Over the past few days, the one who was truly anxious wasn't Kobayashi Tetsu—it was Yuji Naka.
Although Off-Road Motorcycle had been planned by Kobayashi Tetsu, it was produced by Yuji Naka. In a sense, it was practically his own work.
And yet, now that the game was on the shelves, its performance was lukewarm at best. Yuji Naka was genuinely worried.
His fingers kept tapping on the keyboard, but his thoughts drifted.
Atlus's earliest game had been Kobayashi Puzzle. Back then, SG hardware sales weren't high—at their peak, only a few tens of thousands of units—so Kobayashi Puzzle hadn't sold particularly well either. Even so, it had still reached nearly ten thousand shipments in its first week.
Actual sales were around six or seven thousand units. Later, as SG series sales improved, Atlus's first-week numbers steadily rose as well. Jörmungandr had shipped over one hundred thousand units in its first week, with three hundred thousand sold in its first month—enough to make countless companies green with envy.
And now—
Both SG and FC had reached million-unit install bases, yet Off-Road Motorcycle had only sold thirty to forty thousand copies in its first week.
Yuji Naka was really panicking.
He stole a glance at Kobayashi Tetsu. Meanwhile, Kobayashi Tetsu looked completely unconcerned, feet propped up on the desk, leisurely eating candy.
"P-President…"
Yuji Naka hesitated, then stopped.
It couldn't be that just because it wasn't his own hands-on project, he didn't care about sales, right?
Yuji Naka's anxiety only deepened. At last, Kobayashi Tetsu lowered his legs and walked over to the television.
"About time," he said, flipping his wristwatch, then casually turned on the TV and tuned it to a TBS channel.
"Yuji Naka, I know you're anxious. But being anxious won't help. I already made arrangements."
Kobayashi Tetsu walked over, pressed a hand on Yuji Naka's shoulder, and turned him toward the screen.
"Just watch. If my timing's right, the interview footage will be on any second now."
Yuji Naka looked up at him in confusion.
An interview? Surely not an interview with Hayao Nakayama.
Some things were easy enough for insiders to estimate. Based on Off-Road Motorcycle's performance, first-month sales would probably reach over a hundred thousand, with lifetime sales around a million.
A million units was impressive—but with such a weak first month, the chances of winning were slim.
Under Nintendo's almost cost-no-object promotion, Yamauchi Hiroshi was fully confident that Devil World would surpass two hundred thousand units in its first month.
At Nintendo's distribution meeting, the executives gathered around the table once again.
Yamauchi Hiroshi glanced over and noticed that Shigeru Miyamoto didn't look relaxed at all—in fact, he looked even more tense.
"Shigeru, what's with that expression? You should be happy," Yamauchi said with an easy smile. "Even if it's just a verbal wager, Nintendo isn't about to lose something like that."
Miyamoto tugged at the corner of his mouth, forcing a slightly bitter smile.
"President, not long ago TBS aired a news segment. I had it recorded onto a tape. I was planning to present it to you after the meeting."
"Why wait until after? Play it now."
Yamauchi left no room for refusal, spreading his hands and having the staff prepare the equipment.
"If you've got information, let's take a look."
Miyamoto was startled.
This was something he couldn't let everyone see—it had to be watched in secret.
But Yamauchi's attitude was unmistakable. Swallowing hard, Miyamoto forced a stiff smile and raised his hand to insert the tape into the player.
The footage was cut from a longer recording. But rather than a commercial, it was more like an impromptu interview.
It seemed to be at the site of some large event. The background noise was deafening.
The cameraman squeezed through the crowd, pushing past layers of shoulders, until reaching the very front.
Appearing in the frame was a tall man with a long, slender build, unnaturally pale skin, and a sharply prominent nose.
His clothing was flamboyant, accessories too numerous to count. Such an outfit should have made him an oddity in the crowd, and the conspicuous whitening meant to conceal his complexion should have looked exaggerated. And yet—
He was the center of attention.
Michael Jackson.
The camera shook as the cameraman shouted repeatedly.
"Michael! Michael! Hasbro—games—!"
The noise of the scene tore the voice into fragments. Much of it was inaudible. But Michael Jackson noticed and leaned toward the camera.
"That arcade machine? Yes, I've tried it. It's excellent—probably the highest-quality arcade game in recent years. I even had Hasbro customize a Jörmungandr cabinet just for me. Atari should really learn from them.
Yes, arcade games. I love arcade games. I collect many machines. I love games. Who composed the music for Jörmungandr? That electronic track was amazing—"
Most of the audio was hard to make out, but a few key phrases had clearly been enhanced, coming through with striking clarity.
When the clip ended, Yamauchi Hiroshi clasped his hands together, his brows knitting tightly.
This wasn't some nobody or mere film star.
This was Michael Jackson.
A global superstar.
He could imagine the impact with just his eyebrows—what kind of effect praise from someone like that would have.
Yamauchi suddenly looked up.
"Is there a way to verify this? Whether this footage is real or fake—have North America verify it immediately."
He didn't believe Sega or Atlus would spend the money to hire Michael Jackson for a commercial. But even harder to believe was the idea that Michael Jackson would offer heartfelt praise for a product without any contract at all.
After issuing several orders, Yamauchi folded his hands again, his thoughts growing more tangled.
He still couldn't understand it.
Why would Michael Jackson praise a game from a distant country so enthusiastically?
What Yamauchi couldn't understand, others couldn't either.
But Michael Jackson was famously free-spirited. After becoming famous, he collected numerous arcade machines and entertained friends with them at his parties. It could be said that Michael Jackson was a true arcade enthusiast. His childhood played a role, but more importantly, it was genuine love.
Kobayashi Tetsu couldn't afford Michael Jackson, and Sega would never spend that kind of money for a single game. This footage came from a reporter commissioned by Hasbro, after Michael Jackson had collected a Jörmungandr arcade cabinet.
Michael Jackson didn't even know who Kobayashi Tetsu was, let alone that the game came from Atlus. He only knew it was an arcade game distributed by Hasbro—and that it was fun.
This was, of course, a matter of journalism. Michael Jackson had only praised Hasbro's North American arcade version of Jörmungandr. He knew nothing about the home console version, Atlus, or anything else, and the clip never mentioned them.
But once players already knew about Atlus, that praise naturally transformed into praise for Atlus itself.
Taken further, it could even be seen as praise for the entire Japanese game industry.
Look—America had fallen. Atari had collapsed. Only Japanese games could save the U.S.!
People with such thoughts were everywhere.
And now—
Kobayashi Tetsu had paid Jim for this simple clip and had it broadcast on television as a news segment.
Not just Nintendo, not just Miyamoto, not just a few insiders.
With Japan's television penetration, on that day countless people—game fans, music fans, and more—saw this brief report.
Kobayashi Tetsu didn't even need to commission anything further.
Many newspapers were already drafting eye-catching headlines on their own.
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