The media frenzy and the turbulent power struggles in the business world seemed like stories from another realm to the true core audience at the exhibition hall—the players themselves.
"Sony stabbed Nintendo in the back?"
"3DO is launching a three-dollar revolution?"
"Who cares? I just want to know if the line at the Sega booth is any shorter now."
These lofty commercial wars paled in comparison to the stark reality of the sign before them: "Estimated Wait Time: 3 Hours."
When late-arriving players, or those lured by their friends' hype about the "mind-blowing" light gun games and the "genius" three-on-three fighting games, finally squeezed their way to the Sega booth, they were met with even greater despair.
The merchandise area, once overflowing with treasures, now held only a solitary sign, its boldest font proclaiming two chilling words: "SOLD OUT."
"Gone? All gone?" A young man who had just arrived at the exhibition, his eyes shining with anticipation, stared at the empty shelves as if the sky had fallen.
"Dude, you're just finding out now?" A guy standing nearby with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face chimed in, "It was all gone by mid-morning on the second day. I'm telling you, those scalpers are inhuman!"
The young man stubbornly clung to the railing, peering inside, hoping to find even scraps.
"Don't bother looking—there's nothing left, not even crumbs," another person said, patting his shoulder. Then, with a flourish, he pulled a hardcover artbook from his backpack. The cover featured the iconic *Chrono Trigger* concept art, showcasing all the main characters.
"See this? The *Chrono Trigger* Limited Edition Concept Artbook! It even includes design sketches by Akira Toriyama himself! I'm telling you, it's worth every penny!"
The young man's eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he swallowed involuntarily.
"And check this out!" The man pulled a heavy metal coin from his pocket, engraved with a sharp "KOF" logo. "It's a bonus for playing *The King of Fighters*. Cool, right?"
"Cooool..." The young man's voice cracked with emotion. "Why—why did I waste my time at that Apple launch event two days ago?!"
All he wanted now was to travel back in time and slap his past self—the one who still clung to illusions about "Newton."
Not far away, a young man with dreadlocks squatted in a corner, smoking with a look of utter despair.
He was the scalper who had tried to bribe someone with $150 just two days earlier.
All because he had lingered a few extra moments admiring the booth's attractive staff and hesitated too long, by the time he snapped out of it, not only was the Akira Toriyama signed poster gone, but even the cheapest Sonic keychains had been snatched up.
The Sega booth's game demos remained wildly popular, but with the limited-edition merchandise sold out and commemorative coins distributed, the long lines had lost much of their appeal.
Many disgruntled players left cursing under their breath, only to storm into Chicago's video game stores, big and small.
"Shopkeeper! Do you have any Mega Drive cartridges left? Anything will do!"
"SNES! I want *Super Mario World*! What? Sold out? Then how about *Zelda*?"
The ephemeral "next-gen" wars showcased at the CES Exhibition had ironically acted as a potent catalyst, reigniting players' passion for current-generation games.
After all, those pie-in-the-sky promises were just eye candy; the games they could actually play right now were what truly mattered.
When Ken Kutaragi and his team returned to Tokyo, they were greeted not with flowers and applause, but with the frigid air of Narita Airport at four in the morning.
The flight from Chicago to Tokyo stretched over a dozen hours, the cabin eerily silent.
The PlayStation prototype, once the vessel of their ambition and pride, now lay carefully packed in a custom-made case, resembling an unclaimed, expensive urn.
Ken Kutaragi leaned against the window, his eyes bloodshot. Outside, the sea of clouds churned, but his mind was fixated on Minoru Arakawa's smiling face and his final, dismissive words: "On behalf of Nintendo, I thank you for your efforts."
*Thank you?*
It was the most venomous curse he had ever heard.
The motorcade delivered them directly to the Imperial Hotel.
Oga Norio's chief secretary was already waiting in the lobby, his face expressionless.
"President Oga has arranged rooms for you all," the secretary said, his tone polite yet distant, as if reciting a protocol. "His orders are for you to get some rest. You are forbidden from handling any business or making any calls before 9:00 AM tomorrow."
A young engineer on the team couldn't resist speaking up, as if to say they didn't need rest—they needed to prepare their report immediately.
Ken Kutaragi raised a hand to silence him.
He understood the meaning in the secretary's eyes. It wasn't compassion; it was an order.
Oga Norio didn't want a group of mentally shattered, disoriented, defeated generals appearing before the board of directors.
He needed clear-headed sinners who could articulate exactly how they had screwed things up.
That night, Ken Kutaragi didn't sleep a wink.
The next morning, when the group reconvened, everyone had changed into dark suits, as if attending a funeral.
Each man had shaved meticulously and combed his hair with painstaking care, attempting to mask their inner panic and exhaustion with a presentable exterior.
The atmosphere at Sony headquarters was oppressively tense, unlike anything they had experienced before.
As the elevator ascended smoothly, each click of the floor indicator felt like a hammer blow to their hearts.
When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, the heavy rosewood boardroom door at the end of the corridor loomed like the gates of hell, silently awaiting them.
The Chief Secretary stood by the door, bowing slightly. "President Oga and the board of directors have been waiting for you."
Ken Kutaragi took a deep breath. The air, thick with expensive cologne, cigar smoke, and suppressed fury, seeped through the crack beneath the door.
He straightened his tie, feeling the fabric tighten around his neck like a cold noose.
He turned to look at his team, the engineers whose eyes had once burned with the same passion as his own. Now, they sat with their heads bowed, like prisoners awaiting judgment.
"Let's go," Ken Kutaragi said, his voice hoarse. He stepped forward and personally pushed open the door that would determine their fate.
The conference room was packed. The core of Sony's power structure was assembled around the long table.
No one spoke. More than a dozen gazes, like ice-cold daggers, pierced Ken Kutaragi.
At the head of the table, President Oga Norio sat with a face as dark as water, a cold cigar clenched in his hand. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts.
"You're here?" he said, his voice soft yet chilling, dropping the room's temperature several degrees.
"Sit down."
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