Hisao Oguchi understood. The managing director was treating Final Fantasy VII as a heavy hammer.
It needed no flashy marketing tricks—just the purest, most violent visual impact, and an epic, massive scale, smashing straight through the players' psychological defenses.
The pressing cost for four CDs was extremely high, and Square had all but shouldered a financial risk that gambled the company's fate.
But Sega had provided the smoothest channels and top-tier technical support, which meant it had firmly gripped the handle of this heavy hammer in its own hands.
Nintendo used four controllers to draw players in; Sega would use four discs to lock them dead in front of the television!
"Are the logistics arranged for launch day?" Nakayama Takuya tapped the tabletop with his knuckles.
"Everything's ready. For remote areas, the stock was sent out three days early to guard against blizzards." Hisao Oguchi answered, then frowned slightly. "However, there's one small issue. The multi-disc plastic cases Square is using this time are too thick. They're practically bricks. Retail stores have to halve their shelf display density, and some managers have complained to us that they take up too much space."
"Take up space?" Nakayama Takuya gave a soft laugh, his tone steady yet carrying absolute domineering confidence. "Tell those managers there's no need to put them on the shelves. Have them cut open the cartons full of games and stack them right beside the cash register to sell. That's all."
"I don't believe that on launch day, they'll still have the leisure to calmly arrange Final Fantasy VII boxes on the shelves. Once the cartons are opened, they'll absolutely be snatched empty in an instant."
The view pulled back to that video game store in Akihabara.
The four boys' trial play had already ended.
The final ranking results