A week later, the atmosphere in the Hardware Development Department was somber.
Inside Department Manager Nakamura's office, Takuya Nakayama, Yuji Naka, and Nakamura himself sat around a conference table piled high with technical documents.
"Managing Director, here's our assessment report on 32-bit chip proposals from several major Japanese semiconductor manufacturers," Nakamura said, pushing up his glasses and placing a summary document at the center of the table. His expression was grim.
"What's the conclusion?" Takuya Nakayama asked bluntly.
"Unsatisfactory," Nakamura replied succinctly. "Hitachi, NC—they either have instruction sets too complex for game development, or they're designed for specific industrial applications and lack versatility. Customizing them would entail prohibitively high development costs and complexity, directly contradicting your core requirement for ease of use."
Yuji Naka chimed in from the side, "I reviewed those chips' development manuals—they're a nightmare. If we let third-party developers use this stuff for games, just understanding the chips' quirks would take them half a year. By then, the market window would have long closed."
As a frontline programmer, Takuya Nakayama was best qualified to speak on the matter.
Even during the Mega Drive era, he had spent considerable time grappling with the quirks of low-level hardware logic. He understood better than anyone what a simple and efficient development environment meant to game developers.
Takuya Nakayama nodded. This outcome was exactly what he had anticipated.
Although Japan's semiconductor industry was formidable, it had indeed started late and taken a more conservative approach when it came to RISC (Reduced Instruction Set Computing) architecture.
"If domestic options won't suffice, we'll have to look abroad. Any alternatives?" He turned to Department Manager Nakamura.
"We have one," Nakamura replied, pulling out another document. "We've compared all the mainstream RISC chips on the market. After a comprehensive evaluation, the R3000 architecture, introduced by MIPS Technologies in 1988, is the most suitable choice."
He slid the document toward Takuya Nakayama and Yuji Naka.
"The technology is highly mature, having been tested by the market for years. It's extremely stable. Most importantly, its instruction set is remarkably simple, perfectly aligning with our requirements for ease of use. Customizing this foundation will minimize risks and make it easiest for developers to get up to speed."
Yuji Naka leaned over to review the technical specifications, his eyes lighting up. "That's it. This is the one."
Seeing that both technical experts had reached a consensus, Takuya Nakayama smiled.
Isn't this exactly the path Sony's PlayStation took in my previous life? He thought. Not only have I stolen their controller design, but I've also snatched their CPU plan right out from under them.
"Heroes think alike, don't they?" Takuya Nakayama picked up his teacup, gently blew on the tea, and said calmly, "Since we all agree it's the best choice, let's decide on this."
He set down the cup, lightly tapped his fingers on the table, and made the final decision.
"I remember MIPS Technologies was acquired by Silicon Graphics this year, right?"
"Yes, Managing Director," Department Manager Nakamura nodded in confirmation.
"That simplifies things," Takuya Nakayama said with a smirk. "Have the US branch contact Silicon Graphics immediately. Tell them Sega wants to base our next-generation console's heart on the R3000."
He paused, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Oh, and remind them that this is a massive, exclusive order. Tell them to offer a serious price."
"Understood, Managing Director!" Department Manager Nakamura nodded solemnly.
With the matter settled, Takuya Nakayama stood up and stretched lazily.
He wondered how far Sony had progressed with their next-generation console project.
He hoped they hadn't yet set their sights on MIPS.
Otherwise, the look on their faces when they eagerly presented their proposal to Silicon Graphics only to discover that the company was already developing a CPU for Sega would be priceless.
Let them fret. He wanted to see where they'd conjure up a suitable CPU from now.
Just as Takuya Nakayama was about to leave, Department Manager Nakamura, who had been intently typing notes on his laptop, suddenly looked up.
"Managing Director, there's one more issue."
"Speak," Takuya Nakayama said, stopping.
Nakamura pushed up his glasses and pointed at the documents on the table with a serious expression. "We've decided on the CPU direction, but there's a fundamental question we need to address. Since the next-generation console will use CD-ROM exclusively as the game medium, how will we store players' game save data?"
This question immediately sobered even Yuji Naka, who had been excitedly discussing CPU architectures moments before. He turned to look at Takuya Nakayama.
This was indeed an unavoidable hurdle.
In the cartridge era, game saves could be stored directly on the cartridge, a simple and convenient solution.
But CD-ROMs are read-only media, incapable of writing data.
Though Sega had experience with the SEGA-CD's external memory card, that was still an accessory, and the user experience was far from perfect.
A USB flash drive flashed through Takuya Nakayama's mind.
He quickly dismissed the thought. That technology wouldn't be available for years; proposing it now would be like pulling a rabbit out of a hat.
His gaze swept over the two technical experts. After a moment's contemplation, he offered what seemed like a conservative solution:
"For memory storage, we'll stick with a similar approach to the SEGA-CD: flash memory chips paired with built-in battery-powered memory cards."
Department Manager Nakamura and Yuji Naka nodded. This was the most mature and reliable solution, just as they had anticipated.
But Takuya Nakayama wasn't finished.
"However, we need to optimize it." He tapped his finger lightly on the table. "We can't just focus on saving data; we must also consider how to store it securely and for the long term."
"First, add a counter to the memory card's chip to specifically track read/write cycles."
"A counter?" Department Manager Nakamura paused, taken aback by this entirely new concept.
"Exactly," Takuya Nakayama stated with unwavering authority. "Every read and write operation consumes a significant amount of the internal battery's power. While we don't yet know the precise number of operations, there must be a finite limit. Manager Nakamura, your Hardware Department needs to immediately conduct extreme testing to determine a rough safe range for read/write operations. Based on that, we'll build in sufficient redundancy."
He turned to Yuji Naka. "Meanwhile, you need to consider implementing a clear notification in the system software for players managing their saves. For example, when a player enters the console's memory management interface, if a card inserted into the console is nearing its read/write limit, a pop-up warning requiring manual confirmation should appear. It should inform the player that the memory card is nearing the end of its lifespan and urge them to back up their saves to a new card." He added, "And if the card exceeds the safe read/write limit, the warning should state that the card has reached its lifespan, instruct the player to back up their saves to a new card, and inform them that the card will no longer support game memory writes. Then, lock the card's write function."
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