The first batch was small.
Twenty copies, printed on cheap paper sleeves, labeled by hand. No box art, no marketing. Just the game on a floppy and a note: "Handle with care. Experimental software."
Kisaragi handed them out personally."Stores aren't interested yet. You sell them to friends, hobbyists, anyone who asks."
I stared at the floppies. Twenty units. That's all.
Sato smirked."Let's see how fast they disappear."
Mori laughed quietly."Don't expect fame yet."
I tested my copy again. Everything worked, but the game still felt… raw.Crude graphics, simple combat, awkward movement. But it had potential.
The first feedback arrived via postcards and phone calls.
"Interesting, but too hard.""Why can't I save anywhere?""I found a bug in map three."
Not a single compliment. Not yet.
Kisaragi read them aloud during lunch."Good. Criticism is better than praise. We learn."
Sato shook his head."I just want them to like it already."
I remained quiet.
Each complaint became a mini-challenge. Map layouts changed, menus adjusted, combat tweaked.By the third week, the copies were gone. Every unit sold. Some even traded among hobbyists.
The PC-98 lab felt emptier now. Less frantic. More… focused.
One evening, Kisaragi stayed late, looking at the empty shelves."Twenty units," he said."Not much, but it's enough to start understanding what works."
Mori nodded."And we're not broke yet."
I added a small map adjustment I had noticed from a user's comment. A narrow hallway became slightly wider, an obstacle moved, an enemy repositioned.
Sato tested it and gave a thumbs-up."Feels better," he said.
For the first time, I realized that this tiny circle of effort—our three people and one mentor—was already influencing others.
Not millions. Not even hundreds. But someone out there was experiencing what we made.
And that was more real than anything I had imagined when I first walked into Akihabara, curious about keyboards and computers.
Kisaragi finally looked at us and smiled—almost imperceptibly."Limited distribution," he said."It's still distribution. It's still reaching people. That's what matters."
The night ended quietly. The PC-98s powered down. Empty desks. But a sense of continuity lingered in the fluorescent light.
Our game was small, imperfect, and ephemeral.But it existed.
And sometimes, that's enough to start a revolution.