"How much money? That's a good question."
Kobayashi Tetsu raised three fingers.
Thirty million yen.
Masahito Tanimura instinctively tried to argue back.
"That's a bit too little, isn't it? HAL has been built up for four years. We're a complete team, with lots of development experience and long-term coordination. How can it be only thirty million yen?"
Behind Tanimura, several employees were visibly murmuring to themselves.
Thirty million was already a lot!
HAL's total profit over four years hadn't even reached thirty million yen.
Kobayashi Tetsu said calmly, "This price is precisely because HAL has experience and a complete team. Otherwise, whether in equipment or technology, HAL isn't leading the industry. You have no successful titles with proprietary rights. A studio with nothing—aside from its most valuable asset, the developers themselves—what exactly is there worth acquiring?"
After speaking, Kobayashi didn't look at Tanimura's expression. Instead, he took two steps back and gestured to the lawyer behind him.
"The specific acquisition terms have already been drafted. Please read them out for everyone."
The lawyer—whose name was politely described as 'Not Worth Mentioning'—took a folder from his briefcase and began reading.
The key points covered equipment upgrades and improved compensation, while also granting HAL a considerable degree of autonomy. No one would be laid off.
Among everyone present, only Satoru Iwata was thinking rapidly.
On the surface, the terms sounded fine, but suddenly becoming someone else's subordinate still made his head spin.
And most importantly—
Even Iwata himself didn't know whether this was something they should accept. His instincts said it was fine, but Masahito Tanimura clearly wasn't eager to agree.
When the reading finished, Kobayashi Tetsu looked down at Tanimura from above. An invisible pressure settled over him as Kobayashi spoke again, his voice low, almost demonic.
"New equipment. New computers. One machine costs 1.4 million yen."
"Don't you need hand-drawn assets? Digital drawing tablets—this is cutting-edge technology."
"Tanimura, you'll still be a division head. It doesn't sound as good as 'president,' but with money and income, who would dare look down on you?"
Tanimura took a deep breath and finally stood up.
"P-President… all right. But I hope HAL can also hire a lawyer to discuss the acquisition."
"Of course. No problem."
Kobayashi agreed immediately.
What followed didn't require him to do anything further. He hadn't even bothered planting legal traps in the contract.
If Tanimura didn't make mistakes, keeping him around as a symbolic division head was fine. If he did make mistakes, Kobayashi had perfectly legal and legitimate ways to remove him at any time.
—Illegal ones too, like spending a fortune to hire Vietnamese hitmen.
But Kobayashi Tetsu was already worried about being "taken out offline" by Nintendo, so there was no chance he'd actually do that.
Next, he simply asked for HAL's bank account.
"I'll transfer some money later. Not much—just over ten million yen. Use it to upgrade everyone's equipment first."
With that, Kobayashi left without lingering. The lawyer also left a contact number and departed.
Masahito Tanimura slumped back in his chair, feeling as though the world had suddenly shifted.
"So… it's sold just like that? And they even paid some money upfront?"
Iwata reminded him, "That money is for purchasing equipment."
"Yes, of course. I know."
Tanimura replied absentmindedly. Thinking about the incoming balance, he felt a fleeting moment of joy.
---
Atlas Garage
The acquisition negotiations would naturally be handled by others. Kobayashi Tetsu had only established intent.
Right now, he was preparing a script to hand over to Daicon Film.
Sonic was a special project, so the script needed to go slightly beyond convention. Kobayashi would outline the overall framework, leaving the detailed content for them to flesh out.
In the entire garage, only the sounds of keyboards filled the air—Yuji Naka and Kobayashi Tetsu typing away. Kitagawa Tsuyoshi was as taciturn as ever, and Masuko Tsukasa's voice was barely audible once he left the soundproof room.
Behind Kobayashi, AnezakI Nene sat in a chair, resting her chin on the back of her hand, watching him type.
She didn't interrupt. She simply watched as he wrote continuously, occasionally stopping to think before deleting and revising parts.
This wasn't a complete script—just a simple story outline, meant as reference material for Daicon Film.
Kobayashi's prose wasn't particularly good—after all, this was Japanese writing—but the story itself was straightforward.
In the 1980s, a future-era story like this still had decent readability.
When Kobayashi finally stopped to stretch his arms and grab a snack, she spoke.
"Tetsu-kun… so what kind of story is this, really?"
"How should I put it?" Kobayashi shrugged. "It's about an alien lifeform coming to Earth and gradually accepting himself."
"Sonic is an alien hedgehog. He runs fast, has a bright personality, and accidentally ends up on Earth, where he starts a new life. He wants to fit in, but his appearance and species make that difficult. So the story is about how Sonic comes to terms with himself and gains everyone's acceptance."
"Correspondingly, Dr. Eggman is positioned as the antagonist. He's willing to accept Sonic as an outsider—not because he truly accepts him, but because he has deeper motives."
Of course, all of that was improvised nonsense.
In reality, Kobayashi was simply using Hollywood's classic three-act structure.
Protagonist encounters problems →
Antagonist appears, forcing the protagonist to confront them →
Protagonist achieves self-reconciliation or social reconciliation and defeats the antagonist.
This structure was everywhere in commercial scripts. Almost all Marvel films followed it.
Take Iron Man as an example: Tony Stark, a playboy, is kidnapped, builds the Mark I armor to escape, then falls into an identity crisis. After saving people, he realizes his value. Obadiah's Iron Monger attacks, is defeated, and Tony declares to the world: "I am Iron Man."
The framework is complete, with layers of detail added to flesh out character and experience.
So when Kobayashi talked about "self-reconciliation," it was really just a surface-level slogan—something to help Daicon Film accept the project.
The core was still the same three-act structure, portraying Sonic as a superhero-like figure on Earth until he defeats Dr. Eggman.
The story would differ from the game, functioning more like a prequel.
After carefully choosing her words, AnezakI Nene finally said, "Tetsu-kun, you really do have an imaginative mind."
"It's just standard practice," Kobayashi replied casually, then changed the subject. "Nene, would you like to design a monster that could be used as a final boss?"
"Me?" She smiled shyly. "I don't understand games."
"That's exactly why!" Kobayashi encouraged her. "If you don't understand games, you'll have unexpected ideas. Don't hold back—design whatever you're thinking about. Whether it can be implemented is our problem. Whether it can be designed—that's your idea."
Encouraged like that, AnezakI Nene nodded.
Then… she'd give it a try.
And besides—
Kobayashi hadn't even made this kind of request to Kobayakawa yet.
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