Meanwhile, at Sega Headquarters.
Takuya Nakayama looked out at Tokyo's gloomy sky through the blinds of his office.
Every move Nintendo made was clearly reflected on his desk, just as he expected.
He was perfectly aware of the weight carried by the golden brands of the legend of zelda and dragon quest.
Yet, a faint smile played on the corner of his lips.
The pokémon ecosystem's ability to generate revenue was like a sophisticated gear system, now fully operational and continuously contributing profits.
The System-16 arcade board's conquest of arcade halls also provided Sega with a solid backing.
"Let them put on a grand show first," Takuya Nakayama instructed his team.
"Our task is to continue deepening pokémon's operations, ensuring every Evolution Stone shines brightly, and every Communication Link connects new bonds."
"At the same time, the quality of subsequent System-16 arcade blockbusters must not be relaxed."
He knew very well that while Sega's current arcade new releases were of excellent quality, they temporarily couldn't directly contend with the two flagship console games Nintendo was about to unleash, especially in terms of creating social phenomenon-level influence.
In his view, Sega's short-term glory in the arcade market would not shake Nintendo's advantage in the home console sector.
The real decisive battle would have to wait until the highly anticipated 16-bit console made its debut.
Before that, patience and accumulating strength were necessary postures.
On January 14th, the air in Tokyo remained crisp.
the legend of zelda II: The Adventure of Link arrived as scheduled.
Long-unseen queues of people reappeared in front of major electronics stores and toy shops.
Although the length was slightly more restrained compared to the grand occasion of dragon quest's release, it still proved the powerful appeal of the name "Zelda."
The game adopted a side-scrolling perspective, completely different from the first installment, and significantly increased action elements, leaning more towards an ARPG.
This change sparked some discussions, big and small, among veteran players.
Some found it fresh and exciting, while others missed the pure sense of exploration from the first game.
Kenichi Tanaka saw the familiar green silhouette of the legend of zelda II in the corner of newspapers and on storefront posters he passed during his commute.
As a loyal completer of the original the legend of zelda, he was naturally tempted.
However, after the soul-deep impact dragon quest I had on him, he held an almost religious anticipation for the upcoming Dragon Quest II.
The thickness of his wallet was limited.
He decided to temporarily suppress this excitement and save his precious budget for what he considered a more "orthodox" RPG sequel.
Deep in the drawer of his office desk, those few repeatedly revised, almost indistinguishable "market research reports" and "client visit records" fabricated for the first dragon quest, lay quietly.
He himself had almost forgotten the initial trepidation he felt when fabricating them.
Now, his mind had already flown to the new continent of Alefgard and the new chapters of adventure waiting to be written.
Time came to January 26th.
This day would later be remembered by countless Japanese gamers, given various legendary titles—"DQII Day."
In the early morning, before dawn.
Akihabara, Shinjuku, Ikebukuro… outside the doors of all sufficiently sized electronics stores and game shops, the scene could no longer be described as merely "winding queues."
It was a human tide.
A dense, black mass of people, packed so tightly it seemed to swallow the entire block.
Its scale was several, even dozens of times, larger than when dragon quest was released.
In the queue, there were veteran players like Kenichi Tanaka, their eyes gleaming with fervor and anticipation.
More numerous were the newly minted Heroes, completely won over by dragon quest's reputation, who swore to experience the sequel at the earliest opportunity.
There were even quite a few parents, looking tired, burdened with the sacred mission of "must buy it" after being repeatedly admonished by their children.
Kenichi Tanaka was smarter this time.
Half a month in advance, he submitted to his Section Chief an "Application for Market Research on the Impact of New Entertainment Software on the Leisure Life of Adolescents and Adults."
The report, thousands of words long, discussed everything from social phenomena to economic benefits, then extrapolated from economic benefits to national spiritual development, finally pinpointing the research time—the morning of January 26th, and the location, naturally, various major electronics stores and Toys R Us.
His Section Chief was so taken aback by his "dedication to the company" demeanor that he approved it with a grand flourish.
Even so, when he confidently, like a general going to war, rushed to the nearest large electronics store, he still gasped at the sight before him, his legs feeling a bit weak.
The queue stretched several blocks away, with no end in sight, a dense black mass, like a hungry snake that had swallowed the entire street.
He even wondered if the tail of the queue had already wound its way to his own doorstep.
Without hesitation, he immediately moved on to the next one.
His heart pounded, and the leisurely mood of "market research" had long since flown out the window.
And the next one.
And the one after that!
In front of every store, it was the same despairing scene.
The air was filled with a peculiar scent, a mixture of anticipation, anxiety, and sweat.
He even saw a few gentlemen who had brought their own folding stools and thermoses, looking ready for a long siege.
Sweat soaked the lining of his shirt, sticking uncomfortably to his back, and the cold wind blew but couldn't alleviate the anxiety in his heart.
He began to calculate how he could fabricate the "market research report" to appear less disingenuous if he returned empty-handed today.
When he was almost ready to give up, his legs heavy as lead, he eventually stumbled upon a toy store located in a secluded alley, usually frequented only by nearby elementary school students and almost deserted.
To his surprise, there was a queue of nearly a hundred people even here.
Although the line was shorter, everyone's face was etched with the tragic resolve of a "last stand."
He gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and joined the end of the line.
At this point, he could only leave it to fate.
Time ticked by, and the queue moved slower than an old grandmother hanging laundry.
A high school student in front of him was loudly boasting to his friend about his "glorious feat" of completing the first dragon quest in just thirty hours, drawing a mix of envious and skeptical murmurs from those around him.
Kenichi Tanaka's eardrums buzzed.
Behind him, an uncle kept sighing, "Please, please let there be one. Otherwise, I can't face my son when I get home. He contributed all his New Year's money."
Listening to this, Kenichi Tanaka felt a mix of emotions, fearing he wouldn't get one himself, yet also feeling a subtle sympathy for the uncle behind him, who was "fighting for his son."
Finally, nearing noon, when the sun was making people feel a bit dizzy, it was Kenichi Tanaka's turn.
He felt like he had participated in a marathon and had finally seen the finish line.
The shop assistant was a young girl, her face as pale as if she'd just been pulled from a flour sack, her voice visibly trembling, as if she might burst into tears at any moment.
On the counter in front of her, where game cartridges should have been piled high, there was now only a single, solitary box left.
"Con-congratulations, this is the last box of Dragon Quest II from our last batch," the girl's voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, but to Kenichi Tanaka, it was like heavenly music.
"To the customers behind, I am truly sorry, it's... it's all sold out," she turned to the back of the queue, bowed deeply, her voice choked with tears.
Kenichi Tanaka almost snatched the game box from the assistant's hand.
His hands were trembling a bit too.
The packaging was even more exquisite than the first game, and the three protagonists on the box—the Hero, the Mage, and the Prince—had resolute eyes, as if calling to him.
It also felt heavier, as if carrying the expectations of countless people.
He clutched it tightly, as if he wasn't holding a game cartridge, but the key to a new world, a holy sword to defeat the monotony of life.
"Thank you! Thank you so much! Really!"
He thanked her incoherently, his hands fumbling with excitement as he took out his money, almost dropping his entire wallet.
After paying, he turned to run, not wanting to stay for another second.
Behind him were countless gazes of envy, jealousy, and even a hint of despair, so dense they could almost burn holes in his back.
The uncle behind him let out a clearly audible sigh of lament, his entire demeanor deflating.