound, unprecedented change because of these few Tetris machines.

The trend set off by colorful blocks was like a stone thrown into still water, its ripples quickly spreading through Sega and stirring wave after wave.

The first department to feel the impact most directly was the one responsible for arcade operations and sales.

Feedback data from Sega's partner arcades throughout Akihabara came pouring in like snowflakes, and the content was astonishingly consistent—Tetris's coin-drop rate was shooting upward like a rocket! What surprised them even more was that this growth was not limited to after-work hours or weekend peaks. Even the previously quiet daytime hours had become lively thanks to the influx of female players.

"Report, Director: Tetris at the First Hall has already surpassed Space Harrier in average daily coin insertions!"

"And it isn't just the First Hall. Data from several major partner locations shows that the proportion of female players has risen by at least fifty percent!"

"There's also feedback that many players are entering specifically to play Tetris, or because of the girls playing Tetris. It's even boosting the coin-drop rates of other games..."

In the office, ringing telephones, the whir of printers spitting out paper, and employees' excited yet incredulous discussions intertwined. This windfall had come a little too suddenly. The operations staff who had not thought highly of this "simple" game now wore complicated expressions as they looked at the soaring curves on the reports—embarrassed at having been proven wrong, but overjoyed by the explosion in performance.

This wave of popularity was undoubtedly the best proof of Takuya's earlier strategy, as well as the most timely market endorsement for the proposal he was about to submit.

"The Nakayama family's young master really has sharp eyes."

"Who would've thought such a simple game could bring girls into arcades?"

"I heard he personally negotiated the rights for this game."

"Takuya... Nakayama Takuya..."

The name began to be mentioned frequently within Sega, especially among younger employees.

He was no longer merely "the president's son," but someone associated with words like "keen judgment" and "sharp market instincts."

Some even half-jokingly called it the "Takuya Effect," claiming that he had single-handedly changed the gender makeup of arcades.

Some middle and senior managers who had originally harbored doubts about this "parachuted-in hire," believing he had come merely to pad his résumé, now had no choice but to reassess him.

Tetris's success was no accident. Behind it seemed to lie a genuine ability to identify gaps in the market with remarkable precision.

Those with connections privately looked into the matter and learned that Takuya had not merely been "lucky" in the negotiations for Tetris's rights. He had offered many practical suggestions during the talks, never seized authority or claimed credit, and displayed business negotiation skills and decisiveness beyond his years—as well as the bearing expected of someone with the faintly implied status of a "crown prince."

As a result, next week's regular "Team Leader-Level Game Development Seminar" had also become unusual.

Normally, this meeting was where each development team reported recent progress and discussed the direction of future projects.

But this time, many senior executives who rarely showed up had all announced that they would sit in, giving the organizers an unusual feeling about the atmosphere.

"I heard President Nakayama's younger son, Takuya, is going to present a new game proposal at the meeting?"

"Seems so. I heard the president specifically instructed everyone to listen carefully to his ideas."

"What ideas could he possibly have?

Isn't he just relying on being the president's son to show off?"

"You can't put it that way. He made Tetris a real success. Maybe he actually has something."

"Hmph. Aren't arcade games all more or less the same?

What new tricks could he possibly come up with?"

Private discussions ran rampant, with every sort of speculation.

Some believed Nakayama Hayao was paving the way for his son, intending to use the seminar as an opportunity for Takuya to establish his authority within the company.

Others scoffed at the idea, believing Takuya lacked both experience and seniority and could not possibly produce any genuinely valuable proposal.

Still others were dissatisfied with Nakayama Hayao's apparent nepotism and secretly plotted how to give Takuya a "welcome lesson" at the seminar.

When the head of the development department was notified that several rarely seen senior executives had been added to the attendee list, he felt a faint sense of pressure.

He privately asked Nakayama Hayao about the general direction of Takuya's proposal, hoping to prepare in advance.

Hayao merely smiled meaningfully and said, "Just wait and see."

Those few words only further fueled the executives' speculation and anticipation.

While outside discussion swirled and undercurrents ran deep, Takuya seemed entirely removed from it all, devoting himself wholeheartedly to putting the final touches on his proposal.

The lights in his office had often remained on until late at night these past few days.