Kobayashi Tetsu's version of Duck Hunt was different from Nintendo's original. There were no so-called "stages" at all—just a single level with varying color tones.
A considerable portion of the cartridge's limited capacity had been spent on creating that idiotic, infuriating dog.
If the player kept hitting their shots, the dog would sit obediently at the bottom of the screen like a real hunting hound. But miss too often, and the mutt would leap up to mock you—looking as though he were talking to the hunter, though to the player, it felt more like he was mocking them directly.
Kobayashi had also added a special little easter egg:
If the player hit a duck, sometimes the dog simply wouldn't retrieve it.
You'd still get the point, but the dog would inform you with a message:
"Bro, I couldn't find your duck, but I'll count it for you anyway."
Thanks to Kitagawa's adjustments, the dog's blend of stupidity and smugness was captured perfectly.
Judging from the bursts of laughter behind Kobayashi, the effect was obvious.
Aside from the initial "pretend-clumsy" performance—purely to demonstrate the game—Kobayashi was now playing with impressive smoothness.
"Point and shoot" was no exaggeration.
Only when the round finished did he finally lower the light gun.
"Gotta admit—this game really is fun. Hey, Kuroenryu, since you're a special contributor for Kadokawa Game Times, aren't you planning to try it yourself?"
"Of course I'm playing!"
Kuroenryu scrambled over to grab the spot. His notebook was already packed with scribbles; Kobayashi had to squint to even read them.
Kuroenryu, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide his lavish praise.
Kobayashi slipped his hands into his pockets and backed out of the crowd. He wanted to find Shimayose Yōsuke to ask about sales—but couldn't find him anywhere.
Instead, outside the crowd, he spotted Kozakawa—who had been unable to squeeze in at all.
When she saw him come out, Kozakawa puffed her cheeks.
"Well? Is the game fun?"
"Very. The improved console's graphics performance is better too. Everything it should have, it has—and the light gun game is new and exciting. I mean, being able to play a light gun game at home? That's not easy to achieve."
As he spoke, a family walked out carrying a freshly purchased SG-2000 bundle.
Kobayashi nodded subtly.
It was the first sale he'd seen all day—a full bundled set of the SG-2000 with controllers.
Twenty-thousand-plus yen was a bit pricey for 1984, but not unmanageable.
Plenty of people earned over 100,000 yen a month; some even made 200,000. And after the exchange agreement in 1985, salaries would jump to 300,000.
Most Japanese households relied solely on the father's income, so the yearly household income was essentially whatever the father made.
So a 20,000-yen console—during New Year's season—was something a family could make up their mind to buy.
Not to mention the SG-2000 was compatible with the 1200 and 1000, and had new functions and peripherals.
Kobayashi looked down at Kozakawa, ready to tease her again—when she suddenly reached into her pocket and, with a very serious expression, held out a small package.
"What's this?"
"…Gloves."
Kobayashi froze. For a moment, he didn't know what to say.
Gloves.
He took the package, staring at the knitted gloves through the transparent wrapper. Then he looked down at Kozakawa—who had already turned her head away, refusing to speak.
Kobayashi took a deep breath and forced a joking tone.
"With packaging this cheap, if I wear these, the Tokyo Tower won't suddenly turn into a prism tower and electrocute me to death, right?"
Kozakawa spun back around, face bright red, trying to snatch the package back.
"G-give them back! Rin doesn't want to give you anything anymore!"
Kobayashi simply lifted the package high. She couldn't reach, even when she jumped.
He raised it teasingly for a moment, then lowered his arm and let her take it—though his expression grew serious.
"Sorry. I won't make that kind of joke again."
She didn't speak. She only lowered her head and handed the package back again.
When Kobayashi put on the gloves, she mumbled something under her breath—like a blessing that got quieter and quieter.
"…Happy New Year…"
Kobayashi heard it clearly.
"Happy New Year," he replied softly. "Happy New Year, Kozakawa."
Then he suddenly bent down and whispered, "Don't go anywhere. Wait for me."
He caught sight of another player walking out with a console. Seizing the moment, he jogged over to the counter.
When he came back, he was carrying a full SG-2000 set.
"I borrowed a console from Uncle Shimayose."
He said it with a straight face.
"It's too crowded inside. Let's go somewhere quieter and try it out."
Kozakawa's eyes widened. She couldn't believe this was even possible.
Game consoles were expensive! You could just… borrow one?!
Of course, the truth was that Kobayashi had just bought it outright—but twenty thousand yen meant nothing to someone making over ten million yen a month.
Now then… where nearby was quiet, had fewer people, had a TV… and could hide you while playing a game?
Kobayashi glanced across the street.
Chiyama Hayato:
Don't tell me… no, you wouldn't… you wouldn't come here, right?! Don't do this to me!!!
But Kobayashi was already walking over with Kozakawa.
Chiyama sighed. "Fine. Come in."
There really weren't many customers.
Most FC units had been recalled. The few that hadn't weren't enough to support the store. If Nintendo weren't paying a monthly subsidy to their official stores, Chiyama would've defected already.
He led the two inside and set aside a TV for them.
Kobayashi plugged in the console and casually handed Kozakawa the light gun.
"Go on. Try it. If you don't play now, and stock runs short later, we'll have to return this early, you know."
"I—I'll play! Of course I'll play!"
Kozakawa held the light gun with both hands. Even though it wasn't a real gun, it felt strangely heavy, and she wasn't even sure how to hold it properly.
On the screen, the logo of Atlus and the game title appeared. The stupid mutt peeked up from the bottom of the screen with a big goofy face.
Kozakawa gasped. "So cute!"
Kobayashi, who had been looking down at his gloves, snapped his head up in shock.
"When did you lose your eyesight?"
A stupid, annoying, infuriating dog—"cute"?
But Kozakawa nodded seriously.
"It is cute."
She glanced at Kobayashi, silently adding in her heart:
Compared to someone else, it's way cuter.
As for when she went blind?
The moment I met Tetsu-kun.
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