This was the kind of "downward dimension attack" that Sony still hadn't learned to execute.
"By the way, about the release date..." Hideki Sato's smile faded as he lowered his voice. "Everyone's speculating now, with rumors that we're holding back the date because of production capacity issues. Namco is also trying to find out if they can make it in time for the Christmas sales season."
Takuya Nakayama stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, Tokyo Tower glowed crimson in the autumn sunlight.
"Let them guess."
He gazed toward Shinagawa in the distance, the location of Sony's headquarters. "Ken Kutaragi must be more anxious than anyone right now. He's caught between a rock and a hard place with the PlayStation. As long as we keep the release date up in the air, he won't be able to rest easy."
"So when should we announce it?"
"Let's wait a month and see if Sony makes a move first. It won't affect our inventory or marketing plan anyway." Nakayama turned around, his back to the light, his eyes holding the patient focus of a hunter. "When they finally grit their teeth and set a release date, thinking they've caught their breath, we'll deliver the killing blow."
Meanwhile, the gaming community was completely shaken by the data printed in the black-and-white newspaper.
50 million Mega Drive units, 65 million GamePockets.
For Sega fans, these dry figures were more exhilarating than getting a perfect score on an exam.
This wasn't just Sega's victory; it was a triumph of their taste—See? Hundreds of millions of people worldwide share our passion.
But this moment of triumph was short-lived, doused in the cold reality of the price.
39,800 Japanese Yen.
This price was considered a "industry-friendly" bargain at electronics stores, even a "charitable" price. But for students surviving on allowance and part-time jobs, it was a targeted financial assault on their wallets.
In an old arcade in Akihabara, a group of high school students in uniform clustered around a freshly printed special issue of Famitsu, their expressions more serious than when studying for final exams.
"This isn't a launch announcement; it's a robbery notice," one of the boys, wearing thick-rimmed glasses, grumbled. He pulled out his calculator from his backpack, his fingers flying across the keys with a crisp clack-clack-clack. "If I skip the cafeteria's special fried pork cutlet and switch to the cheapest fried noodle bun from the convenience store—plus the money I earn walking the neighbor's dog—"
"Don't forget the consumption tax, and the game discs," his best friend added ruthlessly, pointing to Akira Yuki's outfit in the magazine. "Are you just going to buy the console to use as a decoration? What about Virtua Fighter 2? And that transforming Paper Pokémon? You're not buying those?"
The calculator's display reset to zero, and the bespectacled guy let out a wail, burying his face in his arms. "Takuya Nakayama's move is so devious! He's forcing me to take up night shifts at the convenience store before Christmas."
What tormented him most wasn't the money, but that damn release date.
Takuya Nakayama's gesture of pressing a finger to his lips had been interpreted in a thousand different ways by the media. Some speculated about a Christmas Eve surprise, others about a New Year's gift.
This lingering uncertainty—this "boot not dropping"—instead fueled panic-driven savings.
No one dared bet on it being delayed until next year.
What if Sega stocked the shelves next month, and he had no money? He'd be left staring through the window, watching others carry home that blue-glowing machine.
The entire Japanese gaming community seemed to reach a tacit agreement overnight: tighten their belts.
For that unannounced next-generation console, everyone's wallets had to enter a state of high alert.
Though the Pacific winds blew a little slower, news of Jupiter spread like wildfire, crossing the International Date Line to reach the shores of the West Coast of the United States.
Compared to the orderly response in Tokyo, the American players' reactions were more direct and wild.
The fax machines in the editorial offices of major game magazines were working overtime, and the customer service lines at Sega North America Headquarters were ringing off the hook.
American gamers, who had been driven to despair by the 3DO's exorbitant $700 price tag, saw the Jupiter's specs and the dizzying "39,800 yen" price in EGM magazine. Their first thought was that the magazine must have miscalculated the yen exchange rate.
When Tom Kalinske called Takuya Nakayama's office, his voice carried a mix of excitement and weary frustration.
"Takuya, your press conference is practically torturing our customer service department. American players have two main questions right now: When will this black box be released in the US, and can it finally send that 3DO—which is good for little more than playing VCDs—to the trash heap? Also, Sega's games have always been released globally simultaneously. This new console can't be an exception!"
Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his boss's chair, twirling a ballpoint pen in his hand. Instead of following Kalinski's lead and discussing the players' enthusiasm, he abruptly changed the subject.
"How's the assembly line in Tijuana coming along?"
Kalinski paused, his mind forced to shift from the heated market feedback to the dusty Mexican border.
"Director Terauchi and Director Hatano are overseeing it. The equipment is debugged and has been in trial runs for nearly a month. We expect to reach optimal production capacity in another two weeks. However, Takuya, isn't the real focus—"
"The factory is the focus," Takuya interrupted. "The North American Free Trade Agreement just took effect this year—that's our trump card. By shipping cheap resistors and chips from Shenzhen and Dongguan to Mexico, assembling them there, and slapping on an 'Assembled in Mexico' label, we can bypass high import tariffs and waltz them into the United States."
He knew exactly how to win this war.
In his previous life, Sony's PlayStation had been priced even more aggressively in North America than in Japan, despite launching six months later there.
One of the key factors in the PlayStation's success in the United States, crushing the Sega Saturn, was its jaw-dropping $299 price point.
In this life, he would be the first to slam that price into Sony's face.
The Mexican operation would mainly serve as a hub for assembling the Jupiter console from components sourced from various Chinese factories, then distributing the finished product throughout North America.
Sega could have set up a contract manufacturing plant in Mexico, but this was the first year of the North American Free Trade Agreement. Since Sega wasn't a fully American company, they needed to tread carefully when exploiting such loopholes. They couldn't be too obvious, as Americans reported such practices without hesitation, even against American companies, let alone Japanese ones.
"I want you to hit $299 in the United States," Takuya Nakayama declared, stating the target price.
Please Support me by becoming my patreon member and get 30+ chapters.
[email protected]/Ajal69
change @ with a
Thank You to Those who joined my Patreon