Back from Bandai, Takuya added their name to the reserved spot on the launch command room's whiteboard.
Teams returned to headquarters, reporting third-party negotiation results. "Executive Nakayama, here's the summary," a sharp subordinate placed a file on Takuya's desk. "As expected, the most enthusiastic are small-to-mid PC game developers."
His tone carried excitement. "Our terms are a godsend. Unlike Nintendo's full upfront cartridge orders and risk burden, our approach spares them that agony. Small studio heads are practically weeping with gratitude—no more sleepless nights over whether to order 30,000 or 50,000 units."
Another chimed in, "One small company's president dragged our team to a kaiseki dinner, downing sake first thing, saying Nintendo's cartridge prepayments and inventory risks nearly bankrupted him. He called our terms a lifeline."
"Falcom?" Takuya asked, scanning the file without looking up.
"They signed a letter of intent. They've long wanted *Ys* and *Dragon Slayer* on consoles, but Famicom's limits forced gutted ports. MD's 16-bit architecture is a blessing—they can port without butchering their games."
Takuya nodded, unsurprised. Nintendo's empire, while mighty, was rigid and exclusionary, giving Sega openings. "Falcom's short on staff and needs our support for porting," the subordinate added.
Takuya waved it off. "No issue. With graduation season, we've hired fresh talent. Let veterans guide them on these low-complexity projects—perfect training. Once seasoned, we'll summarize this year's experience and kick off a second wave of in-house game development."
"But," the subordinate hesitated, "big players like Capcom are still cagey."
"Expected," Takuya leaned back, setting down the file. "Kenzo Tsujimoto's a street-fighter from the arcade world. Teaming with an old rival like us? His pride balks. Plus, *Mega Man*'s hot on Famicom, their arcade business is booming, and they're developing a new arcade board. Their cash flow's solid—they can afford to sit tight."
"What about Namco?" Takuya asked.
"President Masaya Nakamura," the subordinate grimaced, "was polite, tea was pleasant, but he's noncommittal. Our team thinks he's playing us against NEC's PC Engine, fishing for the best deal."
Takuya smirked. "Namco's in a bind. They bet on PC Engine to break out, but Hudson and NEC are flopping—PC Engine's half-year sales are nearly matched by us. They want to jump ship but fear the fall. Let them stew."
He closed the report, placing it on the desk, and scanned the room's mix of eager and anxious faces, chuckling. "Why rush? Rome wasn't built in a day, nor will Nintendo's dominance topple overnight. Big firms have their pride and calculations—normal. When our lineup grows, they'll come around. Get back to work."
Dismissing the team, Takuya, with no urgent tasks, headed to the hardware development department. Unlike the command room's buzz, it was quiet, smelling of rosin. Minister Nakamura, buried in blueprints and component samples, looked up, adjusting his glasses. Gone was his usual tension, replaced by a techie's thrill.
"Nakayama-san, perfect timing. Our team finished preliminary tests and a pre-research report," Nakamura said.
"Oh? Results?" Takuya approached, intrigued.
Nakamura didn't answer directly, handing over a green circuit board with wires, components, and buttons. "This is a simplified prototype based on your concept." He pointed to a small LCD screen and flipped a switch. A soft white glow lit up—no image, but Takuya's eyes sparkled.
"Sharp's new front-light solution replaces backlighting, with lower power draw than expected and manageable costs. Color's weaker, but our 4-level grayscale screen minimizes that. Your switchable screen light is fully feasible," Nakamura said, tinged with awe.
He handed over a neat report. "This is the core." Takuya flipped through, finding hardware specs and frameworks close to his vision, refined with data and supplier details. His pulse quickened—seeing a configuration eerily like the Game Boy, history was bending in his hands.
"The report's clear," Nakamura pulled him back. "Your demands—high integration, low power, reliability—are theoretically achievable. But there's one core hurdle."
"CPU," Takuya said instantly.
Nakamura nodded approvingly. "Exactly. We tested all Z80 variants—none meet our extreme low-power and integration needs. Using off-the-shelf parts would make a bulky, short-lived device. Our only path is designing a new, compatible chip from scratch."
He paused, voice grave. "Based on the Z80 instruction set, we'd integrate memory controllers, audio processing, and I/O control into one SoC. We'd switch to memory-mapped I/O and use a boot ROM for cartridge authentication to boost anti-piracy. This isn't just part selection—it's a full custom design."
Takuya closed the report, smiling. "That's the point of pre-research—find the problem, chart the best path." He tapped the report, its rustle crisp in the quiet office. "Minister Nakamura, you and your team have outdone yourselves. This isn't just a feasibility study—it's a project blueprint for the board."
His gaze sharpened. "Tomorrow, I'll propose the handheld project to the board. Bring this report and join me."