Fighting Games

At Sega headquarters on Monday, an unusual atmosphere hung in the air.

In the corridor leading to the executive conference room, footsteps were more frequent and hurried than usual. The sound of leather shoes striking the floor echoed through the quiet hallway.

The upcoming "Team Leader-Level Game Development Seminar" was clearly on a scale beyond normal practice. The conference room itself was not particularly large, but as the heads of each development team and several rarely seen senior executives in formal suits took their seats, it felt far more crowded than usual. Some people had to turn sideways slightly to let latecomers pass.

A faint scent of tobacco lingered in the air, mixed with the smell of paper, the breeze from the old air conditioning, and an almost imperceptible sense of tension.

Most team leaders looked as composed as usual, flipping through the documents in their hands and preparing for their routine reports. Yet from the corners of their eyes, they kept unconsciously glancing toward a seat in the corner.

Nakayama Takuya sat there. The young man wore a crisp suit and sat upright, with little emotion showing on his face, as though he were merely a student attending as an observer.

The senior executives displayed a variety of expressions. Some were clearly appraising him, their eyes lingering on Takuya for a moment before shifting away as they quietly exchanged words with those beside them, faint, unreadable smiles at the corners of their mouths.

Others were simply curious, their eyes probing as they wondered what else the president's youngest son intended to come up with after causing such a stir with Tetris.

Several older, arrogant members of management leaned back in their chairs with their arms crossed and chins slightly raised, looking as though this had nothing to do with them and they had only come to humor the president and watch the show. The looks they exchanged seemed to say, "See? I told you. It's nothing more than a child fooling around."

Private discussions had long since spread throughout the company. The runaway success of Tetris had made the name "Nakayama Takuya" more than just a label of status.

But bringing in a successful game and leading an entirely new, large-scale original project requiring massive resources were, in everyone's eyes, two completely different matters. The latter required more than vision—it required genuine development philosophy and execution.

The voices of doubt had never truly disappeared. They had merely been suppressed for the moment by Tetris's sales figures.

Nakayama Hayao sat at the head of the table, his expression as calm as still water. His fingers unconsciously tapped against the smooth tabletop, producing faint clicking sounds. His gaze swept calmly across the room without lingering on anyone, including his own son. He appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary meeting moderator, while the person about to take the stage was merely an ordinary new developer.

Takuya felt the complicated gazes directed at him from every side—expectation, doubt, curiosity, undisguised contempt, and malicious delight at the prospect of seeing him make a fool of himself. The fingers resting on his knees tightened slightly, then relaxed. His heart was not entirely unmoved, but more than anything, he felt the certainty of finally revealing the trump card he had carefully prepared.

The meeting began in orderly fashion.

Yu Suzuki was the first to deliver his report.

He rose energetically and stepped forward, announcing in a booming voice that development on Hang-On had been fully completed and had entered the final testing and mass-production preparation stage. This rising star producer within Sega spoke with absolute confidence in his work, even carrying a hint of sharp aggression.

Polite yet enthusiastic applause filled the conference room. Quite a few senior executives nodded in satisfaction. This was solid, tangible performance.

Afterward, the leaders of several other development teams took the stage in turn and briefly reported on the progress of their respective projects. Most were routine matters such as sequel development and technical pre-research, delivered in flat, unremarkable tones. Clearly, most of those present were not fully focused on these routine proceedings.

The executives occasionally murmured to one another, exchanging meaningful glances, their eyes drifting from time to time toward Takuya in the corner.

Amid the bland reports, the atmosphere was like a pot of water on the verge of boiling, brewing a subtle tension.

At last, it was time for the new project discussion.

The moderator cleared his throat and announced, "Next, Mr. Nakayama Takuya will introduce his new game proposal."

This time, there were no competing proposals. There was only Takuya's development plan.

Almost at the same instant, everyone's eyes snapped toward the corner of the conference room.

Takuya stood, adjusted a nonexistent wrinkle in his collar at an unhurried pace, then calmly walked to the projection screen at the center of the room.

He first gave a slight bow to everyone present. "Thank you to all the seniors and executives for taking time out of your busy schedules to attend." His voice was clear and humble, perfectly matching the attitude a newcomer should have when facing the company's veterans.

But the next second, he raised his head and calmly swept his gaze across the room. His eyes instantly became sharp and forceful, as if he had become a different person.

"Today, I would like to introduce everyone to an entirely new genre of game, as well as a new project conceived around that genre."

He pressed the controller in his hand, and the projection screen lit up with a snap. A massive title came into view—

Project Proposal: K

Below it was a smaller line of text: Fighting Game Concept Proposal

"Fighting game?"

"Fighting Game? What is that?"

A wave of suppressed murmuring immediately rose from below. Many faces showed obvious confusion and incomprehension. Even seasoned game developers found the term unfamiliar. What kind of word game was this kid playing now?

"A fighting game," Takuya began, his voice carrying an unquestionable confidence, "is fundamentally a simulation of direct combat between two people—or rather, between two characters controlled by players—fighting barehanded or with melee weapons."

"It emphasizes the player's ability to control their character precisely, react in milliseconds, and accurately grasp the timing of attack and defense."

"Our goal is to provide a direct, intense, and skill-driven competitive experience. We want players to feel the heart-pounding thrill of every blow landing within the confines of the screen, as well as the unparalleled sense of achievement that comes from defeating a powerful opponent."

His explanation was concise and forceful, every word ringing with conviction as it sketched the outline of a game filled with the primal appeal of confrontation.

Several team leaders who had initially treated this as mere routine business began to lean forward slightly, thoughtful light appearing in their eyes. This concept sounded rather interesting.

To make this somewhat abstract idea more concrete, Takuya signaled for his assistant to play the prepared footage.

The conference room lights dimmed, and a carefully edited video appeared on the projection screen.

It was not footage of a game, but from a kung fu film that had caused a sensation in Hong Kong several years earlier—Drunken Master.