Interactive Digital Software Association IDSA

Just as Nakayama Takuya's hand was on the doorknob, Tom Kalinske suddenly called out to him, "There's something else that's been on my mind for a long time, and I just have to get it off my chest."

"About the disaster in Las Vegas in January?" Nakayama Takuya stopped, sat back in his Genuine Leather armchair, and crossed his legs. "I saw your report back then was full of words starting with F. What, still angry?"

Tom slammed the pen he had just picked up onto the table, as if he wanted to rub the CES organizers' faces into the ground.

"Is that anger? That's humiliation! Sega, the number one game company in North America, where the booth is located? In the most remote corner of the exhibition hall! To find our booth, you have to walk through two whole blocks of the pornography industry exhibition area!"

Tom became increasingly agitated, even standing up to gesture. "Do you know what that felt like? On one side, scantily clad women were peddling adult videos, and on the other, we were demonstrating Sonic and Pokémon with controllers. The media passing by looked at us like we were a group of Boy Scouts who had wandered into a red-light district. Not to mention the smaller manufacturers; the exhibition hall leaked that day, and a small RPG company's machine was completely soaked and reduced to scrap metal. The organizers couldn't even be bothered to provide a waterproof tarpaulin, just throwing out a 'That's your own problem.'"

"In their eyes, video games are nothing more than cheap toys in a different skin, even though the output we generate is almost catching up with Hollywood," Nakayama Takuya added calmly, his fingers rhythmically tapping his knees.

"Exactly! Those arrogant bastards." Tom unbuttoned a button on his collar to relieve his frustration. "They think they can support the entire consumer electronics market with refrigerators, color TVs, and talking plastic dolls, completely ignoring the booming gaming industry. Even our press conference was scheduled after a seminar on 'noise control for new vacuum cleaners'!"

"If that's the case, why bother living under someone else's roof and begging for food?"

Tom paused, a surge of anger stuck in his throat. "What do you mean?"

"Since CES doesn't take us seriously, then let's not go." Nakayama Takuya stood up, walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, looked at the busy street outside, and said in a flat tone, as if he were talking about what to eat for dinner, "Why can't we have our own convention? A convention that belongs only to video games. No refrigerators, no washing machines, and certainly no adult videotapes blocking the way."

Tom's eyes widened slowly, and his breathing became rapid. "You mean—to become independent?"

"It's not just about independence." Nakayama Takuya turned around, his voice not loud, but it carried an undeniable ambition. "We want to unite all game companies— Nintendo, Sony, EA, Capcom —no matter how fiercely they fight each other, on this matter, everyone's interests are aligned. We need a voice, we need a place where we can speak with our heads held high."

He walked up to Tom, placed his hands on the desk, and looked him straight in the eye. "Go contact them and form our own organization, called the Interactive Digital Software Association (IDSA). Then, find a better place than that leaky shed in Las Vegas and host a grand event exclusively for players and gamers. We'll take the ticket revenue, the media attention, and set the rules."

Tom felt all the blood rushing to his head.

This is not just retaliation for CES's arrogance; it's about completely reshaping the industry landscape. If this succeeds, Sega will no longer be just a participant, but one of the rule-makers.

"IDSA----" Tom muttered to himself, then slapped his thigh, a typical United States smirk spreading across his face. "That's a brilliant idea! I can just imagine the expressions on the faces of those CES organizers when they get their withdrawal notices. They'll look worse than if they'd swallowed a fly."

"In the establishment and subsequent operation of IDSA, Sega does not need to act as a dictator or a leader in its own right."

Nakayama Takuya sat back down on the sofa, his fingers lightly tapping the Genuine Leather armrest. His tone was calm yet exuded a confident air of control, "We don't need to seek absolute dominance in this association. What we need to do is make the pie bigger and set the stage well. As for how to perform on that stage, that's up to each person's abilities."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the Sega family portrait poster hanging on the wall—from the Mega Drive to the Game Pocket, every piece of hardware had a dominant performance in the market.

"Sega today is so healthy, both in terms of hardware and software, that those bloodsuckers on Wall Street are green with envy. Its supply chain, from chip manufacturing to distribution, is a complete closed loop. To put it arrogantly, as long as we compete under fair rules, we don't need to resort to political maneuvering to win. Let the association drive industry development and fight for growth at the societal level—that's the real business."

Tom Kalinske nodded repeatedly, the red pen twirling rapidly between his fingers.

Sega's current size certainly gives it the right to demonstrate the demeanor of a "leading brother".

"And what about our own trade show?" Tom slammed his pen on the table and leaned forward. "Where will it be held? When will it be held? I can't wait to crush those CES bastards."

"Don't rush things, haste makes waste." Nakayama Takuya waved his hand with a smile. "If we're going to do it, we should make it an industry benchmark, a carnival for gamers. My suggestion is to hold it next May."

"Next year?" Tom frowned. "That long?"

"We need to create a time difference with CES. CES is usually at the beginning of the year, while we're in the middle. This gives manufacturers six months for R&D sprints and avoids the brunt of CES. More importantly, we need time to prepare." Nakayama Takuya held up three fingers. "Venue, security, media invitations—every single link must be flawless. We want all exhibitors and media to feel from the moment they enter: this is the treatment video games should receive, not having to endure the noise of the vacuum cleaner next door in a leaky shed in Las Vegas."

Tom stroked his stubble, lost in thought. "Indeed, if we mess it up the first time, nobody will believe us anymore. Where?"

"Los Angeles. It's the entertainment capital, close to Hollywood, close to us, and close to most United States game companies and the United States branches of other game companies." Nakayama Takuya was already confident. "The association headquarters is also located in the United States. After all, it's the world's largest single market, and the Europe and Japan branches report to the United States headquarters, making the process smoother."