"I worked a part-time job washing cars at a repair shop last week and earned eighty dollars," he said, frowning as he counted the coins. "I had it all planned out: buy an EA sports game and a new Sony disc. But looking at the lineup now, there are over a dozen high-quality 3D games coming to the Jupiter platform in the second half of the year alone! What good is eighty bucks?!"
"That pittance won't even get you through the door, buddy," his companion in the baseball cap mocked him mercilessly. "I just did some rough math on my calculator. Just the three first-party Sega blockbusters, plus that action game from the French team and that space shooter that looks absolutely sick—buying all of them will cost at least three hundred dollars!"
The chubby boy sighed and silently swept the coins back into his pocket. "Looks like I'll have to beg my dad to let me take on all the lawn mowing and painting jobs for next month. Otherwise, I'll just have to watch you guys have all the fun this autumn."
Old Tom, the shop owner, leaned against the counter, listening to the boys complain. He couldn't suppress the smile on his face.
This kind of conversation played out dozens of times a day in his shop.
Gamers' wallets had a finite capacity, but the sheer volume of games unveiled at this year's E3 Exhibition far exceeded everyone's expectations—even those of the retailers.
After UE 1.0 completely shattered the barriers to entry for game development, the terrifyingly high productivity of small and mid-sized studios translated directly into the endless, densely packed release schedules filling the pages of magazines.
Though these games were still at least six months away from release, they had already generated immense anticipation among players.
In the past, a single major title a month was cause for celebration. Now? They were practically releasing three high-quality games a week!
The scene shifts to the other side of the globe.
In a cramped rental apartment in Shinjuku Ward, Tokyo, Japan.
The screen of an old television flickered with a faint glow, broadcasting a late-night gaming news program's E3 special report.
The coffee table was a mess, cluttered with empty beer cans and half-eaten, discounted bento boxes.
Two college students sat cross-legged on the worn tatami mats, their eyes glued to the screen.
On the television, the host was rapidly announcing the lineups of the participating companies, his voice laced with exaggerated excitement.
"Sega's really not leaving any room for the competition this time," the taller student said, crushing the empty can in his hand before tossing it perfectly into the trash bag in the corner. "Look at this release schedule. It's packed from the September back-to-school season all the way through Christmas. Those small studios that could only do 2D are all making 3D games now, and the graphics are actually pretty impressive!"
Across from him, the shorter student looked miserable, his fingers flying across the calculator's keys with a rapid tap-tap-tap.
"Stop looking. The more you look, the more my heart breaks. Let's just figure out the cost," the shorter one said, sliding the calculator over. "I haven't even bought all the Final Fantasy figures and art books yet, and now Sega's releasing all these new original titles. Look at this strategy RPG—the art style is exactly my taste! And that space-themed RTS, I heard it can have a hundred units on screen at once!"
The taller student glanced at the staggering number on the calculator and clutched his hair in despair.
"Seventy thousand yen?! We're going to spend that much on games in the second half of the year?"
"And that's a conservative estimate, after I've already cut my wishlist in half with tears in my eyes," the shorter man sighed. "I didn't even dare look at the Sony camp's games—I just skipped them entirely. I had to bear the pain of giving up those so-called blockbusters they've signed. We only have so much money, and we have to spend it where it counts, on the games that are actually worth playing."
"How about this?" the taller man suggested, slapping his thigh. "We make a list. You buy the RPGs and simulation games, and I'll handle the action and shooters. Once we beat them, we can swap. If all else fails, we can go hunting at the second-hand shops in Akihabara on the weekends."
"Stop dreaming. Used games are barely dropping in price these days. Especially the big hits on the Jupiter—the second-hand prices are barely any lower than new, and some are even selling at a premium!" The shorter man grabbed a pen and heavily crossed out a few more names in his notebook, hissing through gritted teeth, "We have to make sacrifices. Starting tomorrow, our dinner will be downgraded to instant noodles—with at most one egg!"
Whether in North America or Japan, this had become the norm for gamers worldwide.
The media was blanketing the public with the spectacle of E3, broadcasting it through newspapers, magazines, television programs, and internet forums.
Gamers were counting the days on their calendars, calculating release dates with precision. Then, they would open their shriveled wallets and painfully perform subtraction.
The industry was witnessing an unprecedented explosion of great games.
In the past few years, gamers had often faced a terrible "game drought," sometimes waiting months for a decent major title, forced to replay their old games over and over again.
But now, the situation had completely reversed.
Every month, several—even a dozen—high-quality games were lined up for release.
Industrial-scale blockbusters from giants like Sega raised the bar, while creative gems from small and medium-sized teams, empowered by the UE Engine, completely filled the retail shelves.
They simply couldn't buy them all! It was impossible to keep up!
This "happy problem" for gamers was rapidly translating into explosive sales figures at retail outlets.
In late June, the dampness of the rainy season still clung to Tokyo.
Inside the Executive Office of the Sega Headquarters Building.
Oguchi Hisao placed a thick E3 summary report on the mahogany desk.
He had landed less than three hours ago. His suit was still creased from the long flight, and he held a cup of black coffee.
Takuya Nakayama flipped open the report, his eyes scanning the data.
"What's the word from Sony?" Takuya Nakayama turned a page.
Oguchi Hisao pulled out a chair and sat down, taking a sip of coffee. "Ken Kutaragi didn't even show his face on the final day of the show. The few third-party games they poured a fortune into had demo queues less than half the size of ours. The media were all crammed into the South Wing Pavilion, digging for new projects developed with the UE engine."
Takuya Nakayama closed the report and tossed it onto the corner of the table.
"Good job. Your burden will be heavier from here on. All the big promises we made at E3—you'll have to deliver on them one by one. You need to keep a tight leash on the people in the Development Department."
Oguchi Hisao stood up and tossed the empty paper cup into the trash bin.
"Leave it to me. I'll head up to the eleventh floor right now."
"Give it a rest. There's no need to work yourself to the bone like some tireless iron man." Takuya Nakayama gestured vaguely in the air, his voice slightly husky but tinged with a hint of warmth. "No matter how much crap we have to deal with in this industry, you don't need to break your back just to earn credit. When you're supposed to crawl back into a warm bed and rest, you'd better take your sleep seriously. Your health is the only capital you have to eat good meat for a lifetime. Remember that."
Oguchi Hisao froze for a full two seconds, a flicker of genuine warmth and emotion crossing his eyes. He bowed deeply and respectfully to Takuya Nakayama. "Thank you for your concern, Managing Director. I understand!"
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