Late July.
The bell ending the final exams rang out like a trumpet announcing the start of summer's revelry.
Students who had been pent-up for half a semester burst free like wild horses slipped from their reins, clutching their freshly received pocket money as they flooded into the streets.
And at that very moment, the ever-mysterious Toho publicity department finally tore away its last veil.
The earlier three posters—"Lightning," "Flame," and "Frost"—those apocalyptic-style teasers that had stretched suspense to the breaking point, had already driven the public wild with speculation. Now, the fourth and final main poster appeared overnight in every Tokyo subway station, bus stop, and cinema in the most prominent possible spots.
In the deep ocean, a colossal silver silhouette rose slowly from the darkness, its body emitting a soft, tranquil glow.
Above it was a line long since whispered among players everywhere:
"—Only the Song of Souls can restore the world's balance."
Lugia had finally revealed its true form.
The promotional assault instantly jumped to a whole new level.
And Sega—like a devil who knew exactly how to pour oil on the fire—chose the perfect moment, right after the evening's prime-time cartoon slot, to release a notice that filled every Pokémon fan with equal parts anticipation and dread.
"To celebrate the theatrical release of Lugia: The Birth of a Legend, present your movie ticket stub at any Pokémon Center nationwide to redeem a lottery ticket—"
Countless households groaned in unison.
"Not again! I knew it!" A middle-schooler clutched his face as if already seeing his wallet's tragic future. "What's the prize this time?" his friend asked nervously.
Onscreen, a silver-shining electronic pet rotated slowly, holy and elegant.
First Prize: Limited Edition Lugia Electronic Pet!
Below it, a fine line of text: Limited to 50 units across all of Japan.
"Fifty again?!"
"Does Sega's factory only know how to make 50 special-edition shells?!"
"Damn it! Last time, to get Suicune, I dragged my parents, my grandpa, AND my grandma through five viewings of Mewtwo Strikes Back, and I didn't even see a consolation-prize sticker!"
"Stop yelling, stop yelling! I just want to know the second prize. I don't need much—just give me a giant Lugia pillow!"
The fan forums were wailing like a disaster zone—yet beneath all the misery was an unmistakable excitement.
They complained, yes, but their bodies were honest.
By the next morning, lines had already formed at the cinema box-office windows.
This combo attack—they knew it too well.
From Mew in the Red/Green era, to Mewtwo in the first movie, to the legendary beasts during the Gold/Silver launch, and now to Lugia.
Sega always knew exactly how to strike a fan's softest spot with the most "shameless" limited-edition marketing.
Love and hate intertwined.
They hated how their wallets crumpled instantly before Pokémon.
But they loved this feverish sense of a national collective pursuit—so intoxicating it was impossible to resist.
Soon, Lugia: The Birth of a Legend premiered to the roaring anticipation of students and Pokémon fans alike.
Outside theaters, crowds swarmed—more like a full-blown Pokémon festival than a movie queue.
Kids with various electronic pets hanging from their necks excitedly compared their most recent captures.
Players held their GamePockets, linking up cables to battle with freshly caught Pokémon.
Many parents dragged along by their children, thinking they were merely chaperoning a cartoon movie, were swept up in the fever, turning it into one of the summer's rare family bonding events.
When the theater went dark and the three legendary birds clashed amid roaring storms—tearing open the sky and freezing the sea—silence fell. Only the children's sharp inhalations broke the stillness.
And then came that soul-piercing cry as the massive silver figure burst through the sea, calming the raging heavens with its song.
The theater erupted in stunned, breathless awe.
"It's Lugia!"
"So cool…"
When the lights came back on, no one moved. Everyone was still immersed in the shock, reluctant to leave.
"I told you! The radio broadcast in the game was real!" a bespectacled boy exclaimed to his friends. "'Extreme weather at the Whirl Islands'—it's because someone caught the three legendary birds!"
"No way! I thought that weird broadcast was your cartridge glitching—"
"Idiot! That's called an Easter egg! A Sega Easter egg!" The glasses boy pushed up his frames with a "you mortals understand nothing" expression. "The movie says you need the 'Song of Souls' to calm the gods! Now we know what the song is—so all that's left is figuring out how to use it in the game—"
Before he even finished, the others' eyes were already sparkling like they'd discovered treasure.
The first wave of praise rippled rapidly through the player community.
The perfect interplay between the film's plot and the in-game clues turned every player into a voluntary ambassador.
And the movie's core theme—that capturing the three legendary birds disrupted nature's balance—unexpectedly caught the attention of mainstream media.
Environmental activists and social commentators began publishing articles, praising the animated film for "embedding a profound reflection on humanity's relationship with nature beneath its entertainment."
Matsuoka from Toho's publicity department stared at these serious-sounding reviews in the newspaper, half in disbelief.
He marched into Nakayama Takuya's office holding a report, unable to hide his excitement—or the absurdity of it all.
"Executive Nakayama! We did it! First-week box office—nearly two billion yen!" His voice was practically floating. "And look at this!"
He slapped a newspaper down, pointing at an article titled 'Pokémon and the Ecological Warnings of Modern Society.'
"They're really discussing environmentalism! And TV stations want interviews—asking about the film's 'sense of social responsibility'!"
Nakayama Takuya only smiled, took the box-office report, and scanned it calmly.
"So, our promotion worked. Time for the next step."
"The next… step?"
That afternoon, every cinema and Pokémon Center quietly posted a new notice.
"To all trainers who have triggered the 'Whirl Islands Emergency Broadcast':
The Song of the Divine has now been heard. The path to calming the storm has opened.
Please bring your Pokémon Gold/Silver game cartridge and GamePocket to your nearest Pokémon Center. Our staff will unlock the route to the Sacred Cave within your world."
The announcement detonated the player community instantly.
Kids walking out of the theaters—faces still flushed with excitement—saw the notice and immediately bolted toward the nearest Pokémon Center, clutching their GamePockets and dragging their parents along.
"Dad! Hurry! I want to be the first to see Lugia!"
Families who thought the movie was the day's only event were swept into a fresh frenzy.
Lines re-formed outside Pokémon Centers, and surrounding shops saw another sales boom.
Store owners looked at the surging crowds, their wrinkles blooming into smiles, each thinking just one thing:
Buying that merchandise license was the smartest decision of my life.
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