Kyoto, Nintendo headquarters.
Yamauchi Hiroshi sat upright behind his broad office desk, listening expressionlessly to his subordinate's report.
The subordinate, a middle-aged manager in charge of market intelligence, had a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his voice cautious, as if walking across ice.
"President, over at Sega... the response to the Fatal Fury tournament has exceeded our estimates."
"The Tokyo qualifiers are over, and the buzz is extremely high."
The manager flipped through the documents in his hands. The papers rubbed together with a soft rustle, sounding especially grating in the silence.
"The Television magazine ran a feature report, and its sales have risen noticeably."
"Fuji TV has also confirmed that starting from the quarterfinals of the national finals, it will televise every match live."
Televised live.
Those four words sent an almost imperceptible shadow flickering through Yamauchi Hiroshi's eyes.
That meant Sega's clamor would invade the living rooms of countless households from the noisy arcades.
That was Nintendo's territory.
"They're very good at packaging things."
The manager continued, trying to explain the opponent's success.
"They dig up so-called 'grassroots heroes,' emphasize competitiveness, and link video games with sportsmanship..."
"Most of the media coverage has also been positive. As for some of the negative narratives we spread before..."
The manager's voice lowered.
"...the results have not been ideal."
"Sega's public relations response has been quick, and moreover, attacking the games themselves too much may affect our own games..."
Yamauchi Hiroshi's fingers tapped lightly and unconsciously on the smooth, expensive tabletop.
Like some kind of metronome, counting the accumulation of his displeasure.
Sega's gaudy tricks were like the irritating mosquitoes and flies of summer, buzzing incessantly, making one irritable.
"The 'tripwire' we tried to create was easily bypassed by them?"
Yamauchi Hiroshi's voice was not loud, but it carried