Hideo Kojima was on winter break.
A few days earlier, he had come to Tokyo to make a cameo appearance in a commercial. He hadn't asked for a single yen—just did it for fun.
Unfortunately, the costume had been far too thick. No one could see his face. Otherwise, Kojima felt he might very well have become a star—spotted by a talent scout, pulled into the film industry, and riding a meteoric rise to fame.
What stupid games. He should debut as an actor instead.
Today was the release day of Ice Climber, so Kojima headed to a nearby Island Courier game shop.
The moment he got the cartridge in his hands, he felt its solid weight. It was obvious that the materials used were thick and substantial.
Still, no matter how he looked at it, the illustration on the cartridge box didn't resemble him at all.
Kojima clicked his tongue.
Why didn't it look like him?
He had clearly appeared in the commercial with the same name as the game.
Seeing that the store offered a demo station, Kojima naturally sat down in front of the TV and inserted the cartridge.
In an instant, more than a dozen people crowded in behind him.
This only made the already extroverted Kojima even more excited. Something deep within him—something called a performer's soul—was instantly activated.
He loved crowds. Especially when everyone's attention was focused on him.
Kojima cleared his throat twice and entered the game.
After a simple synthesized jingle, the game began. A short opening story played: an Inuit couple had happily gathered a large stockpile of vegetables, flirting with each other inside their igloo, when suddenly a flock of vultures swooped in and stole every last basket.
Left with nothing, the couple picked up their beloved hammers and prepared to climb the mountain to reclaim their food.
Kojima's evaluation of the story was average.
Given the limitations of a home console, reaching this level was already commendable. Besides, it wasn't a complex game to begin with, so there was no need for an overly elaborate narrative.
The game proper began. Following the manual, Kojima tried out the controls.
Ice Climber had no complicated mechanics—swinging the hammer and jumping. That was it.
While Kojima was testing the controls, a seal appeared on the other side of the screen.
"Hm, the manual says you can hit this thing," Kojima said deliberately, loud enough for others to hear.
The people behind him nodded in unison.
Right. You can hit it.
Kojima swung the hammer. The seal was struck and immediately fled back into its ice hole, crying pitifully.
"Oh? That's interesting."
Kojima had keenly noticed something.
The monsters in the game weren't killed—they were driven away.
There was a fundamental difference.
Even with softened visuals, killing monsters always carried a sense of cruelty. Driving them off, on the other hand, felt far gentler.
He played for a while. As the difficulty increased, the number of safe footholds shrank. Kojima stopped performing for the crowd and focused intently on the game.
At the summit of the snowy mountain, there was a reward-like section where players could recover some of the stolen fruits and vegetables.
Overall, the early stages were easy. Just jumping around and avoiding enemies was enough to reach the top. But as more stages unlocked, the difficulty rose sharply—fewer platforms, faster enemy spawns, and even special enemies appeared.
Polar bears.
These polar bears walked upright, wore windbreakers, and sported baseball caps. Once they appeared on screen, they forcibly scrolled the entire screen upward by one level.
The bears could also be driven away, but if the player reacted even a little too slowly, the game's pace accelerated dramatically.
After playing for a while, Kojima was finally defeated when a polar bear dragged the screen up and ended his run.
"Ah—!"
Kojima let out an exaggerated sigh, prompting a synchronized sigh from the crowd behind him as well.
Why was this guy so bad at the game? The old Blue-Eyes White Dragon guy was way better.
Unfortunately, whether it was Blue-Eyes White Dragon or True Black Flame Dragon, neither of them were around anymore.
One was just a pseudonym of Tetsu Kobayashi, and the other had gone to work part-time as an editor at Kadokawa Game Magazine. Neither had much time to show up here anymore.
As Kojima stood up to give someone else a turn, a man suddenly squeezed in beside him. He wore a baseball cap pulled low, hiding his face. Judging from his chin, he seemed to have a round, rather friendly-looking face.
Kojima was surprised, but not worried—broad daylight, after all.
The man in the cap greeted him.
"Ice Climber, right? I watched you play for a bit just now. What do you think?"
"It's fine," Kojima replied, his urge to perform flaring up again. "The gameplay is solid and orthodox. There's an opening story that clearly tells the player their objective, the difficulty ramps up gradually, and the overall atmosphere is fairly gentle—suitable for all ages. That said, it does feel a little different from Atlus's past titles. The style isn't quite the same."
He opened the cartridge box and glanced at it, suddenly understanding.
"Ah, Atlus Second Development Department—no wonder. So it's not from the main team. Still, who's the producer? Satoru Iwata? This guy's got some clever ideas."
Kojima launched into an enthusiastic monologue, instantly drawing the attention of over a dozen pairs of eyes.
This guy—
He might be terrible at playing games, but he really sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
Kojima talked at length before belatedly realizing something. But before he could say more, the man had already bowed apologetically, said a brief sorry, and turned to leave.
Kojima couldn't help shaking his head.
What a strange person.
He turned back toward the TV, wanting to play another round, but the crowd behind him erupted into a chorus of boos, urging him to stop and let someone competent take over.
The reason was simple: Kojima played too poorly. It wasn't entertaining.
Kojima pulled out the cartridge, grumbling inwardly.
Playing badly wasn't a crime. He'd done his best.
After returning to Nintendo's headquarters, Shigeru Miyamoto finally relaxed, removed his cap, and took off his coat, revealing his true appearance.
He had deliberately gone to a store today to gather information firsthand.
Ordinarily, he could have sent a subordinate to do this. But for some reason, Miyamoto had felt compelled to investigate personally.
From his perspective, Ice Climber executed his original planning concept almost perfectly—though there were differences.
The stage design, the opening and ending story segments, and the motivations of the two protagonists all diverged from his initial proposal.
Still, in Miyamoto's eyes, the game's level of completion was extremely high. Even if he had supervised it personally, the result likely wouldn't have been much different.
"Atlus Second Development Department… I didn't expect them to already have a second team. Atlus is growing fast."
What surprised him even more was how efficient this second department was.
Miyamoto silently memorized a few names.
Yuji Naka from Excitebike.
Satoru Iwata from Ice Climber.
And, of course, Atlus's elusive president, who never seemed to show his face.
They might all become formidable rivals in game publishing someday.
After a brief rest, Miyamoto picked up the phone.
Investigate further and report back—let's see how Ice Climber's sales perform.
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