Toshihiro Nagoshi's eyes lit up. He'd always been drawn to that kind of gritty, jianghu-esque atmosphere, but he'd never dared to bring it up at Sega, a company that was increasingly leaning towards "all-ages" games.
"I want you to make a game about real men," Takuya Nakayama said, staring intently at Nagoshi. "Not some fairytale about a knight saving a princess with a lightsaber. I'm talking about a realistic story steeped in the smell of cigarettes, blood, and cheap perfume. The protagonist will be a Yakuza, set in the heart of Tokyo's most bustling red-light district."
"But... the company's image..." Nagoshi hesitated.
"Nintendo's games are all kid-friendly. There are hardly any games on the market that truly cater to adult sensibilities. We need to capture those middle-aged men who want to blow off steam after work." Nakayama crushed out his cigarette. "I've already got the name: Yakuza."
Nagoshi muttered the words to himself, growing more excited with each repetition. But then his face clouded over. "Managing Director, I admire that kind of loyalty, but if I'm going to write a script, I don't even know what they drink or how they cut off their fingers. I can't just go to Kabukicho and interview a yakuza boss, can I? I'd get killed."
Takuya Nakayama couldn't help but chuckle. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "That's exactly the secret weapon I'm giving you today. Go to the Asset Investment Department and find Director Hoshino."
"Director Hoshino?" Nagoshi's eyes widened. "That financial elite who's always wearing gold-rimmed glasses?"
"Don't be fooled by his three-piece suit," Takuya said, patting Nagoshi's shoulder. "His family founded a casino. Even though his branch of the family went legitimate and focused on finance and capital markets, their roots are still there. He has a distant cousin who's now the Wakagashira Assistant of a direct organization in Osaka—also the Team Leader's son-in-law, a real high-ranking member."
Nagoshi felt a crack form in his worldview.
"Take this authorization slip to Hoshino and tell him I sent you to do some research. Have his cousin take you around the territory—see how they run their meetings, handle their accounts, and enforce their rules. I want that kind of authenticity, the kind that would make real yakuza members slap their thighs and say, 'Yeah, that's exactly how we live!'"
As he said this, Takuya Nakayama's smile faded, replaced by a stern expression. "But let's be clear. If this game gets made, the IDSA will definitely slap it with an NC-17 or adult rating, and it might not even get into some European markets. For now, the series is tentatively planned as a Japan-only trial run. That should ease the sales pressure on you, but you'll still need to keep costs in check. If the first installment does well, we can always expand to include Hawaiian and Japanese-American yakuza stories later."
Toshihiro Nagoshi stood rooted to the spot, the scholarly air on his face now twisted by a ferocious ambition.
He craved that gray world of neon lights, desire, and violence.
"I'll do it," Nagoshi replied crisply. "Even if it only sells to Japanese players, I'll make them feel that burning passion."
"Go. Remember, don't just focus on the fighting. I want chivalry—that spirit of a man who, even stuck in a mud pit, still lifts his head to gaze at the moon." Takuya Nakayama waved his hand. "And be sharp in Osaka. Don't let them really cut off your fingers. If you can't code when you get back, I'm not approving it as a work injury."
After arranging things for Nagoshi, Takuya Nakayama returned to his office, where several more weighty project progress reports lay on his desk.
The cover of the top folder read J.League Pro Soccer Club: Create the World, but someone had crossed it out in red and replaced it with the more accessible title ProSoccerWorld.
"The name's a bit clunky, but it's memorable," Takuya Nakayama murmured, a smile creeping onto his lips as he opened the proposal.
Director Yoshikawa was truly a talent. Using his connections at the Japan Football Association, he'd somehow secured full licensing for all J.League teams.
Combined with partial national team data obtained from Europe, the game now had a robust core.
As long as the core gameplay loop of "letting players act as managers to buy and sell players" remained intact, this project would be a cash-printing machine—the kind that never runs out of ink.
As for the guaranteed bestsellers, Super Robot Wars Alpha and King of Fighters III, they were sure bets to rake in sales.
The only two tough nuts to crack, the ones that gave Takuya Nakayama pause, were Fast & Furious 2 and Virtua Fighter 3.
He closed the file, rose from his seat, and ambled over to the floor where Yu Suzuki's Development Team was located.
Peeking through the blinds, Takuya Nakayama saw Yu Suzuki standing behind a programmer, pointing at a wireframe model on the screen, his brow furrowed.
The screen displayed a simple fighting arena, but the ground wasn't flat—it had distinct slopes and steps.
"We don't want just texture-based height differences! We need actual physical elevation differences!" Yu Suzuki's voice, hoarse from lack of sleep, carried through the glass. "If a character stands on a slope, their ankles must bend to match the terrain angle, and their punches must be deflected by gravity. If the current toolchain can't do that, then rewrite the damn tools!"
Takuya Nakayama's hand, which had been resting on the doorknob, retreated.
He knew Yu Suzuki all too well.
This tech fanatic was currently in a state of "tech-induced madness."
To achieve true 3D terrain battles in Virtua Fighter 3 and simultaneously share the physics engine with Fast & Furious 2 for its car stunts, Yu Suzuki planned to add a massive branching feature to the core of the existing development tools. This was necessary to support his ambitious development plan.
This would require a significant amount of time, as he would need to test each idea one by one. After all, the original development tools, built through the collaborative efforts of top programmers like Yu Suzuki, Mark Cerny, and Yuji Naka, had already formed a relatively complete framework. What Yu Suzuki was trying to do would inevitably disrupt this framework.
"Looks like we won't make it this year," Takuya Nakayama muttered quietly before turning to leave.
He had initially considered urging the team to speed up the development, but now he saw no point.
Forcing these two projects, which were still in the tool testing phase, onto the market in 1995 would only result in unfinished products.
Since Yu Suzuki wanted to squeeze every last drop of functionality from the Jupiter, let him try.
Besides, by the time of the E3 in May, Sega would have more than enough cards to play.
Playable demos of Toy Story and MGS2, along with other games, would be enough to give Sony and Nintendo a real headache.
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