At this point, the group's expressions softened considerably.
In this economic winter, everything else was just smoke and mirrors; only cash flow mattered.
Sega had earned an unspoken reputation in the industry for its straightforward payment practices.
Participating in their promotions meant getting paid so quickly that developers were moved to tears.
For small manufacturers teetering on the edge of bank loan defaults, Sega's checks were like a lifeline.
In contrast, the "Old Empress Nintendo" in Kyoto, despite the SFC's continued momentum, burdened developers with a harsh royalty system and lengthy payment terms, effectively shifting all the risk onto them.
Previously, developers had no choice but to endure this in silence. But now that Sega, the "barbarian" waving cash, had entered the fray, who would want to grovel at Nintendo's cold feet?
Even industry giants like Konami and Capcom were quietly adjusting their strategies.
While publicly maintaining a dual-platform approach, they were privately prioritizing development for the Mega Drive version over the SFC.
The reason was simple: faster payments. This allowed them to use the cash from one to support the other.
Kyoto, Nintendo Headquarters.
Yamauchi Hiroshi stared at the report from the Sales Department, his brow furrowed so deeply it could have crushed a fly.
This year had been plagued by misfortune. Their ace, Shigeru Miyamoto, had been on medical leave for over half a year, leaving Nintendo's first-party lineup with an unprecedented gap.
They had hoped third-party developers would fill the void, but now it seemed several major titles originally slated for release by year-end had inexplicably been postponed to January of next year.
"These fair-weather friends," Yamauchi Hiroshi snorted coldly, tossing the report back onto his desk.
"President, the retailers are also making demands," the sales manager said, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. "They say once Sega's promotion starts, their shelves will be packed. If the SFC doesn't follow suit with its own promotion, they'll reduce our display space—"
A threat. A blatant threat.
Three years ago, not even ten of these retailers would have dared speak to Nintendo this way.
But now, Sega had fattened these self-serving merchants with cold, hard cash, and their spines had naturally stiffened.
Yamauchi Hiroshi remained silent for a long time before finally waving his hand in resignation.
"Follow suit."
Those three words seemed to drain him of his vitality.
"Tell the lower departments to start a New Year's promotion as well." Yamauchi Hiroshi paused, a ruthless glint flashing in his eyes. "And investigate those manufacturers who bounced checks. Give them special treatment during next year's royalty audits."
"Understood."
With Nintendo forced to join the fray, the 1993 year-end sales war devolved into a full-blown price slaughter.
Players and retailers were the biggest winners.
The managers of Akihabara's major game stores were practically grinning from ear to ear as they watched the two companies go all out with their spending to seize market share.
Blue Sega promotional posters clashed with red Nintendo banners, and beneath this blue-red rivalry, the cash registers rang nonstop.
As the 1994 New Year holidays ended, the game industry's Christmas and New Year sales finally came to a close.
Players retreated home with their bargain-priced cartridges to hole up and practice, and Akihabara's usually bustling streets grew unusually quiet.
The financial departments of the major companies worked overtime calculating the costs and profits of this price war.
At Sega Headquarters, in the Executive Office, Hideki Sato, who had recently been appointed director of the Hardware Development Department, burst into Takuya Nakayama's office, clutching a still-warm transatlantic fax.
"Managing Director, we've received a letter from the United States—it's done!"
Takuya Nakayama snatched the fax.
The paper was dense with technical jargon, but his eyes immediately locked onto the crucial line: Custom MIPSR3000, fabrication successful, all specifications meet expectations.
"Excellent! This is wonderful!" Takuya Nakayama slapped the paper with a loud whack. "We finally nailed this CPU."
Although Ken Kutaragi of Sony had also shrewdly approached Silicon Graphics, using the same MIPSR3000 architecture, the differences were significant.
Sega had not only placed their order earlier, but Mark Cerny had led a team of top Sega developers in designing the chip, incorporating Sega's extensive experience with game development tools.
During the initial launch of the new console, Sega's system would undoubtedly be easier to develop for. This would save development costs and improve game performance in the early stages, making it more attractive to third-party developers.
"From now on, we'll refer to this unit as the R3000S," Hideki Sato said, his face creasing into a wide smile as he pointed to the specification sheet. "The 'S' is reserved for Sega."
Takuya Nakayama tucked the fax into his drawer, feeling buoyant.
With the CPU secured and the basic hardware architecture in place, all that remained was to give this nascent console a memorable name.
"I'll notify the board later today. The next regular meeting will include a discussion on the new console's name. I'll also have my assistant inform the group's brand department to research and propose several naming options and their meanings for the board's consideration," Takuya said, lifting his coffee cup, his eyes gleaming with ambitious fire. "Regarding the assembly and debugging of the Model 2 using the R3000S and the new console prototype, I'll leave that to you, Mr. Sato. Please arrange it with the Hardware Development Department."
"No problem," Hideki Sato agreed, leaving the Executive Office.
A week later, at Sega Headquarters, the regular board meeting.
The conference room was thick with cigarette smoke, as several old-guard directors habitually puffed away while deep in thought.
Takuya Nakayama gently waved away the haze before him and placed a thick technical report in the center of the long table.
"Everyone, I have good news. The R3000S tape-out was successful."
Takuya Nakayama's voice, though soft, instantly cut through the hum of the ventilation fans. "This means our new console now has a CPU. The next step is to assemble the remaining components. The Hardware Development Department has already entered the full-system assembly and testing phase, and firmware development is proceeding in parallel."
Nakayama Hayao, seated at the head of the table, nodded slightly and tapped his knuckles twice on the mahogany surface.
Those familiar with the President's temperament knew this was a sign of his extreme satisfaction.
"Now that we have the CPU, it's time to give this new console a proper name," Nakayama Hayao said, his gaze sweeping across the room. "We can't keep calling it the 'Next-Generation Project'—it sounds like some empty promise that might never materialize."
The head of the Brand Department, who had been waiting nearby, quickly stood up, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and presented a list of naming proposals.
"President, Managing Director, the Brand Department brainstormed these options overnight."
Takuya Nakayama casually flipped through the list, his eyebrows arching slightly.
The first option was "Dreamaker."
"Dreamaker?" A sales director scoffed, crushing his cigarette butt. "Sounds like we're selling Simmons mattresses. We're selling passion and excitement, not putting players to sleep."
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