Sega Booth.
Tom Kalinske leaned against a *The King of Fighters* arcade cabinet, a cola in his hand, the ice clinking softly in the glass.
He wasn't watching the massive crowd swarming his own booth. Instead, he gazed with amusement at the commotion erupting near the main stage.
Reporters buzzed like a swarm of bees whose hive had been kicked, their voices rising in a chaotic din.
The scene was ten times more chaotic than the aftermath of Sega's own press conference the previous day.
"Boss! Boss!"
Bernard Stora, panting heavily, squeezed through the crowd, his tie askew and his face a bizarre mix of shock and schadenfreude.
"Huge news! Nintendo is suing Sony! They want to steal the *PlayStation* name!"
Tom took a sip of his cola without even raising an eyebrow.
"I know."
"You *know*?" Bernard froze. "That's it? This is the news of the century! Every media outlet is going crazy, and our momentum—it's all been stolen!"
Tom finally turned his head, gesturing with his chin toward Bernard's back.
There, the *John Wick* demo area stretched into a serpentine queue that had already snaked around three corners. A sign at the end of the line blared in bold red letters: "Estimated wait time: 4 hours."
He pointed to the other side of the hall.
At the cash registers in the merchandise area, the clerks' hands moved so quickly they seemed to blur. The *clink-clink* of the cash drawers opening and closing was, in this noisy convention hall, more melodious than any rock music.
"Bernard, do you hear that?" Tom grinned broadly. "That's our real headline."
Bernard followed his gaze and listened to the sounds that resembled a money-printing machine. The anxiety on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a look of sudden realization.
Tom clapped him on the shoulder. "Thank goodness we listened to Takuya and scheduled the press conference for the first day. If we'd held it today, even if we'd brought Michael Jackson to moonwalk on stage, the front pages would still be plastered with those twisted faces of Nintendo and Sony."
He recalled how, just days ago, he had confidently vowed to confront Nintendo and 3D0 head-on, determined to steal their thunder.
Now, the whole idea seemed childishly absurd.
If the press conference had been today, the reporters would have stormed the stage, their first question not about the Sega CD's capabilities, but: "Mr. Kalinski, what are your thoughts on the split between Nintendo and Sony?"
In that scenario, Sega would have become a comical sideshow, warming up the crowd for the main event of the century.
But the Sega of today was focused on serving its players, letting its games speak for themselves, allowing word-of-mouth to spread, and watching the cash roll in.
While Nintendo and Sony were locked in a bloody battle under the spotlight, stabbing each other in the back, players were screaming, laughing, queuing up, and opening their wallets at Sega's booth.
The media was obsessed with the war, but players just wanted good games.
That evening, nearly every television in Chicago's hotel rooms was tuned to the same channel.
The evening news anchor, adopting the grave tone of someone announcing the outbreak of war, placed the commercial conflict between Nintendo and Sony ahead of any international affairs.
"Today at the CES Exhibition, we witnessed the most dramatic business reversal in nearly a decade. This morning, electronics giant Sony unveiled its revolutionary PlayStation console. By afternoon, its partner Nintendo announced the termination of their collaboration and filed a lawsuit over ownership of the 'PlayStation' trademark—"
On screen, Minoru Arakawa's composed, smiling face was maliciously juxtaposed with the desolate scene of Sony's deserted booth, creating a striking visual contrast.
At countless newsstands, newspapers fresh off the presses screamed sensational headlines:
*Wall Street Journal*: "A Friend's Betrayal: How Nintendo Set the Trap of the Century"
*USA Today*: "The Birth and Death of PlayStation: A Launch Event That Lasted Just Three Hours"
*Chicago Tribune*: "Philips! Nintendo's New Darling, Sony's Nightmare!"
In a bar packed with reporters, the *Wall Street Journal* journalist whose tie had been straightened by Minoru Arakawa was surrounded by his peers, now a celebrity among those who had witnessed the event firsthand.
"So, buddy, you really didn't see it coming at all?" a red-faced colleague asked, raising his beer mug. "When Arakawa straightened your tie, you didn't feel the knife in his hand?"
"Knife? All I felt was the warmth of his hand," the journalist replied, taking a long swig of his drink, a look of lingering fascination on his face. "He wasn't acting; he was savoring it. He looked at us arrogant media types like we were monkeys, just waiting for us to jump into the pit he'd dug."
Another reporter chimed in, "I just spoke with a legal consultant, and he said Nintendo's move is absolutely ruthless.
The collaboration agreement between Sony and Nintendo must have clauses about the ownership of jointly developed assets. The very name 'PlayStation' was coined during this partnership. Now that Nintendo has unilaterally terminated the agreement and is claiming the name as joint property, Sony can't use it independently. If Sony dares to sell a single machine under that name before the lawsuit is resolved, Nintendo will sue them until they're stripped bare!"
"Fuck!" someone slammed their fist on the table. "So Sony went through all that trouble, held that massive launch event, only to give the world's most pathetic GG to a product they can't even use?"
"Hahaha! Exactly!"
The entire bar erupted in laughter, the atmosphere as festive as a holiday celebration.
This schadenfreude wasn't confined to the media circle.
On television, a financial commentary program was engaged in a heated debate.
"We must remember the underlying national sentiment at play here. Ever since Sony acquired Columbia Pictures, many Americans have harbored suspicion toward the Japanese corporation, viewing their expansion as overly aggressive," a commentator explained to the camera. "Now, seeing Sony humiliated by an older, more established Japanese company, many people are thinking—'they deserve it.'"
The host interjected, "So you believe Sony has suffered a complete defeat this time?"
"In the PlayStation project, yes. They're now holding a powerful nuclear bomb, only to realize the detonator is in enemy hands. Unless they rebrand it as something like the 'Sony Entertainment Machine' and completely overhaul their marketing strategy—perhaps even stripping out Nintendo's patented technology to bring it to market—today's press conference has become an undeniable joke."
These words, every syllable, reached the presidential suite of a Chicago hotel.
Ken Kutaragi expressionlessly switched off the television.
The room was deathly silent, the Sony executives barely daring to breathe.
The ashtray on the table was already overflowing with cigarette butts.
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