"Dog Tag" Trial Run

Nakayama Takuya stretched out his hands, making a gesture of holding the machine in the air. "For the arcade cabinet, I'll have the Hardware Department specially make a set of dual analog sticks. Each stick will have four buttons on the thumb position, and trigger buttons on the index and middle finger positions. This way, it will perfectly map all the buttons on a home console controller. Left hand pushes the stick, right hand aims, that feeling of 'opening up' the machine, understand?"

Several key members behind Shimizu came over to take a look and immediately gasped in shock.

"This is way too hardcore! Will players be able to handle it?"

"Don't underestimate a man's romanticism," Takuya chuckled. "The more genuine and hardcore the gesture, the more excited they'll get."

He turned a page and pointed to the mode settings. "Considering the performance limit of the ModeI2 board, even with dual CPUs..."

The architecture needs to render such high-precision realistic models and physical destruction effects, and the number of characters on screen at the same time cannot be too large. Therefore, initially, we will only implement 1V1 PVP and single-player story PVE. Don't be greedy, make every frame's metallic texture and lighting perfect, even if there are only two mechs fighting each other, we must make it have the atmosphere of Star Wars."

"As for the plot—" the veteran scriptwriter hesitated, "We've made some progress on the Gundam copyright, but those old fogies at Sunrise— "

"Sega is now a major shareholder of Sunrise." Takuya interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I've already spoken to them. For this mecha design, I specifically requested Katoki Hajime Katoki."

95

"Katoki?" Shimizu's eyes lit up. "That guy with the 'square art style'? Indeed, his style—the dense warning signs and realistic proportions—is practically tailor-made for this game."

"Not only that," Takuya's eyes flashed with a glint of light, "The mecha models in the game will be made exactly according to the component logic of a physical model. I've also made arrangements with Bandai, so they can produce corresponding models after the Bandai's release."

Everyone's breathing became rapid.

"There's one more thing." Takuya flipped to the last few pages of the proposal, pointing to a sketch, "Add a card slot to the arcade cabinet."

"Card slot?"

"Yes, it's a special memory card," Takuya explained. "This game has a high learning curve. Players painstakingly fine-tune their mech parameters, modify parts, and even their battle achievements and paint jobs. If they don't save these settings, they'll have to start all over again next time they play. Who can stand that? Besides, I need this memory card for more than just saving my game."

Takuya gestured a rectangle with his hand. "Find Nakamura, the head of the Hardware Development Department, and have him arrange for someone to design the memory card to look like a military identification tag—a dog tag." Metal casing, laser engraving. Players enter the arcade, rip the dog tag off their necks, insert it into the machine, and a "PilotLogin" pops up on the screen—wouldn't that be incredibly ceremonial?

"Hiss—" Shimizu gasped, slapping his thigh. "Amazing! If you wore this around your neck, it would be the symbol of a mobile suit pilot! Any chuunibyou (middle school syndrome) kid would go crazy for it!"

"These kinds of merchandise can actually make money," Takuya. I don't need to teach you how to make money, right?"

Shimizu looked at the young executive director in front of him with admiration in his eyes. Technology, gameplay, merchandise, commercialization—this combination of strategies was so exciting that not only the players but even the developers themselves felt their blood boiling.

Shimizu tucked the proposal into his coat, protecting it tightly with both hands, as if afraid that the key members around him with green eyes would try to snatch it away. He looked just like an old dog guarding its food.

"Executive, your 'dog tag' memory card is truly ingenious." Shimizu's face was plastered with a fawning smile, his features almost squeezing together. "Making memory cards a symbol of identity, this isn't just making game accessories, it's practically issuing ID cards to those chuunibyou teenagers. I bet this metal tag will be a hit before the game even launches."

The art director next to him nodded vigorously, adjusting his glasses. "Forget about players, I want to get one to wear around my neck. Imagine going shopping in Akihabara and showing off this brand – what a status symbol! Executive Director, could our staff pre-order a few sets?"

"Stop joking with me." Takuya and scolded, pointing to the door. "Get back to work. Remember my requirements: if the mecha you make doesn't meet my standards in terms of handling, you can forget about getting my projects next time."

Don't worry! I promise I won't let you down!

Shimizu straightened his back, gave an awkward military salute, turned around and yelled at his men, "Everyone, back to the group and back to work!"

A group of people rushed towards the door and squeezed their way out.

As soon as he stepped out of the office, Takuya could still hear hushed arguments coming from the hallway.

"Team leader, let me take another look at that joystick design sketch. I didn't see it clearly before—"

"Get lost! Go back and make copies before you look at it, don't wrinkle the original!"

"Hey team leader, to get into the swing of things, shouldn't we apply for funding from the company to get a few sets of Earth Federation Forces uniforms to wear?"

The noise gradually faded into the distance until it disappeared completely at the elevator entrance.

Takuya looked at the now quiet office, shook his head, but couldn't suppress the smile on his lips.

These guys may be unruly most of the time, but once they smell a good game, they become a pack of tireless mad dogs.

As March arrives, the chill of Tokyo's streets lingers, but the air in Akihabara Electric Town has already turned warm and dry.

Pink posters dominated prominent positions in various stores, and next to Sega's blue logo, Madhouse's sign was prominently displayed.

For discerning gamers, this is more than just a poster; it's a resounding call to arms.

Sega's "Anime-Game Crossover" strategy is now a gold standard in the industry.

Upon seeing these words, players felt reassured: the game was in the bag.

In recent years, Sega's collaborative projects may not suit everyone's taste, but their quality control is almost obsessive-compulsive.

For anime fans, the name Sega carries a different meaning—"budget is burning through."

These days, TV animation is squeezed by the weekly broadcast system, and poor animation quality is commonplace.

To prolong the runtime, some production teams have characters stand still for up to three minutes to engage in internal monologues, or have two characters engage in a battle of wits for an entire episode.

Especially Toei next door, they can air a single flashback episode for half a month, with the plot padded to the point of being as watered-down as bloated pork, making viewers want to smash their TVs while watching.