Mid-August in Akihabara carried a thick, scorched scent in the air.
The static electricity from thousands of CRT televisions running at once mixed with the smells of solder, cheap plastic, and the smoky aroma of green onion skewers from nearby food stalls.
At this time, Akihabara was not yet the holy land of 2D paper characters it would become in later generations. This was the "Electric Town"—a jungle of radio components, vacuum cleaners, and the newly emerging personal computers. Narrow streets were lined with red and green signs, while "Grand Sale" and "Cash Back" banners hung limply in the sweltering draft.
Satsuki wore a sun hat with the brim pulled low, paired with an ordinary white T-shirt and denim overalls.
She stood by the railing of Manseibashi Bridge, holding a chilled can of oolong tea. Water droplets on the side of the can slid down between her fingers, dripping onto the scalding asphalt and evaporating instantly.
"Sa… Classmate Saionji!"
Hurried footsteps came from behind her.
Suzuki Emi ran over, panting, her oversized backpack bouncing on her back. Her bangs were wet with sweat and stuck to her forehead, and a layer of mist covered her glasses.
"I'm sorry! The train… the train was late!"
Emi apologized while frantically wiping her glasses.
Satsuki handed her a handkerchief.
"It's okay. I just arrived as well."
She glanced at the bulging backpack behind Emi.
"Did you bring the stuff?"
Emi looked around warily and nodded vigorously. She pulled Satsuki into a nearby small alley filled with cardboard boxes.
The alley was dark and damp. Several stray cats were startled and jumped onto rusted outdoor air conditioning units.
Emi placed the backpack on the ground and unzipped it.
Inside was not contraband, but a bright yellow plastic shell.
There were no stickers or circuit boards—just an empty shell. But on the back, a line of inconspicuous small words was engraved: Nintendo 1985.
"Dad said this is scrap—the color came out a little too dark during injection molding," Emi whispered, as if showing off a rare treasure. "But Classmate Saionji, that game is truly amazing! I caught a glimpse of a test screen once—when that little man with the mustache eats a mushroom and grows big, the sound goes 'ding'!"
Emi gestured excitedly with her hands.
"Dad's factory took an order for three hundred thousand of these shells. And I heard this is just the first batch. The people in Kyoto are pushing so hard it's like they're ready to kill someone. Trucks are waiting right at the factory gates. As soon as the shells come out of the injection molding machine and are still hot, they're loaded up and driven away."
Satsuki reached out and took the yellow plastic shell.
A rough texture met her fingertips.
This was the armor of the plumber who was about to rule the world.
September 13, 1985. In the gaming history of later generations, this date would be Year Zero.
But at this very moment, except for those inside Nintendo and a few subcontracted factories, no one knew that a tsunami was about to erupt from this center. Most distributors were still shivering in the shadow of the Atari Shock, viewing video games as little more than "electronic heroin."
"Good job, Amy."
Satsuki placed the shell back into the bag, the corners of her mouth curving slightly.
An initial order of three hundred thousand. For Nintendo, this was just testing the waters.
"That Uncle Itakura—did you make the appointment?"
"Yes!" Emi shouldered her backpack again. "Uncle Itakura is an old friend of my dad's. He's right behind the Radio Kaikan. He seems to be… in a bad mood lately."
…
In an alley behind the Radio Kaikan stood a shop named "Itakura Trading Company."
The rolling shutter was halfway down, and no lights were on inside, making the place as dim as a cave. Shelves were cluttered with various brands of calculators, electronic watches, and several boxes of dusty Atari game cartridges.
A middle-aged man in an undershirt sat behind the counter, a cigarette between his fingers, staring blankly at a payment demand note in front of him.
Ash had already fallen onto the table, but he didn't bother to wipe it away.
"Uncle Itakura…"
Emi leaned half her body in and called out timidly.
The man looked up, his eyes cloudy. Seeing it was Emi, he managed to squeeze out a slight smile on his stubble-covered face.
"Oh, it's Amy. What, are you here to deliver another invoice for your dad?" Itakura sighed, stubbing out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. "Go back and tell your dad to give me a few more days for the injection molding payment. In this damn weather, not a soul is even buying a radio."
"No… that's not it."
Emi stepped aside, revealing Satsuki behind her.
"I have a friend who wants to talk to you… about those yellow cartridges."
Itakura froze for a moment, his gaze falling on Satsuki.
A little girl. Although she was dressed simply, those shoes… Itakura narrowed his eyes. Those were Italian calfskin shoes—one pair worth half a month's revenue for his shop.
"Little girl, this isn't a toy store." Itakura lit another cigarette. "If you want to buy a game console, go to the department store up ahead."
Satsuki did not speak.
She walked straight to the counter, where a worn-out folding chair sat. She took a handkerchief from her bag, laid it neatly on the seat, and sat down.
"Mr. Itakura, you are a primary distributor for Nintendo, aren't you?" Satsuki's voice was clear and echoed in the dim shop.
"I used to be." Itakura snorted. "If you're here to talk about that damn 'Famicom,' then please leave. Those people in Kyoto have gone mad—they want full cash payment for stock and don't allow returns. Those 'Duck Hunt' games I ordered last time are still gathering dust in the warehouse."
He pointed at a pile of boxes in the corner with a look of misfortune.
"I heard there's a new game coming out next month." Satsuki ignored his complaints, her fingers lightly tapping the glass counter. "Code name: 'Mario.'"
"That's right." Itakura scratched his hair irritably. "The Nintendo sales reps call every day to push it, saying it's some 'epoch-making masterpiece.' Bah! Every salesman says that. If I get stuck with another batch of unsold goods, I'll have to jump into Tokyo Bay."
He pulled an order form from a drawer and slammed it onto the table.
