Monday, Konami's headquarters, in a meeting room overlooking Osaka's industrial district. Kagemasa Kozuki, ever the genial host, poured tea for Hayao Nakayama with the same practiced grace as when he hosted Takuya, as if nothing had changed.
"President Nakayama, congratulations. The MD's launch was earth-shattering, truly eye-opening," Kozuki said, pushing the teacup forward, his tone ambiguous between sincerity and courtesy.
Hayao left the tea untouched. From his briefcase, he produced a slim document, placing it beside the exquisite Arita porcelain tea set. Titled "MD First-Week Sales Report and Future Product Line Plan," it was starkly simple. "President Kozuki flatters us. Just luck," Hayao said evenly, "This data is more detailed than the papers."
Kozuki's smile held as he opened the file, his eyes catching the global sales figure—nearly 900,000 units. His pupils flicked slightly. Media hype was one thing; this report, delivered by Sega's president, carried weight. His fingers traced Japan's "560,000 units," calculating Konami's potential market share.
"*Pokémon* is a stroke of genius," Kozuki said pointedly, closing the file. "Your son outshines the master."
"Takuya's young, sometimes impulsive," Hayao replied, pivoting. "Like hiring Hideo Kojima without consulting you. I apologize on his behalf."
The room's air stiffened. Kozuki's smile twitched, a rare crack. An apology for hiring a fired employee? A jab at his judgment? "President Nakayama, you're too kind," Kozuki recovered, his old-fox charm returning. "Konami's too small for big talents. Kojima's lucky to find Sega. I should thank you for handling our misfit."
A watertight deflection, kicking the ball back. Hayao didn't flinch. Verbal sparring was just the appetizer. "You know why I'm here," he leaned forward. "Takuya's offer still stands. He promised a future; I bring a present with nearly a million users."
Kozuki lifted his cup, skimming foam with the lid, not drinking. "Tempting terms. But Nintendo—"
"President Kozuki," Hayao cut in, "we've both slaved under Nintendo's shadow for years. You know how tight their collar is. I'm just putting the key on the table."
Kozuki paused, set down the cup, and leaned back. His eyes, behind gold-rimmed glasses, gleamed unmasked. "We've evaluated the MD's hardware—impressive," he said candidly. "If Konami made, say, a *Contra* sequel exclusive to MD, what extra support could Sega offer?"
The merchant named his price. Hayao's first genuine smile emerged. "Marketing costs: Sega covers 70%, Konami 30%. Our North American branch will prioritize it. Oh, and Takuya suggests a limited-edition console bundle for major exclusives, like *Pokémon*'s, capped at 10,000 units. Sega can cut profits by five points on those."
Sipping tea casually, Hayao added, "*Pokémon*'s 30,000 limited consoles sold out in Tokyo by Valentine's noon. Secondhand, they're nearing 40,000 yen. I'm tempted to have Terauchi-san slip 20,000 more to the resellers." A chuckle.
Kozuki's fingers tapped the leather armrest—tap, tap, tap—rhythmic and deliberate. The room held only that sound. His mental scales tipped toward Sega.
Meanwhile, Takuya pulled his RX-7 into Koei's Yokohama Nissei office. He met Koei's founders, Yoichi and Keiko Erikawa. The meeting room, lacking lavish sofas or fine china, had wooden furniture and walls of history, geography, and economics books. Yoichi, a scholarly man with glasses, exuded warmth; Keiko, sharp-eyed, radiated efficiency.
After brief pleasantries, Takuya placed the same sales report on the table. The Erikawas had heard of Sega's success—Yokohama wasn't far from Tokyo—but the detailed report hit differently. Keiko lingered on Japan's "560,000 units."
"Sega's achievement under Nintendo's pressure is admirable," Yoichi said sincerely, adjusting his glasses.
"Indeed," Keiko added. "I hear MD's launch and lineup owe much to Executive Nakayama. Quite the rising star."
"Just teamwork," Takuya demurred, then cut to the chase. "President Erikawa, *Nobunaga's Ambition* and *Romance of the Three Kingdoms* shine on PC. Any plans for console ports?"
Yoichi sighed. "Consoles' limitations cripple our complex systems and data. Porting means gutting the essence—it's a different game."
The Famicom's weak hardware had stymied PC developers like Koei. "That's where the MD excels," Takuya leaned in. "Its 16-bit Motorola MC68000 processor—familiar to PC developers—plus superior RAM and VRAM, far outstrips the Famicom. Crucially," he emphasized, "our flexible cartridge capacity supports data-heavy games like *Nobunaga* and *Three Kingdoms*, delivering near-PC experiences with easier porting."
Yoichi's eyes sparked, exchanging a glance with Keiko. She took over, pragmatic: "Executive Nakayama, we know Sega's third-party policies are looser than Nintendo's. But for high-capacity cartridges, what cost support can Sega offer?"
"Good question," Takuya smiled. "For Koei's boutique strategy games, we'll provide tailored technical support to optimize costs. Our cartridge production lines have surplus capacity to ensure partners like Koei are covered." He paused, then dangled bait: "Beyond capacity, our cartridge tech includes integrated chips for enhanced computing or visuals, pushing MD games beyond hardware limits. We offer mature programming frameworks free to developers."
Takuya's MD development prioritized third-party-friendly tools, unlike the real-world Sega's clunky kits. Keiko's interest piqued—this freed Koei's creative potential. After lengthy talks, the Erikawas, intrigued but cautious, promised to study the proposal.
Takuya stood to leave, pulling an MD console and cartridge from his bag. "A gift—our next game, out next week." Yoichi saw the cover: *Super Robot Wars*. "A strategy game," Takuya nodded. "Familiar mechanics, but with robot units. Try it out."
Yoichi smiled. "I'll look forward to it." Takuya bowed and left.