Late July burned with relentless heat.
While Lugia: The Birth of the Sea God continued its meteoric rise at the box office, the man who created the entire phenomenon—Nakayama Takuya—was currently "confined" inside the Nakayama family estate, unable to escape.
"Takuya, stand straighter. Shoulders level."
His mother, Nakayama Miyuki, sounded as poised and dignified as always, but her tone allowed no defiance.
Holding a folding fan, she scrutinized her son in the mirror with razor-sharp precision.
Two veteran craftsmen were carefully adjusting the layers of the black montsuki haori draped over him.
The elaborate garments were heavy, suffocating in the summer heat.
Takuya felt the sweat gathering on his forehead.
"Mom… it's fine already, right? It's just clothes," he muttered under his breath.
"'Just clothes'?" Miyuki's brows arched. "This is the formal attire worn by Nakayama men for their most important ceremonies. Every detail must be perfect. When your father—"
"Yes yes yes, when my father wore it he was majestic and swept you off your feet," Takuya cut in immediately, eager to appease.
Sitting on the sofa nibbling wagashi, Nakagawa Eri, his fiancée, covered her smile with her sleeve. Her eyes curved like crescent moons at the sight of her future husband being scolded.
At that moment, a butler entered silently, carrying a folder. He bowed and offered it to Takuya.
"Sir, these are the documents you asked your assistant to send."
Takuya accepted it as if receiving salvation.
Miyuki frowned, but after glancing at her serene, smiling future daughter-in-law, she merely tapped the table lightly with her fan to express her discontent.
Takuya's eyes flicked over the contents—and his lips curled upward.
"Oh? SNK's NeoGeo finally released? Delayed all the way to July… three months later than I remember."
He made quick mental calculations.
Perhaps Sega's early release of Fatal Fury and Art of Fighting, along with their domination of the MD and handheld markets, had shifted the industry's trajectory, causing delays inside SNK. Maybe even siphoning off their momentum.
When he saw the home console's astonishing 58,000-yen price tag, he nearly burst out laughing.
This price was daylight robbery.
Sure, the hardware recreated arcade performance perfectly—but in a post-bubble-burst recession, how many households would spend the price of a premium TV on a machine that only played arcade-style games?
"What's making you smile like that?" Eri asked gently, curiosity in her eyes.
"Nothing," Takuya replied, shaking the document. "Just a certain competitor making a reckless all-in bet."
"A gamble?" Eri blinked.
"Look—SNK's released new hardware. Outrageously expensive, yes, but they do have skill. The problem is the economy. Very few can afford something like this now. And I heard Kawasaki Eikichi has been taking out huge loans in SNK's name to invest in real estate these past two years. Probably lost a fortune. This might be his final desperation play."
He set the papers aside, tone light.
"Anyway, Sega's new board is almost done. We won't have trouble responding to whatever they do."
Then he turned to Eri and—completely without warning—asked:
"So, should we prepare a full set of Pokémon plushies for our future kids?"
Eri flushed instantly. "W-who talks about children's toys before the wedding?"
"Why not?" Takuya said righteously. "Mother has been talking about holding her grandchild every day."
Miyuki, overhearing her son invoking her name in his flirtations, finally cracked a smile—helpless yet indulgent.
She cleared her throat.
"All right, the fitting is done. Takuya—your purification ceremony at the shrine is the day after tomorrow. Until then, you are not to worry about company matters. Understood?"
"Yes ma'am! As you command, Mother!"
He snapped to attention and performed a ridiculous salute, making Eri laugh again.
---
Late August. The summer heat still lingered, cicadas crying endlessly.
After a month-long theatrical run, Lugia: The Birth of the Sea God finally ended its screening. A report containing the final box office numbers was placed solemnly on the desk of Toho's publicity head, Matsuoka.
He took a deep breath and opened it.
When he saw the leading digit—a six—his heart nearly skipped.
Final box office: 6.08 billion yen.
Not only crushing Kadokawa's lavish historical epic Heaven and Earth (which had earned 5.05 billion), but also claiming the undisputed crown of this year's box office.
It was an overwhelming victory—a dimensional strike delivered by a completely new commercial model against the traditional film industry.
Matsuoka's hands trembled. He grabbed the phone immediately.
"Get me Nakayama-san! Now!"
But the receiver responded with nothing but a polite automated message: no answer.
He tried Sega's corporate line.
"We're sorry, Mr. Matsuoka. Director Nakayama is currently on personal leave and will not be handling business matters."
Leave?
At this historic moment?
Matsuoka froze—then laughed helplessly.
Only that man could cause a nationwide sensation, then calmly vanish on vacation.
He hung up, composed himself, and quickly typed a text message full of barely restrained excitement:
[Nakayama-san! Final box office: 6.08 billion! We're No.1 of the year!]
---
Of course, Nakayama Takuya was in no position to receive the message.
Outside Tokyo, an old shrine stood quietly in the mountains, far from worldly bustle.
Ancient camphor trees cast deep shade. The air was thick with incense and the scent of damp earth.
Takuya and Eri, dressed in pure-white ceremonial garments, knelt inside the purification chamber. A Shinto priest chanted solemn norito, each syllable echoing with a sacred stillness.
The ritual was long and meticulous.
When the cold goshinsui poured from the ladle, running from Takuya's forehead down his back, he shuddered involuntarily.
The water was truly freezing.
He glanced sideways at Eri. She, too, trembled from the cold—but her eyes were clear and steadfast.
Their gazes met.
They saw each other's discomfort—
and the quiet laughter they both tried to suppress.
The solemn atmosphere softened, warmed.
After the ceremony, they changed into dry yukata and sipped warm barley tea in the tea room, slowly driving out the chill.
Only then did Takuya pick up his coat, pull out his phone, and check the screen.
Matsuoka's message popped up instantly.
His lips curved upward.
"What's making you smile?" Eri asked, leaning closer with her cup.
"Nothing," Takuya said, handing her his phone. His tone was light, almost playful. "Just that we're definitely getting a very generous wedding gift from Toho."
Eri's eyes widened when she saw the number, then she glared at him gently.
"Always making jokes at serious moments."
"How is this a joke?" Takuya reclaimed his phone, gaze drifting toward the lush forest outside. His voice grew calm, thoughtful.
"Two consecutive theatrical releases, both the top-grossing films of their year… If Toho wants to stay tied to our Pokémon movie releases, they'll have to pay for that privilege."
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