"We'll use the new handheld's infrared communication," Takuya Nakayama said, pointing to the black development kit on the table. He painted a picture that set everyone's hearts racing. "Anytime, anywhere—no need to hunt for power outlets or mess with cables. Two players meet on a train, tap their consoles together, and boom—the World's Strongest Martial Arts Tournament begins! With over twenty characters, unique move combinations, and a complex rock-paper-scissors matchup system, students will be frantically trading info at school just to unlock every fighter—"
Beside him, Oguchi Hisao's eyes grew brighter and brighter as he listened.
This is a true dimensionality reduction strike!
Players would feel like they'd hit the jackpot. Word of mouth would spread like wildfire.
This would absolutely ignite the entire handheld console market in an instant!
"Managing Director—!" Oba raised a hand and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a forceful swipe, his voice trembling slightly. "This workload... Not only is the art asset count doubling, but the animation tuning, numerical balancing, and frame-rate polishing—this is more insane than making two Super Shinobi games at the same time! Just tuning the hit-boxes and attack frames for these twenty characters would drive our animation designers insane!"
"What? You can't do it?" Takuya Nakayama raised an eyebrow, his tone tinged with a subtle dare.
Oba froze. He stared at the sketches on the desk, his mind's eye filling with the brutal, bone-crunching brawl between Goku and Tien Shinhan at the World's Strongest Martial Arts Tournament.
He knew exactly how monumental this project was.
If they pulled this off, it would undoubtedly be an undisputed milestone in the history of Dragon Ball games.
To participate in—or even lead—a project of this caliber was the ultimate glory for an action game producer!
"We can do it!!!"
Oba slammed his hand down on his thigh with a resounding smack and roared at the top of his lungs, like a beast awakened from slumber. "As long as the budget is sufficient! As long as the hardware can handle it! Our team will sleep on the office floor for half a year if we have to, but we will absolutely hand-code every single frame of these twenty characters' moves and hitboxes!"
"Go directly to Director Koguchi for the budget—no upper limit," Takuya Nakayama said with a smile, satisfied as he pushed the sketches back toward Oba. "I only care about the results. On launch day, I want everyone who ever questioned Sega to shut their mouths."
Oba snatched the sketches, strode to the table, and—under the envious gazes of the others—hoisted a black development kit into his arms.
"Mission guaranteed! Sega's reputation as the god of action games will not be tarnished by Dragon Ball!"
He spun around, marched back to his seat, and slammed the machine onto the table. Immediately, he beckoned his core team members to huddle around him as they bent over to redraw the schedule.
The moment he sat down, several team leaders leaned in, their eyes fixed on the rough-hewn prototype machine.
The atmosphere in the conference room had completely ignited.
Setting aside Takada's approach—which, constrained by the hardware's capabilities and genre, could only play it safe by taking an unconventional route—the rest of the room was now on edge. Between the two Pokémon titles—one a traditional RPG battle game and the other a co-op puzzle-solver—and Oba's Dragon Ball, a name alone enough to send anyone's adrenaline soaring, no one could sit still.
Everyone was keeping score.
Ten consoles had been on the table. Now, only four remained.
The Group 4 Leader snapped to attention, sliding his project proposal—a mere few pages—into the center of the long table.
"A new Metal Slug title."
Oguchi Hisao picked up the proposal and flipped it open.
The Group 4 Leader leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on the table's edge.
"On arcades and home consoles, two-player split-screen is the limit. But with the handheld's infrared communication module, we can go straight to four-player local co-op.
Four players advancing through the same map simultaneously.
Fighting over hostages, high-score items, and the only camel or tank available.
One person provides cover fire, another sneaks behind to clean up, and you can even deliberately lure enemy fire onto your teammates.
This kind of chaotic, backstabbing-yet-cooperative thrill perfectly fits the handheld's nature of anytime, anywhere local connectivity.
Four friends gathered together to clear a level, the mutual blaming and item-stealing along the way—that's all part of the core gaming experience."
Oguchi Hisao drew a line through his notebook and pushed a machine forward.
The Group 4 Leader grabbed the device and retreated.
With someone leading the way, the pace quickened.
Group 9, responsible for casual games, submitted the project proposal for Sega All-Stars.
It was a pure party game collection, packed with various mini-games featuring minimalist rules and a fast pace: a hamburger-eating contest, a parkour race, and a balloon-keeping challenge.
The core idea was to leverage infrared communication, allowing a few people who didn't usually play hardcore games to quickly gather and kill time. No complex button combinations were needed—just mash a single button or use simple directional controls.
Next, the project proposal for Yu-Gi-Oh! Trading Card Game was placed on the table.
Sega had just acquired the game adaptation rights from Shueisha last year. While the physical card game was still in preparation, the handheld version was already on the agenda.
The producer in charge of this project seemed very confident.
Card games were naturally suited for handheld consoles.
Players wouldn't need to carry around heavy decks, search for a flat table, or manually calculate tedious life points and chain rulings.
Just turn on the machine, align the infrared ports...
Building decks, trading rare cards, and dueling on the go.
The addictive thrill of collecting and battling with trading card games would spread like wildfire among students. To assemble a powerful deck, players would meet up in person more and more frequently.
Oguchi Hisao approved the sixth slot before he'd even finished reading the proposal.
The remaining slots were dwindling.
The Harvest Moon development team submitted their proposal next.
It had no combat, no urgent online battles.
The portability of the handheld console breathed new life into the farming simulation.
On the train, during class breaks, or even right before bed—players could pull out the console at any moment, water their tomatoes, brush their cows, and then save and close the device.
This sense of gentle, constant companionship was something you could never experience sitting in front of a TV.
It didn't require long, uninterrupted stretches of time. Spending just a few dozen minutes each day tending to a virtual farm perfectly fit the increasingly fragmented pace of modern life.
The seventh slot was filled.
The lead for the Ace Attorney series handed over their proposal.
Text-based mystery games didn't need online interaction. Instead, they focused entirely on accessibility and the ability to play in short bursts.
The handheld's compact button layout and the ability to save anywhere meant players could use their daily commute to slam their desks in court and point out contradictions in witness testimony.
A single case could be broken down into countless five-minute reasoning segments, so players never had to worry about losing their progress if they were interrupted.
The eighth slot was gone.
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