Takuya Nakayama's handheld project proposal passed unanimously at the board meeting. No surprise—MD's unstoppable sales fueled Sega's soaring morale. No one would reject a project poised to open a new battlefield, especially after *Tetris*' handheld version proved the market's potential.
Post-meeting, Takuya returned to his office, where marketing's Masao Suzuki awaited with a brief. "Check this—Kyoto's latest move."
Takuya scanned the document, eyes locking on the headline: February 20, Nintendo's *Super Mario Bros. 3* finally outsold Sega's *Pokémon Park: Adventure* weekly. "Too late," Takuya smirked. MD's toughest launch window was over, its explosive sales already a weapon for swaying third parties.
The next item confirmed it: "Konami and Bandai officially join MD's camp," Suzuki read, casual as discussing weather. "We just held a victory party; Nintendo's probably in chaos."
Takuya tapped the next line. "Let them. But look—Nintendo banned Konami and Bandai games from their platforms."
Suzuki chuckled, shaking his head. "That's just posturing. It's toothless—only screams their impotent rage."
Laughter filled the office. The industry's towering giant showed its first clear cracks. Nintendo's response—reactive, hesitant—boiled the pot instead of dousing the fire.
Kyoto, Nintendo's headquarters. The meeting room was stifling, heads bowed, none daring to speak or meet the gaze of the old man at the head, seemingly dozing. Konami and Bandai's defection slapped every Nintendo executive. This wasn't about money—it challenged their empire's order.
"President, everyone—" a young director broke the suffocating silence. "We should rethink our royalty system. Sega's aggressive, their terms too generous. If we don't adjust, we risk—"
"Risk what?" an elder loyalist cut in sharply, Hiroshi Yamauchi's confidant. "Beg those fickle traitors like Sega? Nintendo's empire was built on rules! Iron will! Yield to Konami today, and tomorrow Capcom and Taito follow. The empire rots at its roots!"
"But it's already shaking!" the young director stood, heated. "We're losing allies! It's not about wanting to yield—it's can we afford to lose more?"
"Let them go! Nintendo rules the industry with our games alone!"
"Times have changed!"
The room erupted, factions clashing—one urging concessions to stabilize, the other demanding harsher measures to uphold dignity. Both skirted the silent figure at the head.
Hiroshi Yamauchi sat detached, eyes unopened. The shouting faded, exhausted, all eyes turning to him for judgment. Slowly, he opened his eyes, tea-colored lenses betraying no emotion.
He ignored the squabbling, his gaze settling on two at the table's end. "Uemura-kun, Takeda-kun."
Masayuki Uemura, hardware lead, and Genyo Takeda, chip research head, stiffened, sitting upright. "Yes, sir."
Yamauchi's low voice silenced the room. No mention of royalties or third parties, as if the debate never happened. "Nintendo's 16-bit console," he said flatly, "must be prioritized."
"Hai!"
As the console war blazed, developers battled, but players reaped the rewards. Sega's MD-ported arcade hits, backed by a massive fanbase, soared in sales. Playing arcade-quality games at home was pure bliss for countless players.
But the true market detonator was unexpected. *Pokémon Park: Adventure* launched with core gamers skeptical—Pikachu, Squirtle, and Bulbasaur on the cover screamed "kiddie."
Yet, when families and women, nudged by store clerks, tried the cartridge, everything changed. "Mom, I can't pass the fire!" a seven-year-old girl tugged her mother's arm one weekend afternoon.
"Don't worry, let's see—don't we have Squirtle? Switch to it." On the TV, chubby Squirtle stepped forward, spraying a water jet to douse the flames. The girl cheered; her mother smiled knowingly.
This cooperative puzzle-solving—simple, intuitive, pure—captivated housewives new to gaming. Soon, *Pokémon* became the talk of afternoon teas and office breaks. "How'd you clear that vine-switch part? I tried so many times!" "Stand farther, aim carefully—but I miss on purpose; Bulbasaur's face is adorable!" "I love Pikachu, zapping those clumsy robots to paralysis—so fun!"
Its unique puzzle-platforming and light controls, powered by Pokémon's IP, broke boundaries. No longer just kids' fare, it bonded friends, gal-pals, and families. When dedicated kids finally beat the park's giant robotic Pokémon, they found the game wasn't over—a hidden door opened deep within.