Dinosaurs Land in Japan
As a time traveler, Nakayama Takuya couldn't influence the movement of tectonic plates, but if Sega could use games to subtly teach even one more child the correct escape methods in the next two years, it wouldn't be a waste of his efforts.
Moreover, this is an excellent boost to Sega's public image.
Who could refuse a company that cares about the safety of the people?
Nakayama Takuya's finger was already on the phone's buttons, ready to call the Third Development Department.
But he stopped just as he was about to dial.
Not now.
The embers of the fire on Okushiri Island have not yet been extinguished, and the list of victims continues to rise.
At this point, Sega jumped out and launched a "disaster prevention game." No matter how good the initial intention was, in the eyes of the media and the public, this was just opportunistic profiteering from human suffering.
The time is not right.
Nakayama Takuya closed his phone flip, tore off the page filled with inspiration, folded it, and carefully tucked it into the deepest part of his wallet.
This project must be done, but the best time for Sega to enter the market is when the pain has subsided and society has moved from "mourning" to "reflection".
Right now, there's another battle to fight.
He looked up at the huge Jurassic Park poster at the end of the street. The Tyrannosaurus Rex was opening its massive jaws, ready to devour the entire Japan summer box office.
"Let's feed this dinosaur first."
On the evening of July 23, the red carpet in Toho Marunouchi Theater was already packed with cameras and microphones.
Although Universal Pictures went out of their way to bring Hollywood stars Sam Neill and Lara Dern to the event, in Nakayama Takuya's opinion, the real protagonist tonight wasn't a person at all, but the Tyrannosaurus Rex that had already captivated all the children in Japan even before it appeared on the big screen.
The air conditioning in the VIP lounge on the second floor of the cinema was blasting.
Miyazaki Hayao sat in the corner of the sofa, staring at the program booklet in his hand, which featured a picture of a giant dinosaur skeleton.
"This is the new thing that United States Spielberg came up with?" Miyazaki Hayao snorted, throwing the program booklet on the table. "A bunch of digitally constructed blocks of flesh, and they call it 'Miracle of Life'? I think it's more like a miracle of money."
"Miyazaki- san, that's a biased view."
The person who answered was a young man wearing thick glasses and with hair that looked like a bird's nest.
At this moment, Hideaki Anno had not yet been driven to depression by <EVA>. He was a complete tokusatsu fanatic. His eyes were fixed on the poster on the wall, his pupils shining. "The rainy night attack in the test screening just now, the reflective texture of the Tyrannosaurus Rex's skin being wet with rain, and the splashing water when his feet stepped into the mud—that was pure physical beauty!"
If we could use this technology to film Giant God Warrior— "
"I couldn't afford to spend those few seconds even if I sold you out."
Yoshiyuki Tomino added a cold jab, as the father of Gundam, he was still very sensitive to costs. "I heard that Industrial Light & Magic burned out several supercomputers for these few minutes of footage. Anno, if you dare to write something like that on the budget, the investors will kick you out first."
Anno rolled his eyes, speechless, but still couldn't bear to look away from the poster.
Nakayama Takuya carried two glasses of ice water over, placed them on the table, and sat down next to Tomino.
Miyazaki Hayao finally raised his head, his gaze sweeping over Takuya from behind his thick glasses, his tone complex. "Nakayama- kun, I heard your game is selling like hotcakes in United States? Even that novelist Michael Crichton made a fortune in royalties?"
"It's all thanks to director Spielberg," Takuya said modestly, waving his hand, but his words betrayed an undisguised sense of pride. "The audience felt the movie wasn't enough and was very interested in anything dinosaur-related. We just went with the flow."
"Hmph, going with the flow." Miyazaki Hayao stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray with a bit too much force. "I think you've been preparing your boat all along, just waiting for this wave to hit you."
Although they spoke tough, these industry leaders all knew the truth.
After tonight, Japan's visual entertainment industry is about to undergo another major transformation.
Previously, the debate revolved around the tension of hand-drawn lines; starting tomorrow, everyone will have to confront the behemoth called "CG technology."
The young Sega executive in front of us was clearly not afraid at all; he was riding this wave and making money.
"Don't be so serious, everyone." Takuya pointed to the faint screams coming from downstairs—the signal that the premiere was about to begin. "Film is ultimately an art of creating dreams. Whether it's done with paintbrushes or computers, as long as it can attract the audience, it's a good thing, isn't it?"
Yoshiyuki Tomino rarely showed a smile, raising his water glass to Takuya's. "Easy for you to say. But I have a feeling that sooner or later, we artists will be working for you coders?"
"How could that be?" Takuya blinked. "At most, it's a win-win situation."
The air in the lounge finally started to circulate.
Outside that door, inside the theater, the deafening roar of a Tyrannosaurus Rex officially announced the arrival of this "Dinosaur Storm" in Japan.
On July 24, the film was released as scheduled in Toho theaters across Japan.
As the end credits rolled to John Williams's grand score, the lights came on, but a brief silence fell over the theater at the Shinjuku Toho Theater.
Immediately afterwards, as if someone had flipped a switch, gasps of amazement and discussions erupted.
Before the audience could recover from the shock of Tyrannosaurus Rex's roar, their adrenaline, with nowhere to go, could only be channeled into a primal impulse to consume.
The lobby became a battlefield.
Give me that one! The biggest Tyrannosaurus Rex!
"Sorry, that one was just bought by that gentleman. It was the last one."
"Then get that velociraptor! Hurry, my son's about to cry!"
At the Bandai counter, the sales clerks wished they had eight arms.
Dozens of boxes of stock were gone in the blink of an eye, like sugar cubes thrown into water.
Parents pay for those soft rubber models that cost a few hundred Japanese yen without batting an eye, as if they're buying a pacifier to shut their child up, not a toy.
What's even more interesting is the Sanrio counter next door.
Originally, everyone thought dinosaurs were a boy's fantasy, but Bandai cleverly licensed and distributed a portion of the product to Sanrio.
When those menacing prehistoric behemoths are transformed into round, fluffy chibi-style figurines, their destructive power doubles.
"Naoki, I want that!" A girl who had just been scared in the movie theater and burrowed into her boyfriend's arms was now pointing at an adorable triceratops plush toy. "It's so cute, I have to buy it!"
The boyfriend chuckled wryly as he pulled out his wallet. She was screaming just a moment ago, and now she wants a hug. Women's minds are harder to fathom than dinosaurs.