At 2 PM, it was Hudson's turn.
Hiroshi Kudo didn't come to Los Angeles in person; instead, the head of Hudson's North American branch took the stage.
His English carried a heavy Japanese accent, but his attitude was sincere. He began by saying, "We're a small company, but our games are full of excitement."
The audience chuckled.
The first game showcased was Panic Bomber. It would be released on four platforms: Super Famicom, Mega Drive, PC Engine, and PC-98. A mix of puzzle-solving and Bomberman-style gameplay, its simple graphics and intuitive gameplay made it look accessible.
Next was Far East of Eden: Kabuki Klash for Neo Geo. This fighting game boasted top-tier 2D graphics, with character designs heavily influenced by Japan's Sengoku period. The American audience had little familiarity with the IP, but a few fighting game enthusiasts still applauded.
Super Adventure Island II and Takahashi Meijin no Daibōken Jima were released on both the Super Famicom and Mega Drive platforms. These two games were sequels to Hudson's classic series, featuring average graphics but excelling in gameplay.
For handheld consoles, Super Momotaro Dentetsu III launched on both the Game Pocket and Game Boy platforms. A board game-style game, it was highly popular in Japan but virtually unknown in North America.
Finally, there were three new Jupiter platform titles: Space Adventure, Dungeon Explorer, and Lords of Thunder. Trailers for these three games were compiled into a single video, with each game getting approximately 20 seconds of footage. The graphics quality was average for Jupiter games, clearly indicating mid-sized projects, but at least it proved that Hudson hadn't abandoned the next-gen platform.
"Hudson's Jupiter games feel rushed," a NetGeneration editor murmured.
"They're cash-strapped. We're lucky they managed to release anything at all," a colleague replied more charitably. "Hudson's strength has always been gameplay, not graphics. Let's wait until the demo area opens to test the gameplay before passing judgment."
Hudson's press conference concluded, the applause neither excessive nor sparse, just right.
2:30 PM.
The big screen went dark for a few seconds, then the logo emerged:
Square.
The buzz of whispered conversations in the hall ceased within two or three seconds. Hands frozen mid-research, sandwiches paused halfway to mouths.
This reaction spoke volumes.
In 1995, Square was a singular presence in the gaming industry.
Whether in Tokyo's Akihabara electronics district or a GameStop store in Los Angeles, the company's name carried considerable weight.
Among the handful of RPG developers who could appeal to both Eastern and Western markets, Square reigned supreme, with no dissenters.
Moreover, Square's name had already surfaced during Sony's morning press conference.
Fairy Warrior, bearing dual logos from Sony Computer Entertainment and Square, debuted with CG and in-game footage that had bolstered the PlayStation's credibility.
Now it was Square's turn for their own showcase. Everyone wanted to know: if their contributions to others' projects were this impressive, what would their flagship dish taste like?
Hironobu Sakaguchi stepped onto the stage.
He was simply dressed in a T-shirt emblazoned with the "Final Fantasy VII" logo.
"Today, I want to show you something."
After a brief self-introduction, Sakaguchi skipped all pleasantries and got straight to the point.
His English wasn't particularly fluent, but his pronunciation was clear, and he enunciated key words with precision.
"These are the fruits of our team's labor for over a year. To be honest, we debated internally for a long time about whether we should reveal this at this stage."
He paused.
"Then I realized that the greatest fear for game developers is keeping their creations hidden, too afraid to share them with others."
The audience chuckled. It wasn't a polite laugh, but a wry smile of recognition. Many present were developers themselves.
"So today, I've brought five projects. Let's start with the most important one."
He stepped back, yielding the stage to the screen.
The lights dimmed.
A pre-rendered computer graphics sequence began to play.
The first shot revealed a cityscape.
It wasn't a medieval castle, nor a magical tower, but an industrial city with chimneys, railroads, and steam pipes.
The camera slowly zoomed in from above the city, passing through layers of buildings, gliding past lit windows and factory roofs billowing white smoke.
A train rumbled across the screen, the deep, resonant clatter of its wheels on the tracks echoing through the sound system.
The Computer Graphics were astonishing by the standards of the time.
The level of detail in the models was extravagant, and the lighting system's handling of light and shadow created a striking impact on the big screen.
The camera finally zoomed in to the train's doorway, where a golden-haired young man leaped out, a sword wider than his body strapped to his back.
The seeds of the cost-burning Square from his previous life were already beginning to show.
The screen went black.
[ FINAL FANTASY VII ]
Several Japanese journalists in the front row leaned forward simultaneously.
The title remained on the screen for three seconds, and then the platform logo—Jupiter—appeared in the lower right corner.
The CG segment ended, and the screen transitioned to real-time gameplay footage.
This transition was the most critical moment of the entire presentation.
No matter how impressive the CG looked, it was pre-rendered—something anyone could achieve with sufficient funding.
What truly mattered was the real-time gameplay.
As the real-time footage appeared, a wave of astonished murmurs rippled through the audience.
The characters in the footage weren't fully 3D-modeled.
More accurately, it employed a technique Sega had used the previous year—a combination of extensive 2D hand-drawn frame animations and sprite animations layered together and running over pre-rendered 3D backgrounds.
The characters' walking, turning, and attacking movements lacked the stiffness of polygon-skeleton-driven animations. Instead, each frame was individually hand-drawn and smoothly played in sequence, achieving a level of visual refinement reminiscent of traditional 2D games. Yet, the sense of space and depth clearly surpassed that of ordinary 2D graphics.
As the characters moved through the city streets, NPCs turned to watch them pass.
In the background, pedestrians walked and distant vehicles passed by.
The camera cut to the interior of a tavern, where the perspective of tables and chairs, as well as character occlusion, was handled with remarkable clarity.
Then the battle began.
The composition of the battle scenes followed the tradition established by previous Final Fantasy games—ally characters on one side, enemies on the other.
But the information density of the visuals far surpassed what a 16-bit console could achieve.
When characters cast magic, the area covered by the light effects, the number of particles, and the rhythm of screen vibrations were all meticulously calibrated.
A separate cutscene featuring a summoned beast was played. In a 15-second animated sequence, a massive ice dragon rose from a fissure in the ground, opened its mouth to breathe, and covered the entire battlefield with icy crystals.
"Is this running on Jupiter?" a voice called from the back.
"Look at the logo in the lower right corner."
"How does this graphics quality compare to those Namco games this morning?"
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