Chapter 57 The Bustling Arcade
In late July, the midsummer heat covered Tokyo like melted asphalt, thick and sticky.
At the start of summer vacation, outside a large Sega-affiliated arcade in Shinjuku, the clamor of the crowd even drowned out the nearby construction noise.
The smell of sweat, smoke, and grilled squid mingled in the heatwave, creating a peculiar aroma.
On the giant external television screen temporarily set up by Sega, characters from fatal fury were battling fiercely, captivating the attention of passersby.
In front of the screen, there was a dense crowd: teenagers on tiptoes craning their necks, girls with curious faces encircled by their boyfriends' arms, and even a few office workers in shirts with briefcases tucked under their armpits, seemingly having snuck away from work, squeezed into the throng.
"Click!" "Click!"
Flashbulbs occasionally flared as reporters from several media outlets, carrying equipment, moved with difficulty through the crowded masses, attempting to document this unusual fervor.
A simple barricade was set up at the arcade entrance, and several staff members in Sega vests were shouting themselves hoarse, their backs soaked with sweat.
"Please queue up for entry!"
"Contestants participating in the competition, please register over here!"
Their voices were quickly swallowed by the buzzing discussions around them.
Inside the store, the cold air from the air conditioning slightly alleviated the intense heat outside, but the tension in the air was even more palpable.
The competition area was temporarily cordoned off with red velvet ropes, and over a dozen fatal fury arcade machines were neatly arranged.
Most of the contestants in front of the machines were young people, their faces a mixture of nervousness, excitement, and extreme focus.
Every precise combo, every crisis-averting defense, every flashing special move on the screen, elicited uncontrollable gasps and discussions from the surrounding crowd.
"Beautiful! That Power Wave was dodged perfectly!"
"This Terry's playstyle is so aggressive, the pressure is too strong."
Shirano stood in the waiting area, still in his somewhat faded high school uniform.
He clenched his palms, sweat dampening his lifelines, making them feel a little slick.
The surrounding noise, the constantly scrolling match list on the overhead TV screen, and the curious or scrutinizing gazes all beat like drums on his heart, making it pound uncontrollably faster.
A mix of unease and excitement surged through his limbs.
Finally, his name and competition number were called out over the broadcast.
Shirano took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, trying to make his steps less stiff as he walked towards one of the empty machines.
He inserted the coin, which had already warmed from his grip, into the machine, producing a crisp sound. The character selection screen lit up.
His opponent was a young man in his twenties, smoking a cigarette, with the casual and scrutinizing gaze typical of a seasoned player, and a faint smile seemingly playing on his lips.
"ROUND 1, FIGHT!"
As the announcement for the start of the match rang out, Shirano's consciousness instantly blocked out everything else, his eyes fixed only on Andy Bogard on the screen.
He tried to recall the notes in his small notebook: what moves his opponent might lead with, and how he should respond.
However, in the first round, he was clearly flustered, his thoughts and finger movements not fully synchronized.
His opponent's playstyle was experienced and cunning; several seemingly casual jumps and attacks perfectly exploited the openings in his moves.
Andy was beaten back repeatedly, and soon the word "defeat" appeared on the screen.
Shirano hadn't even managed to land a few decent combos.
A few quiet sighs came from the surrounding crowd, and someone mumbled, "Tsk, still a bit too green, as expected."
During the short countdown before the second round, he closed his eyes.
Not in surrender, but in rapid mental calculation.
His opponent's common opening moves, where were their weaknesses? The frame data recorded in his notes… Right, those recovery frames, his opponent had used skills with longer recovery!
When he opened his eyes again, Shirano's gaze had become calm.
He no longer rushed to attack, but carefully controlled the distance, constantly probing and feinting with Andy's nimble Shadow-Slicing Fist.
His opponent seemed somewhat surprised, and his attack rhythm was disrupted several times.
The cigarette in the young man's mouth twitched, and the casualness in his eyes lessened.
Shirano stared intently at the screen, catching every subtle pause after his opponent's attacks.
The process was incredibly difficult; every defense, every counterattack, kept his nerves taut like a fully drawn bowstring.
Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping onto the cool button panel.
Opportunity!
