"As expected." Nakayama Takuya picked up his teacup and took a sip. "Disney's global distribution network isn't just for show. The film-game synergy model they successfully verified in the United States works just as well in Europe and Japan."
"The problem is production capacity." Oguchi Hisao rubbed his temples. "Distributors in Europe and Japan are clamoring for stock."
Nakayama Takuya smiled. This was exactly the result he wanted.
At this moment, in Shinjuku, inside a large comprehensive department store.
The elevator doors on the fifth floor opened, and the place was bustling with noise.
Half of this floor was a cinema, and the other half was an appliance and game retail area.
Families who had just finished watching "Toy Story" poured out of the screening hall.
Children clutched their movie ticket stubs, excitedly discussing Buzz Lightyear's flying pose.
"Daddy, I want that!" A seven or eight-year-old boy let go of his father's hand and ran straight toward a Sega booth not far away.
On the CRT television at the booth, actual game footage was playing.
Woody was jumping on Andy's bed, dodging various obstacles.
The middle-aged father followed helplessly.
On the CRT TV at the display stand, actual game footage was playing.
Woody was jumping on Andy's bed, dodging various obstacles.
The middle-aged father followed along helplessly.
His original plan for the day was to watch a movie and, while he was at it, check out Sony's new CD player in the electronics section downstairs.
As for video game consoles, he had only played on a Famicom back in his college days; he hadn't touched one since starting a family.
"Sir, this is the *Toy Story* bundle that just arrived today," a salesperson in a Sega uniform approached with a beaming smile. "If you buy it now, it also comes with a collector's edition sticker officially licensed by Pixar."
The middle-aged father looked at the colorful 3D polygonal graphics on the screen, feeling somewhat surprised.
They were completely different from the blocky pixels in his memories.
"Can this machine play anything else?" he asked casually.
"Of course. There are games like *Paper Pokémon Adventure* that are great for kids," the salesperson deftly pulled out a game catalog. "Besides that, there are many games on the Jupiter platform suitable for adults. For example, *ProSoccerWorld*, and *The Fast and the Furious*, which was released a year ago, are both major titles aimed at adult players. You could use it to relax after work, too."
The middle-aged father flipped through the catalog.
His son beside him was already looking at him with wide, pleading eyes, his hands pressed together in a gesture of supplication.
"How much is it?"
For example, games like "World Soccer" and "Fast & Furious," which has been on the market for a year, are major titles aimed at adult players.
You can also use it to relax after work."
The middle-aged father flipped through the catalog. Beside him, his son was already looking at him with eager eyes, hands pressed together in a pleading gesture.
"How much?"
"39,800 yen, including tax."
The middle-aged father felt his wallet in his pocket.
The budget he had originally set aside for a portable cassette player was just enough to buy this machine.
"Wrap it up," he sighed, handing over his credit card.
Scenes like this were playing out over and over that weekend in major cities across Japan, including Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya.
Thanks to its family-friendly appeal, "Toy Story" precisely broke through the barriers of non-traditional gamers.
Many parents, having purchased a Jupiter, would often pick up a game or two that they themselves were interested in, just so the machine wouldn't sit idle.
This bottom-up consumption model, driven by children influencing their parents, gave Sega's install base another push.
March 1996. The cherry blossoms in Tokyo hadn't yet reached full bloom, but the sales heat in the electronics districts had already ushered in an early summer.
For those core gamers, their wallets, drained by the bombardment of the year-end shopping season, were finally showing signs of recovery after a few months of rest.
In Japan, the graduation season and spring break have always been the second golden window for the gaming market.
Students now had plenty of free time, and their pocket money from daily part-time jobs had accumulated a bit.
Just as the major third-party manufacturers were still tallying up profits from the year-end shopping season and preparing for the new fiscal year...
Students now had plenty of free time, and their pocket money from daily part-time jobs had started to accumulate a bit.
Just as various major third-party developers were still busy tallying profits from the year-end sales battles and preparing plans for the new fiscal year, in that gap period, a game with no large-scale pre-hype, and a developer name that sounded somewhat unfamiliar, quietly appeared on the shelves of major retail stores.
*Investiture of the Gods: The Legend of Yang Jian*.
The front of the packaging box featured art that was quite different from the covers of typical Japanese games. Yang Jian, wearing silver battle armor, held a Three-Point Double-Edged Glaive, with the Howling Celestial Dog partially hidden in the mist and the glow of the Heavenly Eye in the background.
In the bottom left corner was printed an eye-catching slogan: "Built using the same generation technology as *Phantasy Star*, experience the ultimate strategy-action RPG with form-switching."
Price: 5,800 Yen.
Inside a game specialty store in Shinjuku, the manager was directing staff to unpack the newly arrived cardboard boxes.
Following the 5:3:2 distribution strategy issued by Sega's publishing department, this store only received thirty discs in the first batch.
"Manager, I've never even heard of this game. Can it sell?" the young clerk asked, looking at the description on the back of the disc case. "Mercury Electronics Technology? Where is this company from?"
"Doesn't matter where it's from, as long as it has the Sega publishing logo on it." The manager placed a few discs in the featured section. "5,800 yen—a lot cheaper than those big titles that cost seven or eight thousand yen. There are plenty of students out shopping during spring break; this price point is perfect for impulse buys. Plus, the Sega sales rep said the gameplay feels solid, easily on par with Capcom's action games."
At 3:00 PM, a wave of customers hit the store.
A few high school students, fresh from their graduation ceremony, wandered in front of the shelves.
One of them, a boy with medium-length hair, picked up a copy of *The Legend of Yang Jian*.
" 'Investiture of the Gods'? Mitsuteru Yokoyama did a manga called *Legend of Yin and Zhou*, right?" The boy flipped the box over to look at the screenshots. "A 2D ARPG? Is anyone even still making those? And this art style doesn't look much like Yokoyama's either."
"Look at the promotional blurb. It says it uses the technology from *Phantasy Star*," his friend added, leaning in. "And it's only 5,800 yen, just enough for what I have left of my allowance. Why not buy it and give it a try? It's not like there are any new games to play lately anyway."
The boy took the disc and headed toward the checkout counter.
He didn't know that the code for this game came from the hands of a group of Chinese programmers thousands of miles away.
That evening, the boy inserted the disc into his Jupiter console.
The logos for Mercury Electronics Technology and Sega lit up on the screen.
The game opened without any long-winded CG animation, cutting directly into a 2D pre-rendered cutscene.
Yang Jian woke up on the battlefield, surrounded by fallen soldiers and tattered battle flags.
He stood up and tried to swing his weapon.
The boy pressed the attack button on the controller.
On screen, Yang Jian fluidly swung his Three-Point Double-Edged Glaive, creating a trail of translucent blade-light effects.
There was no lag at all, and the impact felt visceral.
"Feels pretty good," the boy said, sitting up straight.
As the game progressed, the core mechanic, "Seventy-Two Transformations," began to show its power.
When faced with a cave entrance blocked by a giant boulder, the boy followed the prompt and pressed the form-switch button.
A flash of light enveloped Yang Jian, and he instantly transformed into a black hound.
There was no loading, no black screen; the entire process was seamless.
The hound nimbly slipped into the cave, darting through the narrow passageway.
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