Tetsu Kobayashi sat at the outermost edge of the judges' panel, his baseball cap pulled low, partially shading his eyes.
Next to him, Mr. Mizuno sat upright and stiff, impeccably dressed in suit and tie—a stark contrast to the youthful, frenzied atmosphere of the gaming arena. It was clear that representatives like him were out of their element in such a lively environment.
In these settings, official representatives were essentially mascots; no reaction was truly expected of them.
Meanwhile, Yosuke Shimayori, practically buzzing with energy, held a microphone and shouted out the rules of the match, spittle flying as he spoke.
Kobayashi Tetsu already knew the rules perfectly. He only chimed in occasionally, offering explanations for things Shimayori mentioned that he didn't fully understand.
He had thought Hideo Kojima would at least make it through a few rounds. Yet before noon, Kojima had already been eliminated in the preliminaries.
"What the hell are you even playing? That was pathetic! Even Kojima's skills at games are street-level at best!"
Tetsu Kobayashi remained silent, reflecting on the situation. The only reasonable explanation was that Kojima had traveled all the way from Kobe, exhausted from the journey, and simply underperformed. Rumor had it that Kojima wasn't really a gamer; his true dream was filmmaking. After leaving Konami, his work, like Death Stranding, had become notably cinematic.
Seeing Kojima retreat to the audience seats, Tetsu Kobayashi excused himself to the restroom and called over Hiroshi Naka.
"I've got a task for you. Keep an eye on that guy. If he tries to leave, find a reason to stop him."
Hiroshi Naka readily agreed, though curiosity got the better of him: "Who is he?"
"He's the only player here from out of town. After the match, we can interview him to boost the event's visibility. Show that even players from Kansai came to compete. If he insists on leaving, just tell him you're from Atlas Studio and hope he'll stay for an interview."
Kobayashi had given him a perfectly legitimate-sounding reason. Naka saluted and went to monitor Kojima.
Kobayashi returned to the commentator's seat.
The tournament ran long, and around noon, Ning Ning Jieqi and the waitstaff from Old Dixie brought in a delivery of meals—many people eagerly dug into pork cutlet bento boxes.
The morning had been puzzle competitions, and the afternoon featured tank battles and Yamngaard matches. From Kobayashi's seat, he had a clear view of the entire gaming shop and the large screen outside.
Kobayashi had been helping Kohakawa with Yamngaard speedrunning techniques recently, and from her form, he judged she had no problem with the challenge.
But clearly, others didn't share that opinion. Yamngaard was notoriously difficult. Although not as hard as the original Salamander, shoot-'em-up games were never easy—without years of practice, success was impossible.
Shimayori clutched his microphone, a fiery little imp, thrilled beyond measure.
"Speaking of Yamngaard, it's been dazzling lately! The anime just finished airing this month. The protagonists break synchronization and defeat the Yamngaard Serpent—but can our players replicate that in-game?"
Kobayashi Tetsu added, "According to the rules, both completion time and score are ranked. The highest scorer and the fastest player each win a prize. So even if you can't speedrun, don't despair. Playing safely while racking up points is also a valid strategy."
Shimayori continued, hyped like an excitable child:
"The match is officially underway! Currently, two players are battling, including the second-place winner from the first tournament. She's proven herself in Kobayashi's puzzle game—but can she manage Yamngaard? That's the question!"
"Oh! Kohakawa is going for points, not time. She must have confidence in her scoring ability."
"Wow! Kohakawa knows the game inside out, dodging stage hazards perfectly—though luck may be a factor too."
"Yikes! That mistake shouldn't happen! Insufficient firepower could waste precious time against the boss! But Kohakawa has chosen—"
Shimayori fell silent.
On the big screen, Kohakawa followed Kobayashi's instructions: she piloted a shielded fighter directly into the boss, annihilating it instantly and completing the stage effortlessly.
Meanwhile, the player racing for fastest time was still locked in battle with the final boss.
A scoring-focused strategy had proven faster than speedrunning!
Shimayori was momentarily speechless—so was everyone watching the screen.
Such a tactic existed?
Amid the stunned silence, Tetsu Kobayashi casually took the microphone.
"It seems Kohakawa employed an advanced technique. Observing Yamngaard's manual, we know the shield grants temporary invincibility. It disappears if hit, but for a one-hit fighter, it acts as a second life."
"The enemies are dense, making it hard to remain unharmed. Many players fail to retain the shield until the end, and even if they do, time often runs out."
"Kohakawa exploited the shield's underlying mechanics, triggering a simultaneous destruction with the boss."
Kobayashi explained the technique succinctly. Shimayori, noticing this, slid the microphone toward him.
This explanation felt far more professional than Shimayori's excited, haphazard commentary.
Kobayashi hadn't intended to speak so much, but with the microphone now in hand, he continued:
"In stage two, the perspective shifts from horizontal to vertical, altering gameplay significantly—flight speed and bullet patterns change. That's right! Stage two in Contra is also vertical. Early games shared remarkably similar mechanics."
Kobayashi's analysis was clear and coherent, reflecting his forward-thinking grasp of games.
A TV cameraman smoothly swung the camera toward Kobayashi, capturing his detailed explanation.
This level of professional commentary was far more effective than Shimayori's impassioned but unpolished style.
The previous background chatter gradually faded. Aside from occasional in-game sounds, the entire venue now listened only to Kobayashi Tetsu.
A TBS reporter lowered his microphone, thinking:
This is what professional commentary looks like.
Kojima had been about to leave, but upon hearing Kobayashi's explanation, he lingered a little longer.
This commentator really knows his games.
Kojima had come for fun, not for victory—he would have left after losing. But hearing Kobayashi's orderly analysis sparked genuine interest.
He was intrigued by the new Atlas Studio, not because of Tank Battle or Yamngaard. Even though the anime was airing in Kansai, Kojima wasn't particularly fond of it. He preferred Kobayashi's puzzle game, simple and enjoyable without combat-heavy scenes.
As the fifth-generation heir would say:
No killing is peace!
Kojima, born in the Cold War era, favored non-lethal games, which led him to create the Metal Gear series, emphasizing stealth gameplay.
Kobayashi continued his calm, precise explanations, and Kojima couldn't help but feel admiration.
Good games, skilled players, and professional commentary.
Atlas Studio was truly impressive.
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