Kobayashi Tetsu reviewed the recent months' reports at the Copyright Office.
The licensing for his light gun technology was nearing its end. Virtually every Japanese company capable of affording the development kits had already secured his authorization.
This single venture generated millions in monthly revenue—funds that went directly to Kobayashi Tetsu personally, not to his company.
While the Copyright Office staff conducted their inquiries, Kobayashi Tetsu sat patiently on a high stool, waiting.
During this time, he had restructured Atlas's revenue streams into four distinct categories.
Atlas wasn't a joint-stock company but a limited liability company. Specifically, Atlas had no equity or shareholders. Originally established as a one-man studio by Kobayashi Tetsu himself, Atlas essentially had only one responsible party: Kobayashi Tetsu. He served as both the sole shareholder and the legal representative, making Atlas itself a legal entity.
If there were no need to go public, this operating model would be perfectly suited for a visionary like Kobayashi Tetsu. From top to bottom, he would be accountable to no one, with everything governed solely by his will.
However, to scale up operations, a transition to a different business structure would be necessary.
For now, Kobayashi Tetsu had no plans to change the operating model, but he still needed to establish strict guidelines for Atlas's revenue allocation.
He roughly divided Atlas's current income into four parts:
* 10% would be allocated as Kobayashi Tetsu's personal income. This included revenue from his own rewritten scripts, animated works, invention licensing, and other personal ventures.
* 50% would be retained by Atlas itself, to fund internal research and development, employee compensation, and other operational expenses.
* 30% would be earmarked for expansion capital, to support recruitment efforts, fund expansion projects like this game store expansion, and make potential investments under Atlas's name.
The final 10% was allocated to savings, to be deposited in the bank to earn interest and kept as a contingency fund for emergencies.
For example, last month, total game revenue reached 520 million yen. In the Japanese market alone, Sonic contributed 300 million yen in a single month.
Expenses included a 180 million yen deposit for cartridge production, salaries for Atlas's 22 employees, and 12 million yen for social security, housing funds, and other benefits for Japanese employees.
The net profit was therefore 340 million yen.
Of this amount, 10% would become Kobayashi Tetsu's personal assets.
"So, that's nearly 40 million yen? Oh, but I still have to pay 30% in taxes—damn it!"
Kobayashi Tetsu inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
No wonder so many people buy things in the company's name instead of their own. The tax rates are insane!
Kobayashi Tetsu snapped back to reality when he heard the clerk's voice.
"All organized? Thank you for your hard work."
Kobayashi Tetsu bowed politely and casually flipped through the recent months' registered rights.
He regularly visited this place to check for patents on new inventions. Sometimes, being one step ahead could prove immensely helpful.
For example, Sony had registered the copyright for CDs several years ago, even though they hadn't yet used the technology themselves. Kobayashi Tetsu immediately purchased an exceptionally long-term license lasting fifty years.
It might not be useful now, but its future value would be immeasurable.
During the first and second console wars, Sony used its optical disc patents to sanction a significant number of companies.
By the time all other companies had fallen, leaving only Sony, Microsoft, and Nintendo in a three-way standoff, Nintendo abandoned optical discs in favor of new cartridges and memory cards.
Yet optical discs remained an excellent medium: high-capacity, with a maximum storage of 4GB when average hard drive capacity was only a few hundred megabytes.
Combined with their low cost and ease of production, owning this patent would grant tremendous leverage.
"In other words, Atlas doesn't have the capability to enter the console market yet. Otherwise, Sony would never have sold it to me."
***
Kobayashi Tetsu muttered to himself, flipping through the documents casually. His gaze suddenly stopped on one entry:
Bomber Man, a game released on the NEC platform in 1983.
Bomberman already exists?
In Kobayashi Tetsu's memory, Hudson Soft had only released Bomberman in 1985. Yet here he was, staring at a registered Bomberman from 1983.
"Not Hudson Soft? Released on the NEC platform—the rights holder is Tanaka Yuji. Could this be the same Tanaka Yuji who's a singer?"
NEC was an early computer model that sold reasonably well in Japan. However, its gaming capabilities paled in comparison to home consoles. Computer games of this era lacked the prestige they would later achieve; few people bought computers solely for gaming.
Kobayashi Tetsu fell into deep thought.
Having borrowed heavily from future games, he had inadvertently altered the development processes of many companies in this world. As a result, Hudson Soft had never released their Bomberman title.
After skimming through the documents, Kobayashi Tetsu turned to the staff member.
"Can you contact Mr. Tanaka?"
When the staff member nodded, Kobayashi Tetsu replied, "Please do."
"Lend me your phone."
Instead of calling Tanaka Yuji directly, Kobayashi Tetsu called Kentaro. There were a few things he wanted to ask him to handle.
After settling the matter, Kobayashi Tetsu stood up, feeling relieved.
He had resolved a major crisis. Fortunately, he had discovered the issue early; otherwise, if it had been exposed, the consequences would have been catastrophic.
It seemed he needed to be even more thorough in checking for previous works before selling games in the future.
Next, Kobayashi Tetsu planned to travel to Niigata Prefecture, Japan, where this year's Japan Science Fiction Convention would be held.
His purpose was to discuss with the organizers and promote the Super Dimension Fortress Macross game. He had already instructed Atlas to create a simple reskinned demo based on Jormungandr for use at the convention.
While there, he also intended to bid for the right to host the next SF Science Fiction Convention.
Shinjuku Mitsui Building, Atlas Office.
On Kobayashi Tetsu's first day away, Naka Yuji felt an unusual surge of excitement.
When the President was present, he was called "Nakahiro-kun." What should he be called when the President was absent?
***
***
Elder Atlas, employee number 0002, the company's very first hire!
And today, Iwata Satoru was absent, having gone to the patent office to register the Bomberman patent.
Naka Yuji strode through the office with the swagger of a dragon and the ferocity of a tiger, his spirits soaring.
Reporters were scheduled to visit Atlas for an interview today. With the President away, he was naturally the highest-ranking official present!
"Oh, the reporters are here!"
Naka Yuji slicked back his hair, trying to project his most charismatic image—if he had any charisma to begin with.
Before the cameras, Naka Yuji spoke eloquently, recounting his personal journey, detailing Atlas's growth, and finally mentioning the games currently in development.
"Two games," he announced. "One is a side-scrolling shooter adapted from the classic anime Super Dimension Fortress Macross!"
"The other—"
Naka Yuji paused, thinking.
During Kobayashi Tetsu's lectures, he had learned that using codenames during game development was to prevent others from claiming the titles prematurely. In reality, there was no need for secrecy during promotion.
Knowing that Iwata Satoru had already registered the name "Bomberman," Naka Yuji casually remarked, "For our next game, we'll call it Bomberman."
He didn't elaborate on the gameplay, only vaguely outlining the game's development direction before giving the reporter a tour and bidding him farewell.
After seeing the reporter off, Naka Yuji stood in the corridor outside Atlas's entrance, radiating smug satisfaction, like a victorious king reviewing his troops. His lips curved downward, yet his smile brimmed with pride.
"Oh, Iwata-kun, you're back!" Naka Yuji greeted him casually. "You should have come back sooner. The reporter just left. I was just telling him about our new project."
Iwata Satoru's head snapped up.
"You told him?!"
"Yeah, I did."
Iwata Satoru hesitated, then lowered his voice. "I went, but I was too late! Bomberman has already been registered—and long before us! There's been a Bomberman for two years already!"
Naka Yuji's eyes widened in shock.
Fuck! We're screwed!
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