Monday morning after Valentine's Day, the MD launch command room buzzed. The sales manager, dark circles under his eyes, clutched a stack of fresh faxed reports. Standing before the whiteboard, he stared at Saturday's bold ">" symbol of victory, lips moving silently.
All eyes were on him. "Speak!" the marketing lead urged.
The manager's face twisted with joy and disbelief. His marker squeaked harshly as he wrote: "Valentine's Day! *Super Mario Bros. 3*, Tokyo sales—68,300 units!"
A hush, then low chuckles erupted. "And us?" someone shouted.
Switching to a red marker, he scrawled heavily: "*Pokémon Park: Adventure*—102,000 units! Pikachu limited bundles, 15,000 stocked in Tokyo—all sold out! Nidoran 'Proof of Love' plushies, 3,000 pairs—all given out!"
"Woooh!" Cheers thundered unrestrained. The manager tossed his pen, hugging the marketing lead, pounding his back until he coughed. "We won! We crushed Mario in Tokyo!"
Hayao Nakayama rose from the sofa, approaching the whiteboard's stark numbers. He said nothing, just clapped Takuya's shoulder firmly. Takuya flashed a confident smile, then turned to the PR lead with one word: "Begin."
The primed media machine roared to life. Press releases flooded newspapers and TV stations. By Tuesday, Tokyo's newsstands laid bare the battle.
*Asahi Shimbun*: "Game Throne Shift? Sega MD First-Week Sales Crush Nintendo's New Mario!"
*Yomiuri Shimbun*: "Akihabara Carnival Victory: How Pokémon Beat the Plumber?"
TV noon news exaggerated: "Last Wednesday, we saw the 'DQ Uproar' chaos; this weekend, Sega's *Pokémon Park* brought joy. One tense, one relaxed—two companies' images contrast sharply."
Nintendo's loyalists, oblivious, were either glued to *Dragon Quest III* at home or unaware of the media storm at work or school.
In Kyoto, Nintendo's headquarters was grim. Newspapers slammed onto the conference table. Hiroshi Yamauchi's face darkened, dripping with fury. "Sega's bastards!" a director growled. "A sneak attack! Our players were just playing *Dragon Quest*!"
Silence followed. What could they say? A public statement admitting "*Mario 3* flopped because *Dragon Quest III*'s million daily sales trapped our fans at home"? After Wednesday's apology debacle, mentioning *DQ3* would be self-sabotage. The frustration choked every executive, nearly drawing blood.
Riding this media wave, MD sales galloped like a wild stallion. The command room's tension turned to feverish anticipation, like passengers on a launching rocket. By Friday noon, the fax machine spat out a long strip. The sales manager, holding it like a sacred scroll, approached the whiteboard. Silence fell, breaths held. He faced the room, pride and daze mixing on his face.
"Everyone," he turned, marker scratching deliberately. "MD consoles, Japan total—over 500,000 units!"
Gasps, then stifled cheers erupted. He continued: "Total cartridges—over one million!" Averaging two games per MD buyer.
"Our fight's not done!" Takuya's voice grounded the ecstasy. "North America and Europe reports are pending." All eyes turned to the corner's international fax machine.
Waiting was agony. Saturday evening, the fax beeped crisply. The overseas liaison tore off the sheet, hands shaking, and handed it to Hayao. Hayao glanced at it, his stern face softening. Wordlessly, he passed it to Takuya.
Takuya scanned it: Europe MD sales, 83,000 units. North America, 254,000. He slid the fax to the sales manager, who, with a deep breath, added the figures below Japan's 560,000. No one calculated aloud, but minds tallied: global first-week sales neared 900,000.
A brief silence exploded into deafening cheers. Amid the frenzy, Hayao approached Takuya, pressing a heavy hand on his shoulder. No words, just warmth and strength conveyed everything.
Takuya covered his father's hand. "Next week, Konami's on you, Father."
Hayao nodded, patted twice, and left the room. The first week's goal was perfectly achieved.