Takahashi's efficiency was astonishing; in no time at all, he returned in a whirlwind with a full team in tow.
At the front stood a man in his thirties—tall and thin, black-rimmed glasses, slightly disheveled hair. His expression was stern, a lingering weariness etched between his brows, yet his eyes were sharp, like a blade sheathed but never dulled.
Behind him followed four or five young men, all with dark circles under their eyes, looking as if they had just crawled out of some kind of development hell. The pride once belonging to elite technicians had been worn down by repeated failures.
This was Arcade Division Five—universally acknowledged within SEGA as technically top-tier, but held back by a lack of creative vision, resulting in projects that rarely gained popularity.
"Executive Director, I've brought them!" Takahashi said, pointing to the man in front, his tone full of admiration. "This is the team leader of Division Five—Uchida Minoru. Don't be fooled by his age, the guy's got real ability."
Uchida bowed slightly, calm and polite. "Executive Director Nakayama."
His team followed suit, though their movements were stiff, their eyes filled with anxiety and confusion.
They had been dragged away from their desks in a hurry; Takahashi had only said it was a great opportunity, but told them nothing else, leaving them all uneasy.
"Leader Uchida, everyone—no need for formalities," Takuya said with a relaxed smile, motioning for them to ease up. "I called you here because I want to ask you one question."
He paused, sweeping his gaze across each member of Division Five.
"Do you want to make a game that will be remembered in gaming history—one that players still talk about fondly twenty years later?"
Uchida froze for a moment, his brows tightening ever so slightly.
Behind him, several members exchanged looks; someone even let out a bitter laugh.
Leave a mark on gaming history? They'd be grateful if their projects weren't canceled before release.
They'd heard this kind of pie-in-the-sky promise far too many times.
Takuya didn't expose their skepticism. Instead, he walked to a nearby whiteboard, picked up a marker, and with a few strokes drew a stylized chibi soldier—headband, determined expression, exaggerated proportions.
"First, our protagonist. Not a muscle-bound tough guy—this is the kind of comic-styled commando I want."
Then he drew a squat, oddly shaped little tank beside it—round turret, short barrel, and tank treads full of motion.
"Next, give him a mount. A tank that can jump, duck, and fire devastating shells. And of course, you can design more vehicles in the same style."
A murmur rippled through the group.
Several artists' eyes lit up; they stared fixedly at the simple sketch, their minds already filling in the details.
The art style… had something.
"But that's not enough." Takuya pressed the marker down firmly. "In this game, everything the eye can see must be destructible."
"Enemy soldiers, their forts, planes, tanks—down to roadside coconut trees, shacks, tin roofs—every last thing should be blasted to pieces by the player. From the very first second, I want the game filled with nonstop explosions, fire, and the sound of metal being torn apart!"
"Every unit should have expressive details—faces, movements, reactions. Even two NPCs walking out of a hut should be able to perform a little silent comedy if they want to."
He gave no lecture on complex systems or lofty philosophies—just the most direct, visceral description of a world bursting with spectacle and charm.
The laboratory fell silent.
A young programmer behind Uchida swallowed hard and muttered, "H-how many active sprites would that need? Can the board even handle it…?"
Everyone's gaze instinctively shifted to Uchida.
But Uchida didn't look at them. His eyes were fixed on Takuya, sharp and unblinking. After a few seconds, he finally spoke:
"Executive Director Nakayama, with the hardware we currently use, what you're describing is impossible. The number of active sprites and scrolling layers would be terrifying. If we force it, the entire game will be a slideshow—an absolute disaster to play."
He said it bluntly, without a shred of courtesy—that was his stubbornness. If something was technically impossible, he refused to compromise.
"Excellent!" Takuya laughed instead of getting angry.
He turned toward the freshly tested System 32 board and made a welcoming gesture.
"And that's why I prepared this for you."
"Dual 68000 CPUs—16 MHz and 12 MHz. Massive on-screen color depth, and sprite-handling power. Its performance exists for one purpose—so you can unleash your full potential."
Uchida's eyes followed his gesture—and when he fully saw the board and the performance data still lingering on the monitor, his pupils constricted violently.
His team erupted.
"What the—! Dual 68000? Sixteen plus twelve megahertz?"
"Did the hardware division make this monster?"
"With this power… everything he described is totally possible!"
Excitement, disbelief, adrenaline—Division Five came alive.
Their earlier lethargy evaporated, replaced by the feverish energy only top engineers feel when handed the perfect tool.
Takahashi's heart pounded with excitement. The fish had bitten the hook.
Takuya let their reactions play out, then turned back to Uchida.
"Leader Uchida—now, do you think this project can be done?"
Uchida pushed up his glasses. The restrained sharpness in his gaze finally unsheathed itself—cold, fierce, brilliant.
He took a deep breath. Instead of answering, he gave his own terms.
"Executive Director, if I take this project, I want full authority. From art style to programming—I don't want outsiders interfering."
"Granted."
"I need the best animators and pixel artists in the entire company."
"No problem. Pick whoever you want from HR."
"And I need—" Uchida paused, aware his demands were growing bold. But recalling the world Takuya had described, he clenched his teeth and continued, "I need absolutely sufficient budget and time. A game with this level of detail can only be built by manpower and time. There's no shortcut."
"Hahaha!" Takuya burst into a hearty laugh. He stepped forward and clapped Uchida's shoulder hard.
"Uchida-kun, like I said—this is the kind of project you can eat off for half a lifetime! For a project like this, SEGA's resources are unlimited!"
Uchida's breathing grew quick. "Then… may I ask—the name of this project?"
Takuya's lips curved upward. He spoke the name that would one day thunder across arcades around the world.
"Metal Slug."
"Gōkin Dankō—Metal Slug."
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