The trailer opened with something no one expected: not computer graphics, not gameplay footage.
It was real-world footage.
The shaky, low-quality video, shot handheld, weaved through crowded streets.
Overhead, dense neon signs—Free Information Center, Geisha Girls, Pachinko parlors—blended together, bathing the night sky in a garish, decadent pink.
A scantily clad hostess by the street covered her mouth with a coy smile at the camera, while a man in a black suit smoked at an alley entrance.
Shinjuku Kabukicho Ichiban-gai.
A murmur rippled through the audience.
While most Americans knew little about Japanese organized crime culture, they had a keen nose for red-light district scenes.
"What game is this? Some kind of interactive movie?" The Editor-in-Chief of EGM turned to his assistant. "Is Sega really bringing adult content to consoles?"
"This scene looks familiar," a reporter from GamePro chimed in. "The clubs in San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles, look just like this. The Japanese really know how to do this kind of thing."
The group chuckled knowingly.
Before the laughter had died down, the real-world footage on the screen shifted.
The camera zoomed in, passing through a rain-streaked window.
In an instant, the video seamlessly transitioned from live-action footage to real-time 3D rendering.
It was still the same street, still the same neon lights.
But now, they had transformed into a digital world built from polygons and textures.
Rainwater pooled on the asphalt, reflecting the red and blue neon signs. A pair of leather shoes stepped into a puddle, sending ripples that shattered the reflections.
The camera tracked upward from the shoes, settling on the back of a man in a gray suit, the outline of a tattoo visible through the fabric.
There was no display of a user interface, nor any traditional gameplay demonstration.
The trailer relied entirely on its pacing and atmosphere to make an impact.
Rainy night, narrow alley.
A group of thugs surrounds the protagonist.
There was no flashy magic, nor any futuristic weapons.
Only fists, knees, and improvised weapons like bicycles and trash cans.
The motion capture was heavy-handed.
Every strike was accompanied by a dull sound effect, and the reactions of the hit characters exuded a weighty realism.
To avoid potential scrutiny from the IDSA, Nagoshi had restrained himself from adding blood splatter effects. Yet this restraint paradoxically amplified the visceral violence, making it feel more authentic.
Of course, such caution might have been utterly pointless.
The entire trailer, less than two minutes long, contained pitifully little information.
Who's the protagonist? What's the story? How do you play it? Nothing was explained.
The screen went dark, and the title appeared in bold letters: Yakuza.
Platform: Jupiter.
Toshihiro Nagoshi unplugged his microphone, gave a perfunctory bow, and walked off the stage with one hand in his pocket.
The audience's reaction was peculiar.
There was no wild standing ovation, only a flurry of hushed whispers.
"Did you see the reflection in the puddle earlier?" the hardware editor from NetGeneration asked, quickly sketching diagrams on his laptop. "Real-time reflections. He must be strictly limiting the polygon count and throwing all the video memory into texture resolution and lighting."
"I'm more worried about how this game will get rated," the GamePro journalist said, flipping through the trade show guide. "The ESRB was only established last year, and they're desperate for a high-profile case. A gangster theme, a red-light district setting, and street brawls? If this gets an M or even an AO rating, Walmart and Best Buy won't stock it."
"Sega doesn't care," the Editor-in-Chief of EGM said, throwing down his pen with a knowing look. "This Yakuza is specifically designed to test the boundaries of what's acceptable in the adult market."
Watching Toshihiro Nagoshi's figure disappear behind the curtain, the reporter added, "There are millions of players over twenty in North America, and they're tired of saving princesses and slaying monsters. Whoever can offer them something a little taboo will get their wallets. The only question is whether Japanese gangsters will appeal to American tastes."
Meanwhile, in the Japanese press area, the focus was entirely different.
A Famitsu editor stared at the logo fading from the screen, his brows furrowed. "The subject matter is too risky. The Yakuza operates in a gray area in Japan, and using them as game protagonists could invite trouble from real gangsters."
"What do you know?" A seasoned journalist, who had covered social news for years, scoffed. "Kobe just had an earthquake, and the Yamaguchi-gumi are setting up tents on the streets to distribute relief supplies. Public opinion toward these guys is complicated right now. Sega is tapping into the national mood with this Yakuza theme. As long as the story portrays the protagonist as an old-school, honorable gangster, this game will definitely do well in Japan."
Backstage, Toshihiro Nagoshi removed his sunglasses and let out a long sigh.
His palms were drenched in sweat.
Standing on the stage earlier, Takuya Nakayama had looked down at the sea of reporters below, feeling uncertain.
Whether this distinctly Japanese Theme could overcome cultural barriers remained an unknown.
Takuya leaned against the corridor wall, a unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, as Nagoshi approached.
"The reception is better than we expected," Takuya said, tucking the cigarette back into its pack. "Even the San Fernando Valley jokes are circulating. That means the Americans are buying in."
Nagoshi wiped the sweat from his forehead. "We didn't show the actual combat interface in the trailer. I was afraid they'd think we were overselling it."
"Hiding our flaws is wise," Takuya replied, patting his shoulder. "The combat system still needs refinement. Releasing it now would only expose its weaknesses. We've succeeded in the first step: creating an immersive atmosphere that sparks curiosity about this world. The rest can wait until we return to Tokyo after the show."
As Toshihiro Nagoshi stepped into the backstage corridor, the spotlight on stage lit up again.
The producer who stepped onto the stage was dressed completely differently from his predecessors.
Koji Oba, dressed in a loose plaid shirt casually tucked into faded, worn-out jeans, stepped up to the microphone and announced the game he was about to showcase: "Shinobi: ShadowStrike."
The screen behind him lit up with the trailer.
The trailer was brutally simple and direct. There was no lengthy exposition of the game's world or backstory; instead, it immediately cut to a dozen seconds of 2D cel animation.
High-contrast color blocks, silhouettes of ninjas leaping across rooftops, and a close-up of a shuriken slicing through raindrops.
After briefly setting up the backstory for the protagonist, Joe Musashi's return, the trailer seamlessly transitioned into gameplay footage.
The perspective was fixed at a 45-degree isometric angle.
A low murmur of discussion rippled through the media area below.
An editor from NetGeneration tapped the edge of his notebook with the tip of his pen. "Isometric perspective. This kind of projection is rarely used in fast-paced action games."
"It's prone to issues," chimed in the hardware tester beside him, his eyes fixed on the screen. "Players often struggle to judge their landing spots in the Z-axis during jumps. It's a common problem."
On the screen, Joe Musashi leaped over a pit filled with spikes.
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