Clumsy Atari

November 23, 1993, on the eve of Thanksgiving.

Atari put this highly anticipated "savior" on its shelves.

At US dollar 249.99, compared to Panasonic's machine whose price tag alone is prohibitive, the price is indeed much more reasonable.

The slogan "Do the Math" on the poster is still eye-catching, as if mocking every player who is still playing 16-bit consoles for failing math.

But when the first batch of machines were bought by hardcore gamers and the casings were opened, all the anticipation turned into an awkward silence.

At Sega Headquarters, Nakayama Takuya looked at the emergency disassembly report sent by the technical department, his finger pausing on a line of bolded chip codes, his expression becoming quite interesting.

"Tom? Jerry?" he uttered the two names, then looked up at Hisao Oguchi standing at the table. "Is this the chip's code name, or is Trammell playing a joke on us?"

Hisao Oguchi's expression wasn't much better. He smiled wryly and pointed to the circuit diagram attached to the report, "Executive Director, these are indeed the Fangdai for the two 32-bit RISC processors customized by Atari. Tom is responsible for graphics rendering, and theoretically can achieve a resolution of 720×576; Jerry is responsible for audio synthesis, supporting 16-bit audio effects."

"Tom and Jerry—" Nakayama Takuya tossed the report onto the table and sank into his leather chair. "They think that by combining two 32-bit chips, they can create a 64-bit chip?"

"This is what they call an arithmetic problem." Hisao Oguchi sighed and turned to the next page.

Although Atari claimed that Tom and Jerry had a 64-bit data bus, this was a complete misrepresentation in the computer science definition at the time.

Worse still, this distributed multiprocessor architecture is a programmer's nightmare.

At this moment, the North America gaming community was in an uproar following the release of the latest issue of Electronic Gaming Monthly (EGM).

This authoritative magazine showed no mercy to the former industry leader, thoroughly exposing Jaguar in a column. "This so-called 64-bit system is nothing but a clumsy numerical fraud. Atari asked us to do the math, and we concluded that the machine's architecture is like a bunch of incompatible parts forcibly soldered together."

Third-party developers are complaining bitterly.

Without comprehensive development tools and a unified function library, programmers had to manually manage caches and instruction flows to enable Tom and Jerry to work together.

If there's even the slightest logical conflict in the code, the entire machine will crash, just like that stupid cat.

Most manufacturers who received the development machines made the same decision after trying them out for two weeks: to leave the machines in the warehouse to gather dust.

As for the players?

They are indeed very good at arithmetic.

While US dollar 249 isn't expensive, it's clearly not worth buying a machine that has no games to play, a controller that's like a brick, and is useless except for bragging rights.

The Jaguar sat there all alone on the shelf.

The Tramiel Family's much-vaunted "cost-effective" strategy proved as fragile as a soaked sheet of paper in the face of a lack of software support.

Nakayama Takuya closed the disassembly report and casually tossed it aside. "No need to keep an eye on Atari anymore."

In the two consecutive months leading up to the end of the year, both consoles performed poorly in the market, failing to make any significant impact on the gaming community.

On the contrary, the posters for the Square Classic Game Concert, which had been quietly promoted since the summer's Jurassic Park craze gradually faded, began to be advertised in a low-key manner.

There were no overwhelming TV commercials, nor any desperate hawking.

They didn't even hold a special press conference.

Overnight, a dark blue poster quietly appeared in front of the game shops most frequented by gamers in Akihabara, Shinjuku, and Nihonbashi, Osaka.

The poster design is minimalist, featuring only the iconic crystal pattern and a line of gold-stamped text: <Square Classic Game Concert>.

That's enough.

For players who were once inspired by the incredible 40-point performance of Chrono Trigger, this poster is more impactful than any promotional offer.

"Boss, what's this row of things?"

In a long-established game store, several high school students with backpacks pointed at the newly displayed reservation forms on the counter.

The store manager, a balding middle-aged man, was dusting off some old shelves with a feather duster. Without looking up, he said, "Didn't you see the poster? Square is holding a symphony concert in Tokyo. This is for ticket reservations."

"A symphony orchestra?" The boy in the lead's eyes lit up instantly, the look of someone hearing their first love's name. "Will Uematsu go?"

"Not only will he go, but he'll also personally conduct on stage." The shop manager tucked a feather duster under his arm and slammed a list on the table. "And Yasunori Mitsuda is also in it. I heard he's not only performing in Final Fantasy this time, but also premiering a medley from Chrono Trigger."

Several students gasped and exchanged fervent glances.

"How much?"

"Seat S costs 12,000, Seat A costs 8,000, and Seat B costs 5,000."

The air was silent for a few seconds.

For students, this price is equivalent to half a month's worth of lunches, even for a B-class seat.

"It's a bit expensive," someone muttered quietly.

"Expensive?" A nearby office worker, who was browsing games, turned around, his Casio co-branded watch gleaming under the lights. "That's the main concert hall of the Tokyo University of Music, a place only famous musicians could go to before. Now the music from the game we're playing can go there, that's what you call prestige! 12,000 yen for prestige, worth it!"

After saying that, the man pulled out his wallet and slapped out a wad of 10,000-yuan bills. "Boss, two S seats, I'm taking my girlfriend to get some 'indoctrination'."

The students were stunned by this display of boldness, but also became even more conflicted.

The store manager noticed the kids' embarrassment and pointed to the bottom half of the reservation form. "It's okay if you can't make it to the event. The live recording will be made into CDs and vinyl records, and if you pre-order now, you'll receive a bonus poster for 2,500 Japanese yen."

"I want this!" The boy in the lead immediately pulled out his money, his movements as fast as if he were grabbing the last bento box. "Even if I can't go to the event, I can do it at home with headphones on! This is art!"

"I want one too!"

"I want one too!"

Similar scenes are playing out repeatedly in game stores of all sizes throughout Japan.

Square's marketing strategy this time was very precise.

For die-hard fans who bought the collector's edition game and the collaboration watch, this ticket is the final piece of the "pilgrimage" puzzle.

Some gamers even discuss what color suit and tie to wear when they get together, making sure they don't embarrass themselves as gamers.

For ordinary players who are short of money, the pre-sale CD became the best psychological comfort.