Fresh off *Final Fantasy*'s victory party, Takuya Nakayama left the celebration behind, striding through Sega's headquarters toward the *Phantasy Star* development team's room.
Pushing open the door, he was hit by a stale mix of instant coffee and stifled silence. No bustling energy—screens flickered with green code, but keyboard clacks were sparse, hesitant, often followed by long pauses. One developer repeatedly deleted fresh lines.
Takuya's gaze swept the room, settling on a slumped figure in the corner. Yuji Naka, hands buried in messy hair, looked like a wilted plant. His ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts; a cold coffee cup sat filmy. Up close, his young face bore heavy dark circles, eyes blankly fixed on a character design, seeing nothing.
"Naka-san," Takuya's quiet voice cut through the stillness.
Naka's shoulders twitched. He looked up, bloodshot eyes flashing panic before dimming. "Executive Nakayama—" He tried to stand, stiff from hours seated, moving sluggishly.
"Sit." Takuya pulled a chair beside him, glancing at the team's defeated expressions, each chained by doubt. "I hear *Phantasy Star*'s development is struggling."
Naka's lips twitched into a bitter smile. "We played *Final Fantasy*." He lifted Square's masterpiece cartridge. "Our game feels like a cheap knockoff. Characters aren't as rich, the world's not grand enough, the combat's bland. Our proud 3D dungeons look childish next to its cinematic storytelling." His voice sank to a murmur, his genius programmer's confidence shattered.
Takuya listened silently, knowing empty comfort was useless. This was *Final Fantasy*'s aftershock—its brilliance made fellow RPG developers question their path. He recalled past-life takes on Naka: a coding wizard who maxed out hardware but lacked Sakaguchi's creative spark. His strength was execution, not invention. *Sonic* thrived on a clear speed concept; *Phantasy Star Online* pioneered console MMORPGs. Naka needed a sharp direction to unleash his technical prowess.
He couldn't let Sega's future star burn out before dawn. "Show me your dev docs and project logs."
Naka, dazed, fumbled a thick stack from a cabinet. Takuya flipped through rapidly, fingers skimming pages, occasionally jotting on scratch paper. The room stilled, only rustling pages breaking the quiet. Developers paused, eyes on the young executive, like a seasoned doctor diagnosing a critical patient.
Minutes ticked by. Takuya closed the last file, exhaling. He met Naka's gaze, not with disappointment but clarity. "Naka-san, your technical skill is Sega's treasure. But you're stuck in a trap."
Naka swallowed nervously.
"*Phantasy Star* doesn't need to be another *Final Fantasy*. It needs to be the one and only *Phantasy Star*." Takuya drew a simple female silhouette on the whiteboard. "First, your heroine. Refine the script—make her alive. Survey Japan and Western male players: what female traits do they love? Strength, kindness, mystery—extract those. Then add a small, unique flaw to set her apart from cookie-cutter archetypes, so players remember her."
Naka's eyes flickered with a spark.
"Second, too few playable characters—limited choice. Skip *Final Fantasy*'s complex job system; it'd dilute character uniqueness. Make each role distinct: one for physical attacks, one for magic, one for healing. Simple, direct, irreplaceable."
"Third, dungeons." He sketched a complex maze, then crossed it out. "Don't pad time with high difficulty or encounter rates—that's lazy design, killing enthusiasm. *Final Fantasy*'s high random encounters hurt exploration; that's its flaw, not a strength. Our dungeons need memorable moments—a striking cutscene, a clever puzzle, or even a map item. Make players love exploring, not dread it."
Naka, forgetting his slump, scribbled notes frantically.
"Fourth, combat. Like *Dragon Quest*, it's first-person, but we have 16-bit power. Animate enemies, add flashier attack effects, use complex backgrounds. Turn hardware strength into visual impact—make players see this is Sega's next-gen RPG."
Takuya set down the pen, eyes blazing at Naka. "For compromises due to storage or hardware limits, don't obsess. If the core experience shines and avoids player frustration, they won't care."
The room's dead air stirred. Developers whispered, eyes alight. Takuya gripped Naka's shoulders. "Your talent's not in question—you're just dazzled by another's light. You're Japan's top coder. That's enough. Use it to build these ideas, to craft Sega's fantasy legend. Don't doubt yourself. Keep moving forward, and you'll only get better. Don't stress timelines—I'll handle the higher-ups. Your only pressure is making a great game."
Naka met Takuya's resolute gaze, a long-suppressed fire surging within. His doubts and self-loathing shattered under that clarity. He nodded firmly, eyes less bloodshot, voice no longer hoarse. "I understand, Executive Nakayama!"
Seeing Naka's rekindled spark and the team's renewed vigor, Takuya knew his mission was done. He left to lively chatter and rapid keyboard clacks. A new *Phantasy Star* was taking shape in that small room.
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