"Five million yen! The minimum order is a thousand units! And it's cash only! Where am I supposed to conjure up five million for them?"
Satsuki looked down at the order form.
It read: Family Computer Cassette "Super Mario Bros." – 1000 Units.
Delivery Date: September 10th.
"What if I give you that money?"
Satsuki's voice was soft, yet it struck like lightning, instantly illuminating the dim shop.
The cigarette in Itakura's hand fell and burned his thigh. He jumped up suddenly, swatting at his pants, but his eyes remained fixed on Satsuki.
"Wh… what did you say?"
From her canvas bag, Satsuki took out several thick manila envelopes.
She untied the strings and poured the contents onto the counter.
One bundle, two bundles, three… five bundles.
The solemn face of Fukuzawa Yukichi emitted a charming scent of ink in the dim light.
Exactly five million yen.
In an era when the average salaryman's monthly pay was only two hundred thousand yen, this was an undeniably massive sum.
Itakura's Adam's apple bobbed violently. He instinctively reached out to touch the money but stopped mid-air.
"Wh… whose kid are you?" Itakura's voice turned dry. "This money…"
"It's my New Year's money." Satsuki lied without blinking. "Mr. Itakura, I have great confidence in this game. I want to make a deal with you."
She extended a finger and pressed it onto the pile of cash.
"I will lend you this five million to stock up. In exchange, I want seventy percent of the sales profit from these thousand cartridges."
"Seventy percent?!" Itakura shouted. "That's highway robbery! The distribution channel is mine, the storefront is mine…"
"But the risk is mine."
Satsuki interrupted him.
She looked up and met Itakura's eyes with a smile.
"Mr. Itakura, you just said it yourself—you don't dare to stock up. If I don't provide this money, you won't even have ten percent of the profit, and you'll lose your primary distribution rights because you can't meet Nintendo's quota. When that happens, you'll lose much more than just this bit of profit."
Itakura opened his mouth but found he could not refute her.
Nintendo's dominance was well-known in the industry. If you couldn't finish the task, you were out—that was the logic of Yamauchi Hiroshi.
He looked at the five million in cash on the table, then at the order form that seemed like a death warrant.
If he didn't stock up, his distribution rights would be gone and the shop would be finished. If he stocked up and couldn't sell them, he'd also be dead.
But now, a little girl had come along and offered to bear the entire cost of the stock.
"What if… what if they don't sell?" Itakura asked cautiously.
"If they don't sell, these cartridges belong to me. You won't owe me a single cent," Satsuki said calmly.
Itakura sucked in a sharp breath of cold air.
This was simply a gift from heaven! Aside from earning a little less profit, he had absolutely no risk!
"Deal!"
Fearing she might change her mind, Itakura grabbed the pile of money with startling speed.
"Young lady… no, My Lady! You're straightforward! I'll call Nintendo right now!"
Half an hour later.
Satsuki walked out of the shop holding a handwritten purchasing agreement stamped with both the official and personal seals of "Itakura Trading Company."
The sunlight outside was still blinding.
Emi followed behind her, still in a daze. Looking at Satsuki's back, she felt that this girl—even younger than herself—seemed as tall as a giant.
"Classmate Saionji…" Emi asked stutteringly, "That's five million… what if no one really buys that game?"
Satsuki stopped in her tracks.
In a roadside electronics store, a wall of televisions was broadcasting a Matsuda Seiko concert, and the boisterous music filled the street.
No one buys it?
Satsuki looked at the flickering static on the screens, as if seeing a plumber in overalls hitting gold bricks one by one, making a crisp "ding ding" sound.
Not only would people buy this game—it would sell forty million copies. It would save the entire North American gaming market. It would cause Nintendo's stock price to somersault upward for years to come.
And these thousand cartridges were just the first seeds.
When the shortage wave erupted, the price of these thousand units of ready stock would be speculated up to three or five times the original price.
"Amy."
Satsuki turned around and pressed the now-lukewarm can of oolong tea against Emi's face.
"Don't worry."
She pointed to the sky above, which was fragmented by power lines.
"This world is about to belong to that plumber."
"And we have bought the tickets."
…
It was already evening when she returned to the Saionji family home.
Shuichi had not yet returned.
Satsuki went back to her room and locked the agreement in the deepest part of her safe.
This five million was the first bit of "private funds" she had earned entirely separate from the family and her father, using only her own judgment and tactics.
Although it was a mere drop in the bucket compared to the billions of dollars she intended to short next,
it was a form of proof.
While such an investment with the advantage of foresight was as simple as using cheats in reality, for Satsuki, it was a way to prove herself—to prove to Saionji Shuichi that her talents were by no means limited to theoretical discussions on paper.
"Young Mistress, dinner is ready."
A maid's voice came from outside the door.
"Coming."
Satsuki responded. She walked to the mirror and straightened her somewhat messy bangs.
The girl in the mirror still looked like a well-behaved and sensible child.
At the dinner table.
Shuichi appeared somewhat tired. His position-building in the foreign exchange market was basically complete, and now every day's exchange rate fluctuations tugged at his nerves. The US dollar was still consolidating at a high level, putting him under immense psychological pressure.
"Satsuki, where did you go to play today?" Shuichi put down his chopsticks and asked casually.
"I went to Akihabara with a classmate," Satsuki said, picking up a piece of tofu with elegant movements. "There are many interesting electronic parts there."
"Akihabara…" Shuichi smiled. "You should go to such messy places less often in the future. If you want something, just have the servants buy it."
"I understand, Father."
Satsuki nodded obediently.
She had not yet told her father that in that messy place, she had just planted a landmine that would blow the entire Japanese entertainment industry sky-high in one month.
The sound of cicadas outside the window gradually weakened.
The summer of 1985 was moving toward its end in a restless manner.
And after that end, there would be an even crazier autumn.