He nudged his companion with his elbow. "Material transition."
His companion nodded and scribbled quickly in his notebook: "An absolutely brilliant art strategy. Jupiter's current 3D capabilities handle real human skin stiffly, but they're perfectly tailored for rendering the high-gloss plastic texture of toys. The polygon count isn't high, but the lighting effects capture that plastic texture perfectly."
The demonstration on the screen continued.
During the gameplay demonstration, the development team fully captured the oppressive feeling of the miniature perspective.
Buzz Lightyear needed to collect AA batteries scattered throughout the room to activate the laser on his arm and the wings on his back.
He glided along the edge of the desk, using a remote-controlled race car as a vehicle to speed through the corridor.
The camera cut to a scene in the backyard.
A massive, barking dog marked the boundary between safety and danger with the length of its leash.
Woody and Buzz Lightyear used Slinky Dog's body as a bridge, inching forward under the cover of the grass.
This design, which transformed everyday objects into level obstacles, caught the attention of the journalists in the audience.
"This interaction perfectly captures the everyday scenarios and logic of toys. It's a brilliantly designed game," a GamePro editor remarked. "The camera transitions are smooth, and the physics collision feedback looks solid. Look at the trajectory of the remote-controlled car bouncing off the table leg—that underlying physics engine is beautifully crafted."
"That's Yuji Naka," someone nearby reminded him. "The Father of Sonic. He's best known for his expertise in handling physics collisions during high-speed movement."
In the second half of the trailer, the editing pace quickened.
Woody rode the wind-up frog, leaping over puddles, while Buzz Lightyear glided using the updrafts from a table fan.
With each scene transition, the editors cleverly interwove one or two seconds of high-definition computer graphics from Pixar films.
This blend of reality and animation not only paid proper respect to Disney and Pixar but also cranked player anticipation to its peak.
Below the stage, the Editor-in-Chief of EGM chewed on his pen, quickly assessing the game's potential impact on the North American market.
"Sony's recent announcements have mostly been doubling down on hardcore and mature content," he remarked to the Deputy Editor. "Sega's playing a shrewd hand here. Disney's IP and Pixar's CG spectacle. Once this game hits Walmart shelves, parents buying Christmas gifts for their kids won't stand a chance."
The deputy editor nodded in agreement. "The key point is that the game's quality is already evident. Look at that battery collection system they just demonstrated—it's far more engaging than traditional grinding and leveling up. Yuji Naka has perfectly移植ed the smooth platforming feel of Sonic into a 3D environment. Moreover, Sega and Hollywood have collaborated on several simultaneous film and game promotions before, and the mutual benefits have always been significant. Given their experience, this campaign will undoubtedly be the same."
As they spoke, the large screen showed Buzz Lightyear gliding between bookshelves using his flight wings.
The subtle cushioning motion when he landed showcased Jupiter's meticulous attention to detail.
The trailer concluded with Woody and Buzz Lightyear driving remote-controlled cars out of a second-floor window, the scene freezing on the final frame.
The entire hall erupted in enthusiastic applause.
This wasn't polite applause, but genuine recognition of the seamless blend of technology and creativity.
Standing on the stage, Yuji Naka listened to the thunderous response. His tense shoulders finally relaxed as he picked up the microphone and said, "Thank you to Pixar for providing this magical story."
Simultaneously, he reached out toward the VIP seats in the front row and pointed at several casually dressed Americans sitting there.
Representatives from Pixar Animation Studios.
The group stood up and waved to the audience.
Disney's marketing channels, Pixar's technical support, and Sega's hardware platform.
This trifecta partnership sent a commercial signal far more exciting to the channel partners in the room than the game itself.
A Famitsu reporter scribbled a large exclamation mark in his notebook.
"Using borrowed force to strike back," he murmured to himself. "The executives at Sega of North America have real talent. Leveraging Hollywood resources to promote their launch lineup? That's a brilliantly calculated move. As long as the movie becomes a hit by year-end, this game will sell itself."
"Notice something else?" another Japanese journalist added. "Every game Sega announced today is precisely targeted. MGS2 aims at hardcore gamers, Phantasy Star secures their RPG core audience, and now Toy Story—obviously going after the North American mass market and family-friendly crowd."
"The product lineup is watertight," Yuji Naka said, pushing up his glasses from the stage, clearly satisfied with the reception.
Three months of relentless, round-the-clock work—refining the underlying toolchain and engine—had finally paid off.
He bowed, turned, and strode backstage, his steps noticeably lighter than when he had first stepped onto the stage.
In the dressing room, Yuji grabbed a bottle of mineral water from a staff member. He twisted open the cap and took a long gulp.
He recalled how nervous he'd been when Takuya Nakayama had slapped that fax with the drawing of a cowboy and spaceman in front of him a few months earlier.
To develop a presentable E3 demo version in just three months—this would have been unthinkable in the old Sega.
But the underlying toolchain he had personally honed had proven its worth.
The development environment for Jupiter, meticulously crafted by him and Mark Cerny, had made a huge difference. The efficiency of polygon generation and texture mapping had doubled.
More importantly, the cleverly chosen art direction had paid off.
Abandoning the pursuit of photorealism for a deliberately plastic, toy-like aesthetic had been the right call.
He peeked through a gap in the curtain, glancing at the audience below.
The Pixar technicians were conversing with the surrounding journalists, their expressions indicating they were quite satisfied with Sega's submission.
These Hollywood animators had initially lacked confidence in the capabilities of home consoles, believing they couldn't replicate the visual fidelity of their films.
Yuji Naka had taught them a practical lesson.
As soon as Yuji Naka stepped offstage, the lights in the auditorium dimmed rapidly.
A figure strode into the spotlight from the wings.
The reporter from NetGeneration froze mid-sip, his coffee cup suspended in mid-air.
The man who stepped forward looked nothing like a typical game developer.
He wore a burgundy floral shirt with three buttons undone at the collar, a thick gold chain resting against his clavicle, and a skin-tight white suit.
His hair was slicked back with pomade, and he wore amber sunglasses.
This flamboyant appearance made him seem more suited to be a Yakuza extortionist than a game creator.
Toshihiro Nagoshi stood motionless, ignoring the expectant gazes from the audience.
He plucked the microphone from its stand with one hand and announced in accented Kansai English: "Yakuza."
Without waiting for the simultaneous translation, he turned and ceded the stage to the screen behind him.
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