Silicon & Synapse
The smoke from the financial markets has not yet cleared, Nakayama Takuya has already withdrawn from that thrilling currency war.
For him, it was merely stockpiling ammunition for the upcoming game of war.
The real battlefield is always here.
Market research for next-generation consoles is still underway. Nakayama Takuya leisurely flips through the recent North America game release schedule, his fingertips lightly tracing the lines of data, as if searching for pearls forgotten by the tide on the beach.
The operations manager's daily work is complicated and tedious, but he always manages to find enjoyment in it.
These dry statistics, which others might see as hypnotic spells, were, in his eyes, treasure maps waiting to be revealed.
He leaned back in his large office chair, his fingertips lightly tracing across a thick stack of September's North America sales reports.
Lines of game titles and sales figures flowed past his eyes; most were familiar names, but there were also quite a few mediocre works that only shone briefly.
Suddenly, his fingers stopped.
My gaze was fixed on an inconspicuous spot in the report.
The Lost Vikings.
Developer: Silicon & Synapse.
This name, like a bolt of lightning, instantly shattered more than twenty years of buried memories for Nakayama Takuya.
Silicon & Synapse ----
He silently murmured the name, an indescribable sense of familiarity welling up from the bottom of his heart, shooting up his spine to the top of his head.
Of course he knew about this company.
It's more than just knowing!
This little-known workshop, which is still unknown at this time, was renamed Blizzard Entertainment in its previous life, a name that drove players all over the world crazy!
Warcraft, StarCraft, Diablo —these are all milestones in gaming history, originating from this "Silicon & Synapse" that is still crammed into a small office in California.
Now, their debut title, the Lost Vikings, lies quietly on Sega's sales report, with sales figures that can only be described as "not bad," far from being a hit.
Nakayama Takuya quickly pulled up the recent briefing from the North America Investment Department. Sure enough, it was full of recent moves and market feedback from "Silicon Valley Online," as well as analyses of several popular tech companies. Nobody seemed to have noticed this small game studio.
Nakayama Takuya's fingertips traced the name "Silicon & Synapse," as if he could touch the outline of that future gaming empire through the paper.
He didn't pick up the phone immediately. It was rush hour in the western United States, and making Tom Kalinske work overtime for such a "trivial matter" was not in his style.
Moreover, such matters cannot be clearly explained over a few words on the phone, and are more likely to arouse unnecessary speculation.
He turned on his computer and began composing an email.
The recipient was Tom Kalinske, with a copy sent to the director of the North America Investment Department.
At the beginning of the email, he jokingly inquired about the progress of Silicon Valley Online's financing, asking Tom "how it feels to be sought after by the top investors in Silicon Valley."
Then, he changed the subject and got to the main point.
"Tom, while looking at the September sales report today, I discovered a really interesting little company called Silicon & Synapse. Their game, * the Lost Vikings *, didn't sell very well, but I've reviewed the game materials several times. The creativity and design concepts are incredibly unique, you could even call them genius."
He paused here, carefully considering his words.
He can't appear too eager, that would seem abnormal.
"Their game is very creative. I have a feeling this company will be very valuable in the future. I hope the Investment Department can follow up and conduct an evaluation. If possible, I would suggest investing directly."
"Regarding investment strategy, I hope you can be more flexible. This is a creatively driven studio, so don't approach them like we would with any other acquisition target. We will only make financial investments and provide normal oversight, without interfering with any of their development decisions or company operations. Give them absolute freedom."
"Even if they want to develop games for PC or other platforms, we shouldn't stop them. Let them do it."
What we need is their creativity, not to tie them to our war machine.
"Finally, if they're short of money, then exchange money for shares. Giving them more is fine; we need to think long-term. You personally oversee this matter."
At the end of the email, he added, "Don't let those old guys in Tokyo know I told you to put money into a company that develops games for other platforms, or my phone will be ringing off the hook again. You know, dealing with them is much harder than dealing with KPCB and Sequoia Capital."
The next morning, at Sega North America headquarters.
Tom Kalinske, holding his coffee, scanned the emails at a glance.
When he saw Nakayama Takuya's email, he first laughed at the joke at the beginning, but the more he read, the stranger his expression became.
"Silicon & Synapse?" he muttered, his brow furrowed.
As the president of North America, he knew the hottest games on the market like the back of his hand, but this company—he really didn't recognize the name.
Sales were mediocre, and media reviews were merely "interesting," far from catching the attention of the headquarters' operations manager.
Especially the investment requirements in the email, which could be described as "outrageous".
Not interfering with operations? Sure.
Asking them to develop games for other platforms? That's far too lenient.
What investor would support their portfolio company developing games for other platforms?
The investment director beside him had also finished reading the email, his face full of confusion. "Tom, this Nakayama executive—has he made a mistake? I've read <The Lost Vikings>, it's just a decent puzzle game, but to talk about genius—there are countless ideas like that in Silicon Valley every day. And these investment terms, we're practically a charity handing out money."
Tom Kalinske did not answer immediately.
He put down his coffee cup, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, recalling the scene not long ago in the corner of the office when Nakayama Takuya described the "Silicon Valley Online" ecosystem.
That vision ahead of its time, that terrifyingly accurate judgment of the future—
He suddenly smiled.
"A charity?" Tom turned to his investment director, a hint of mystery in his smile. "No, we're angel investors."
"But----"
"No buts." Tom waved his hand, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Have you forgotten how ' Silicon Valley Online ' came about? He only said, 'I have a feeling this thing will change the world.' And what happened?"
The investment director was instantly speechless.
Indeed, Silicon Valley Online's status in the North America tech and investment circles is now almost mythical.
The creator of this myth was none other than the young man on the other end of the email.
His "premonition" now carries more weight throughout Sega North America Branch than any market research report.
"Do as he says." Tom's tone became more relaxed. "Execute it word for word. Remember, keep a humble attitude; we want to make friends, not be bosses."
He paused, picked up the document about "Silicon & Synapse," and looked at the small office photo on it with great interest.
"I want to see what kind of 'geniuses' Takuya is specifically giving such instructions to."