Motion Capture

Cameron merely nodded to Tom as a greeting, his attention instead drawn to the younger Takuya.

Sega? The company that makes that blue hedgehog?

"We're also trying to do something new." Takuya's gaze passed over Cameron and looked at the monitor behind him.

On the screen, a stick figure made of simple lines is synchronously mimicking the actor's movements.

Motion capture technology.

Takuya understood.

This tech geek is probably already preparing for his movie about the T-800 that came back from the future.

"Mr. Cameron," Takuya suddenly spoke up, "We are also developing a 3D game. If possible, we would like to introduce the technology you are using."

Cameron raised an eyebrow, as if he'd heard something interesting. "For a game? What are you trying to capture? A hedgehog doing somersaults?"

His words carried a hint of arrogance and a touch of joking.

"No." Takuya's tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority. "We want to make a 3D fighting game that is truly based on real martial arts."

The studio fell silent instantly.

Cameron's playful expression slowly faded. He turned around and, for the first time, looked the young man from Japan seriously. "3D fighting?"

"Yes," Takuya met his gaze. "We believe that games shouldn't just be cartoons and fantasy. They can also be an extension of reality, a testing ground for technology. We at Sega are also explorers who drive technological progress."

He stared at Takuya for a good ten seconds, his gaze shifting from scrutiny to a kind of approval.

"That's interesting." He finally spoke, even offering to explain, "This system isn't ours; we're also a client. The developer is Motion Analysis Corporation. You can go talk to them."

He patted Bernard on the shoulder. "Bernie, this Japan you brought doesn't seem like a businessman."

"He's a game developer first and foremost," Bernard laughed.

"No wonder." Cameron nodded, turned back to his monitor, and waved without turning around. "My setup still needs some tweaking. You can make yourselves at home."

After leaving Industrial Light & Magic and getting back into the car, Tom Kalinske couldn't wait to ask the question that had been nagging at him, "Bernard, seriously, who exactly are you? Spielberg, the Paramount producer, and now James Cameron —how come they all know you so well and give you so much face?"

Takuya also looked at Bernard, equally curious.

Bernard looked out the window, remained silent for a moment, and then said in a calm tone, "My father works at the Academy."

"The Academy?" Tom didn't understand.

"It's the Academy that awards the Oscar every year," Bernard explained. "Many people in Hollywood want to have connections within the Academy or get information, and sometimes they contact my father through me. I never introduce them to unreliable people, so everyone gives me some face."

So that's how it is, the local bigwigs in Hollywood.

"Then how could you—" Takuya, somewhat puzzled.

"I don't like those old fogies at the Academy," Bernard chuckled, a smile tinged with youthful exuberance. "They're always discussing film art from decades ago, while I prefer Jim Cameron's new toys in his warehouse, and the new world of your Sega consoles."

He turned to look at Takuya: "I joined Sega because of Fatal Fury and Golden Sun. I don't want to stick with a bunch of old men guarding past glories; I want to be a part of creating the future."

The carriage fell silent.

Tom Kalinske looked at Bernard, then at Takuya, and suddenly burst into laughter.

"Takuya," he patted Takuya's shoulder forcefully, "It seems I have to award you a medal for bringing such a shrewd and capable ace to Sega!"

Over the next two days, Nakayama Takuya experienced firsthand the glitz and reality of Hollywood.

Through Bernard's introduction, they met several producers and agents who were quite well-known in the industry.

Without exception, the other party showed great interest in Sega, this "outsider," and enthusiastically promoted their projects, ranging from outdated science fiction series to second-rate horror movie scripts.

But Takuya simply listened politely, smiled, and said he would think about it.

"Takuya, you're really picky." Bernard couldn't help but say as they left a film company office. "The rights to that movie were cheap, and it's quite well-known in the videotape market."

"Bernard, we're not here in Hollywood to collect junk." Takuya looked out the car window at the dazzling array of movie posters, his tone calm. "We either don't do it at all, or we do something that will amaze everyone."

Bernard shrugged and said nothing more. He found himself increasingly admiring the Japan's way of doing things.

With clear objectives and precise methods, we will never waste a single second on unnecessary matters.

There are many smart people in Hollywood, but very few, like Takuya, clearly know what they "don't want."

Tom Kalinske returned to Redwood City headquarters on Friday.

Before leaving, he gave Takuya and patted the executive director's shoulder loudly.

"Takuya, my friend! The rest is up to you! You have to handle that tough guy who writes the book!" He lowered his voice, his expression a mixture of excitement and nervousness. "I'll go back and give those guys in the Development Department a piece of my mind, make sure they're ready! They'll be waiting for your good news!"

After the boisterous Tom left, the world finally became quiet.

Takuya locked himself in his hotel room all weekend.

When Bernard came to find him, he saw papers scattered all over the floor.

Takuya was hunched over the hotel desk, sketching something on a large sheet of white paper.

Those weren't words, but complex architectural plans marked with arrows, symbols, and routes using different colored pens.

"What's this?" Bernard asked curiously, crouching down and picking up a piece of paper.

The paper was covered with terms he couldn't understand, such as "A point demolition," "B group feint attack," "sniper in position," "hostage location estimation," "stun grenade assault," and "smoke screen blocking," among others.

This thing doesn't look like a game design document at all; it looks more like an operational instruction map for an anti-terrorist force.

"A 'gift' prepared for Mr. Clancy." Takuya look up, continuing to draw straight lines on the blueprint with his ruler. "Mr. Newfield said, ' Clancy is a stubborn Maryland who looks down on us 'electronic toy' makers. So we can't just talk to him about money and licensing.'"

"So you wrote him a military operation report?" Bernard found it somewhat absurd, yet also strangely expectant.

"No." Takuya finally put down his pen, picked up a completed drawing, and unfolded it in front of Bernard. "I'm telling him how Sega plans to present its world in our game."

He pointed to the plan on the blueprint. "Before the game starts, players must enter this 'Tactical Planning' interface. They can repeatedly study the map of the mission area, understand the enemy's possible deployment, and then plan the initial positioning of their squad members, the predetermined infiltration route, the attack time, the rules of engagement, and even the meticulous management of all the supplies on each squad member. Then, during the battle, they can adapt to the situation and flexibly adjust using any available resources. This is the essence of Clancy's novels—rigorous, professional, and strategic planning, rather than mindlessly rushing in with guns and shooting."

Bernard was completely stunned.

Having spent so many years in Hollywood, he has seen countless fantastical film project proposals and heard all sorts of outlandish story outlines.

But he had never seen anything like it before.

This goes beyond the realm of "games"; it's a completely new interactive simulation based on real-world logic.

"My God—" Bernard murmured to himself, looking at Takuya with undisguised shock in his eyes.