Takuya Nakayama followed Kevin's gaze.
A dozen or so VR Racing arcade cabinets were packed tightly together. Narrow walkways and queue barriers crammed the space, giving the whole area the feel of a typical game center on a Shinjuku street.
The Japanese manager in charge of the site hurried forward to explain. "Managing Director, we wanted to give as many players as possible a chance to experience the game—"
"No, that's not the problem," Kevin said, shaking his head. He turned to the manager and explained earnestly, "Watching a Formula One race in person is completely different from our previous movie theater promotions. This is a luxury social event. Who comes to these races? Corporate executives, business clients, socialites, and true racing enthusiasts. They're not short on money; they're short on unique experiences and the appropriate ambiance."
He paused, then continued more bluntly, "By cramming these expensive machines together like sardines in a can, you're making the Sega brand look cheap. The parents or attendants of the kids who actually want to play—where are they supposed to stand? How would they ever line up for a queue that looks this chaotic?"
These words struck true, causing beads of sweat to form on the Japanese manager's forehead.
He had focused solely on maximizing floor space efficiency, completely overlooking the on-site atmosphere and the psychology of their target audience.
Takuya Nakayama tactfully spoke up, offering the manager a way out: "Kevin's point is well-taken. We indeed lack experience in promoting our products at high-end events. We can still make adjustments now, don't you think?"
"Yes! I understand!" Relieved, the manager immediately grabbed his walkie-talkie and began reassigning personnel.
Kevin, meanwhile, unhesitatingly took on the role of "Chief Designer," directing the scene from the sidelines: "Space out the machines—each must be at least two meters apart! Place some sofas and coffee tables nearby, and offer free soft drinks. Queues? No, we don't do queues here."
He snapped his fingers. "Use a ticketing system! Players can pick up a number, then sit in the lounge area and wait, or even wander around. We'll put up a large display screen to announce numbers as they come up. That's how we demonstrate our level of service."
After these sweeping changes, the once-crowded corner of the gaming hall was transformed into an elegant and spacious VIP lounge.
Experience Zone.
Takuya Nakayama gazed at the transformed exhibit booth and patted Mark Cerny on the shoulder. "Mark, bringing you here to consult was the right decision. These guys are true professionals."
"Professionals should do professional work," Mark replied with a smile. His gaze then fell on the magazine display stand beside the sofa.
He picked up a Sega promotional booklet and saw a notice about purchasing limited-edition merchandise on the Casual Server. He looked at Takuya Nakayama with a questioning glance. Nakayama signaled to his assistant standing nearby. "But that's not all. I also prepared a little something to... rob their wallets."
The assistant understood and opened a suitcase.
The moment the suitcase opened, Kevin and his colleagues' eyes widened in astonishment.
Inside, rows of Pikachu plushies dressed in miniature McLaren Racing team uniforms were neatly arranged. The bright yellow electric mice wore helmets emblazoned with the Sega logo, their cuteness practically illegal.
Beside them were limited-edition metal pendants featuring a collaboration between Pokémon and McLaren, each engraved with the year and "Suzuka Limited Edition."
"My God—" Kevin reached out to touch it, then hesitated, afraid of getting it dirty. He muttered to himself, "Limited edition, never to be reissued?"
"Of course," Takuya Nakayama replied, his expression matter-of-fact. "How else could it be called a limited edition?"
Mark Cerny pressed a hand to his forehead and let out a groan that was both pained and exhilarated. "Takuya, you're a devil. Pokémon's appeal truly is universal."
Nakayama watched the Americans, their eyes shining with excitement, and his smile widened.
On October 19th, Suzuka Circuit hadn't yet been overtaken by the weekend's clamor. Instead, the air buzzed with a tense, orderly professionalism. In the Pit Lane, massive shipping containers stood like discarded armor, while engineers and mechanics from McLaren Racing had already arrived to unpack and assemble the race cars.
Takuya Nakayama led Mark Cerny and the group of "self-funded" American elites into this sacred ground, revered by car enthusiasts worldwide.
These powerhouses who ruled the North American market now acted like children in a candy store, their eyes darting everywhere in wonder.
Kevin, the car enthusiast whose garage housed more sports cars than shoes, practically floated on air, his feet hovering three centimeters above the hallowed concrete, afraid to sully it.
"Oh my God—it's a standalone MP4/7 chassis! Look at that carbon fiber weave!" Kevin's voice trembled as he pointed at the frame being lifted out of its crate, his expression that of devout reverence, as if gazing upon a rare archaeological treasure.
Even Mark Cerny, the team leader, struggled to contain his excitement. Maintaining his composure, he turned to Takuya Nakayama and said sincerely, "Takuya, this... thank you so much. This surpasses all our wildest dreams."
"I promised you this," Takuya replied with a casual smile, his gaze shifting to the back of the team.
There stood a tall, stern man with his arms crossed, scrutinizing every step of the assembly process. It was Ron Dennis, the owner and managing director of McLaren Racing.
Noticing Takuya's group, Dennis merely nodded in acknowledgment.
Takuya, well aware of the tycoon's temper, guided Mark forward, maintaining a polite distance. "Good morning, Ron. Thank you for arranging this. I've brought my team here to experience the atmosphere of a championship-winning team."
Dennis tore his gaze from the race car, glancing at them briefly. His voice was calm but carried an unmistakable air of authority: "Welcome."
"Just don't bump into anything. We still have a tough battle ahead."
He said no more, but everyone understood the weight of his words.
Although Williams Racing and Nigel Mansell had already secured both the team and driver championships for the season, McLaren Racing's second-place position on the points table remained precarious.
"Especially that German kid and his Benetton—they're closing in fast," Ron Dennis added, his brow furrowing slightly.
The "German kid" he referred to was Michael Schumacher, who had already shown remarkable talent in his first season.
Takuya Nakayama nodded and withdrew with his team, leaving the space clear.
Kevin immediately switched back to his commentary mode, pointing at the mechanics adjusting the front wing angle. He whispered to his colleagues, "See? They're increasing downforce. The toughest part of the Suzuka Circuit is balancing the continuous S-bends from turns two to seven with the high-speed 130R corner. Too much downforce, and they'll lose top speed on the straights; too little, and they'll lack grip in the corners. That's the devilish nature of Suzuka."
The Americans nodded in understanding, their gazes now filled with newfound respect for the cold, mechanical parts before them.
Mark Cerny watched the scene unfold, his heart swelling with countless emotions.
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