Dinosaur Effect
Bandai Headquarters and Sales Department's phone line was flooded with calls.
The PR manager, who had previously been desperate to expedite the stocking process, was now yelling at the Sanrio representative on the phone, "Add more orders! Yes, even if the sewing machine is smoking, you have to make them! What? Not enough materials? I don't care, you don't care about making money, but I do!"
In contrast, Sega's counter appeared much more "aloof".
After all, several thousand Japanese yen for a game cartridge is no small amount, and you also need to have a Mega Drive console at home.
Even so, the shelves were quickly emptied.
This wind even reached seemingly unrelated places.
In this era of widespread private car ownership, Nakayama Takuya had already figured out that he could also capitalize on the surrounding market.
His casual remark to Toho at an earlier promotional meeting, "Autobacs," turned out to be a stroke of genius.
At an Autobacs store in Nerima Ward, several car enthusiasts were browsing the shelves.
"This car sticker is interesting." A young man with a buzz cut picked up a sticker with a silhouette of a Tyrannosaurus Rex and the classic warning. "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear."
"It would look really cool stuck on the rear bumper." My companion was holding a dinosaur bite mark-shaped gear shift knob, completely enamored with it.
On this day, Minister Sato of Toho looked at the data compiled from various sources, forgetting to swallow the tea in his mouth.
Not only the surrounding area, but also the home appliance stores in Akihabara benefited.
To experience that earth-shaking bass effect at home, the high-end audio booths of Sony and Panasonic attracted quite a few customers.
"This isn't showing a movie," Sato muttered to himself, putting down the reports. "This is printing money."
Faced with such a surge of interest, the media naturally have a keen sense of opportunity.
Overnight, all of Japan's television channels seemed to have collectively traveled back to the Cretaceous period.
Turn on NHK, and you'll find that the usually serious-looking morning news anchor has a Tyrannosaurus Rex model on his desk for the first time ever. Switch to Fuji TV Variety, and you'll see comedians in inflatable dinosaur costumes rolling around in a mud pit, grimacing in their struggle for ratings, with exaggerated captions like "Great Panic!!"
Even the Nikkei, which prides itself on its aloofness and focuses solely on politics and economics, dedicated a front-page special to "dinosaurs."
Column.
Economists who usually talk about interest rates and exchange rates are now turning into paleontologists, trying to prove whether this prehistoric behemoth can bite through the depression following the bursting of the bubble economy.
Some predict that paleontology will become a popular major at universities next year.
Of course, the ones who suffered the most were the two Hollywood stars who were sent to Japan.
Sam Neill probably never imagined that he, as a serious actor, would have to endure the pungent smell of wasabi sushi on a prime-time Japan Variety while also having to mimic the terrified expressions of a staff member in a cheap leather suit behind him.
Lara Dern was surrounded by enthusiastic high school girls at her Ginza promotional event, her hands stuffed with all sorts of strange chibi dinosaur keychains, and a smile of both gratitude and confusion on her face.
In this atmosphere of nationwide fervor, anything associated with the word "dinosaur" was a guarantee of high viewership and sales.
It was August, in the conference room of Sega Headquarters building.
Everyone was gathered around the newly replaced fax machine, staring intently at the thermal paper that was slowly being dispensed, their eyes like those of a father waiting for his child at the door of a delivery room.
"They're here!" Kobayashi from the Sales Department shouted, his voice hoarse.
Before the paper was completely cut, it was suddenly pulled out by a hand.
Tom Kalinske's voice, thick with California accent, traveled to Tokyo via the hands-free phone.
"Listen up! You bunch of guys, sit tight!"
Tom seemed to have taken a big gulp of something on the other end; his voice sounded both excited and a little breathless. "As of yesterday, including the data just compiled from Europe —MD cartridges plus Sega-CDs—the total shipments in Europe and America—"
He paused deliberately, and even across the Pacific Ocean, he could feel the smug, arrogant expression on the foreigner's face.
Nakayama Takuya leaned back in his chair, twirling the pen in his hand, a slight movement at the corner of his mouth.
"Three million two hundred thousand copies."
Tom yelled.
The conference room fell silent for a second, then erupted into a cheer that could have lifted the roof off.
Several young employees even jumped up and down, and even the usually serious CFO was beaming, his folding fan moving at the speed of a helicopter rotor.
In addition, there have been over 2.3 million units sold in Japan to date.
Global sales exceeded 5.5 million copies.
What does this mean? In an era when a single cassette tape could cost six or seven thousand Japanese yen or even more, this was a huge sum of money that could instantly turn any listed company's financial report into a "golden book."
In just over a month, this Tyrannosaurus Rex brought Sega an astronomical amount of cash flow.
"And this isn't the end!" Tom continued yelling on the other end. "The Walmart purchasing manager just contacted me, saying that if we need to restock another 200,000 sheets next week, Takuya, our OEM factory hasn't stopped operating, has it?"
Nakayama Takuya shook his head with a smile and said into the microphone, "Tom, you don't need to worry about the contract manufacturer. You should keep an eye on the cargo plane landing in San Francisco tomorrow."
He hung up the phone, stood up, and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.
Downstairs, a long line of delivery trucks were driving out of the warehouse.
Further away in Akihabara, a slightly disheveled handwritten notice was posted in front of the MesseSanoh store. "Jurassic Park series out of stock. Next shipment will arrive tomorrow afternoon."
This is actually the second wave of the craze.
If a month ago, hardcore gamers were buying games because of Sega's reputation, then since the movie was released in Japan two weeks ago, the composition of the people buying the game has become completely chaotic.
That day, Takuya went to inspect the store and saw a housewife wearing an apron carrying freshly bought green onions, who was going to buy a box of Jurassic Park for her son.
The film's appeal to all ages is the key to the game's sales exceeding 5.5 million copies.
Bandai Headquarters Building.
The Sales Headquarters loosened his tie, popped two buttons off his shirt, and, clutching two phones, roared into the receivers, "Don't talk to me about inventory turnover! Right now, as long as the trucks dare to haul goods out of the warehouse, that's sales! There's no need for statistics; the delivery slip is the sales order!"
The conference room was filled with smoke. These old men, who could argue all afternoon over a mere 0.5% profit margin, were now grinning like foxes who had just stolen a chicken, as they looked at the shipment curve on the wall.