Seizing the recovery frames from his opponent's missed heavy punch, Shirano's fingers rapidly tapped the joystick and buttons. Flying Fist struck, hitting accurately!
He immediately closed in, and after a low kick broke the defense, came a combo he knew by heart!
The situation instantly reversed!
His opponent, clearly agitated after being knocked down by the combo, tried to regain control with stronger pressure, but this only created more openings.
Shirano calmly countered each one, seizing opportunities to strike back.
"K.O.!"
When the large letters filled the center of the screen, Shirano realized he had been holding his breath, his chest rising and falling slightly from lack of oxygen.
He had won the second round.
Applause, much clearer than before, erupted from the sidelines, and the discussions grew louder.
"Not bad, this high schooler! That combo just now was so precise!"
"That guy smoking probably underestimated him, didn't he? His face went green."
"Haha, he was careless, wasn't he!"
Hearing these comments, Shirano's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, and a sense of post-victory exhaustion mixed with joy surged over him.
He glanced to the side; the young man indeed looked displeased, angrily stubbing his cigarette out in the nearby ashtray.
"This is just the first match, there are many more to come," Shirano thought silently, his fingers repositioning on the joystick.
These sounds felt like a warm current, flowing into Shirano's somewhat numb fingers and dispelling much of the tension in his heart.
In the third round, he played with even more confidence, ultimately winning the entire match by a narrow margin.
His heart was still pounding fast, but this time, it was from the excitement of victory.
He stood up, bowed to his opponent at the machine opposite, nodded slightly to the crowd around him who were giving approving glances, and quickly walked out of the competition area towards the counter to report his number and match results.
Just a wall away from the bustling arcade, a bar presented a different scene.
Under the dim lights, the air was filled with the mixed scent of beer, grilled skewers, and cigarettes.
The bar owner had clearly seized a business opportunity, having secured a temporary licensing agreement with Sega to stream the live competition footage to several TVs in a corner of the bar. The bar had been open since early morning, and some of the staff still looked a bit sleepy, but motivated by the generous overtime pay from the boss, they forced themselves to be energetic, even asking the bartender for coffee.
This place gathered many players who considered their skills mediocre and just wanted to watch the excitement, as well as office workers who had specifically snuck away from work to join the fun.
They sat around the TVs, holding cold beer mugs, loudly commenting on the battle unfolding on screen while arguing with companions about the players' techniques.
"Ah! He should have used the somersault kick just now!"
"This Joe is useless, he's pinned in the corner and can't get up."
"Cheers! To that beautiful combo just now!"
Every exciting match sparked a chorus of cheers or sighs of regret, and the clinking of glasses was constant.
Here, there was no competition tension, only pure, audience-driven revelry.
Takuya Nakayama, dressed in inconspicuous casual clothes, stood among the crowd on the outer perimeter of the arcade, like an ordinary spectator.
He watched the crowded stream of people at the entrance, listened to the bursts of cheers coming from inside, and his gaze swept over the excited faces and the lively scene visible through the bar's windows nearby.
A faint, imperceptible smile played on his lips, revealing a hint of satisfaction.
He spoke in a low voice to his Market Department subordinate, who was also in casual attire, standing beside him.
"This licensed store has organized things very well. We can collaborate more in the future."
"What we want is not just a competition for core players, but a spectacle that can capture everyone's attention."
His gaze caught a reporter interviewing a young man who had just won a match, his face still showing traces of youth.
The young man was excitedly saying something to the camera, and people around them cast curious glances.
This was exactly the effect his "grassroots hero discovery" plan aimed for.
"Go, summarize the situation from each competition area, especially the audience feedback and the focus of media reports."
"I want to know what everyone is talking about. If there's any negative public opinion, report it immediately."
He instructed.
His subordinate nodded and quickly blended into the crowd, disappearing from view.
The initial popularity of this major competition, and the chain reactions it triggered, somewhat exceeded Takuya Nakayama's wildest expectations. However, it was also somewhat understandable; after all, the gaming community is usually not very conspicuous, even somewhat low-key. But once there's an event that can bring them together, they will release the passion accumulated over time with renewed intensity.
The media spotlight and the bar's synchronized viewing allowed the vague term "esports" to enter the wider public's awareness in a concrete and vivid form.