"Don't jump to conclusions," Nobuyuki Idei said, pointing to a line in the document. "Look at this: 'Co-Founding Members of the Association.' Sega promises not to seek absolute leadership; all founding members will have equal status."
Ken Kutaragi glanced over, his previously disdainful expression faltering slightly.
For Sony, an "outsider" in the gaming world, establishing its identity had always been a major challenge.
Nintendo viewed them with suspicion, while Sega, despite past collaborations, harbored its own hidden agendas. Even smaller game studios remained hesitant to commit to developing for Sony's console, delaying their applications for development kits.
If Sony could gain status as a "founding member" through this association, equal to the two established giants, it would be an invaluable endorsement for the PlayStation, set to launch at the end of the year.
"This is intriguing," Kutaragi said, stroking his chin, his earlier arrogance softening. "Are you saying we don't need to do anything? Just nod, and we'll become one of the industry's rule-makers?"
"That's not all," Ryoji Nakabachi, who had been silent until then, suddenly interjected. As the head of Sony's electronic component business and a regular at CES, he added, "I wholeheartedly support skipping the E3 exhibition."
All eyes turned to him.
Nakabachi smiled wryly and spread his hands. "President Oga, you didn't attend the Las Vegas show in January. It was a disaster. While our booth in the home appliance section was decent enough, we had to walk through two blocks of adult video booths to reach the Gaming Zone. The carpet was sticky with spilled cola, and it was even leaking from the ceiling. But the worst was the noise—a neighboring vacuum cleaner company ran their motors all day to demonstrate their suction power, and it gave me a splitting headache."
Recalling the scene, Nakabachi shook his head. "Tom Kalinske of Sega looked green in the face. In an environment like that, no one cares about your game's graphics. They just want to escape and get some fresh air."
"Exactly," Nobuyuki Idei picked up the thread. "If Sega is unwilling to endure it, why should we?"
"The PlayStation is a revolutionary product. Are we really going to debut it amidst the noise of household appliances?"
Ken Kutaragi sat up abruptly, the fatigue vanishing from his eyes. "No! My machine will never be released in such a hellhole. Since Sega is willing to play the villain and set the stage, why shouldn't we join in?"
He turned to Oga Norio, his tone growing urgent. "Mr. President, this is our chance. If we join, we'll gain an edge over Nintendo in terms of momentum. Those old fuddy-duddies in Kyoto are still hesitating. If we become the initiators first, we'll have the upper hand in the Interactive Digital Software Association. This is the perfect opportunity to link Sony's name with industry standards."
"Moreover, it will send a clear message to the world," Nobuyuki Idei added. "Sony is no longer just a consumer electronics outsider; we're now a gaming giant, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Sega and Nintendo."
Oga Norio closed the file, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the three men.
Sega's brilliant stratagem was truly impressive.
It solved their own problems while offering Sony an irresistible favor.
Takuya Nakayama proved even more shrewd than rumored.
Since Sony could benefit without taking the lead and offending CES, there was no reason to refuse such a convenient opportunity.
"As a co-founder," Oga Norio said, removing his glasses and setting them gently on the table, his voice steady and firm, "we must act like one. Idei, inform Takuya Nakayama that Sony agrees to join the IDSA."
Compared to Takuya Nakayama, who returned to Tokyo to rest for several days before leisurely visiting Sony in Shinagawa, Tom Kalinske across the ocean clearly embodied American decisiveness.
The moment Takuya Nakayama boarded his plane, Tom drove straight to Redmond—the headquarters of Nintendo of America.
This scene would have been unimaginable just a few years prior. The two companies had once traded barbs in the TV GG and clashed fiercely in retail aisles. Their executives would have considered it a courtesy if they didn't challenge each other to duels upon meeting.
Yet today, Tom sat brazenly on Minoru Arakawa's guest sofa, even holding a cup of coffee brewed by a Nintendo secretary.
"Get to the point, Tom," Minoru Arakawa said, showing no particular courtesy to his guest. "If you're here to discuss a truce, you can turn around and leave."
"A truce? No, no, no. I'm here to invite you to collaborate on something else." Tom set down his coffee cup and pushed the IDSA draft across the table, his knuckles rapping against the surface. "Unless you want to spend next year's CES in Las Vegas, breathing in that musty carpet smell and listening to the next-door salesman demonstrate the flushing sound of his new electronic toilet."
Arakawa's hand paused as he opened the document.
The nightmare of January's CES still gnawed at the hearts of all Nintendo of America employees.
As a leading industry player, Nintendo's booth position at the event hadn't been much better than Sega's.
The humiliation of being treated like a "low-tier toy maker" was something both he and Tom understood deeply.
"IDSA—Interactive Digital Software Association." Arakawa quickly scanned the terms, his gaze finally settling on the "Co-Founders" section. "Sega doesn't plan to take the lead?"
"Mr. Nakayama said we're here to grow the pie, not divide it. That's an internal matter for our industry. Right now, we need to focus on the industry's overall development. Sega, Nintendo, Sony, and EA—" Tom watched Minoru Arakawa's expression, timing his words carefully. "That arrogant fool Trip Hawkins has already agreed. The situation is this: if we all withdraw, only Nintendo will be left at CES, exhibiting alongside refrigerators. What do you think the media will write?"
The challenge worked, but it wasn't entirely a bluff.
Arakawa knew that if EA and Sony joined this coalition, a new power center would form.
If Nintendo abstained, it would be voluntarily relinquishing its right to set the rules.
"The terms are very sincere, especially the part about equal rights." Arakawa closed the document, his expression unreadable. "But I can't make the final decision. You know, major decisions require approval from Kyoto."
"Then go convince that stubborn old man." Tom stood up, buttoned his suit jacket. "Tell him this is the only chance the gaming industry has to escape the 'electronic toy' label. If he refuses, next year at E3, Sega and Sony will happily carve up Nintendo's booth space and media coverage."
After seeing Tom out, Arakawa immediately summoned his right-hand man, Howard Lincoln.
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