In the conference room at Nintendo headquarters, the air seemed to have solidified, so oppressive it left people struggling to breathe.
Yamauchi Hiroshi's knuckles tapped the polished mahogany tabletop, neither lightly nor heavily. Each tok, tok struck the hearts of everyone present like a drumbeat. The aura he usually carried, commanding without anger, now felt even heavier, like a mountain.
On the projection screen, the market analyst had just finished his report. A glaring data chart mercilessly laid bare the vast gulf between expectations and actual sales of Nintendo's Famicom cartridges on the eve of Christmas. The curve representing actual sales looked as if something had dragged it down by force, leaving an ugly gap behind. Following close after was a report on recent sales data for the Pokémon series of products—the sales of the electronic pet units themselves continued to climb, while the revenue from evolution stones, communication exchange services, and those gaudy peripheral products at the Pokémon Center had drawn a growth curve so steep it was alarming, in an almost savage fashion.
"Sega's combination punch is no longer as simple as merely selling toys." A director normally known for his composure now had veins faintly pulsing at his temples, and his voice carried a trace of hoarseness that was not easy to detect. He pushed up the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, as though trying to see more clearly just what kind of opponent this was.
Another executive in charge of marketing picked up the thread, his tone losing its usual ease and flair and gaining a measure of gravity. "They're weaving a huge net—from the story content of the animated series, to the electronic pets in children's hands, to the offline Pokémon Center experience—competing for the attention of the younger generation in every direction, with no