Ajal.
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Chapter 34 - Interview Aftermath
🕑 Added 2025-09-14 11:57:07 +0000 UTCThe buzz around Fatal Fury surged to unprecedented heights.
Gamers marveled at Sega’s bold investment and the “game + animation” synergy.
Anime and manga fans were captivated by the Shutaro Oba and Masami Kurumada duo, especially intrigued by Kurumada’s hinted “new work.”
Takuya’s media blitz exceeded expectations.
Nintendo’s attempt to suppress the “K” project backfired, becoming Fatal Fury’s greatest promotional booster.
Sega headquarters, top-floor office.
Hayao Nakayama reviewed a detailed media report and magazines on his desk, his furrowed brow easing.
The report outlined the fervent response to Fatal Fury’s interviews, particularly Kurumada’s added draw.
He picked up NEWTYPE, lingering on the “Producer Nakayama” mention in Kurumada’s interview.
His son not only shone in game development but displayed market savvy and resource integration beyond his years.
This PR counterstrike added crucial weight to the “K” project.
It also showed skeptical board members Sega’s potential for content innovation.
Hayao set down the magazine, fingers tapping the desk.
Perhaps the next-gen plan would proceed smoother than anticipated.
Meanwhile, at Namco’s headquarters.
Masaya Nakamura’s desk held the same gaming and anime magazines.
He stared at the Fatal Fury coverage, his face grim.
Sega’s high-profile move, massive investment, and enlistment of Oba and Kurumada—could “avoiding competition” counter this?
Nintendo, to snipe Sega, sacrificed Namco’s Pac-Man without hesitation, treating him as a pawn.
Now, Sega’s dazzling counterattack stole the spotlight.
In contrast, Namco could only passively accept Nintendo’s dictate, with Pac-Man’s promotional budget stretched thin.
A deep sense of powerlessness and resentment surged in Nakamura.
He eyed Kurumada’s spirited photo, recalling Nintendo’s rep’s robotic smile.
Perhaps, under Nintendo’s hegemony, compliance wasn’t the only path.
Late October, Sega’s Third Development Department buzzed like a midsummer road, charged with intensity.
Keyboards clattered like rain, mixed with hushed but fervent debates and occasional fist-and-foot sound effects from speakers.
At the office’s center, an arcade cabinet drew all eyes.
Onscreen, blond, red-capped Terry Bogard faced the imposing, kimono-clad Geese Howard.
The “K” project’s Fatal Fury demo debuted to core developers.
Group Leader Shimizu stood aside, palms sweaty, eyes darting between the screen and colleagues’ faces.
Yuji Suzuki, unable to resist, rolled up his sleeves and sat at the controls.
“Let’s try this ‘fighting game’!”
Gripping the joystick eagerly, he clumsily moved Terry, testing punch and kick buttons.
Terry responded instantly, his moves far smoother than Kung-Fu’s.
Another team leader took Geese’s controls.
They traded blows, basic attacks delivering visceral feedback.
“Oh! Landed a hit!”
“Block! Quick, block!”
But attempting Takuya’s described “command inputs” for special moves turned comical.
Joysticks creaked, buttons clacked, yet characters only jumped or threw basic strikes.
“How do you do ‘Power Wave’?”
“Which button for the energy blast?”
A fluke success saw Terry unleash a Power Wave, missing entirely, prompting a small sigh of regret.
This clumsiness highlighted the game’s skill depth, lightening the mood with laughter.
“Guess it takes practice,” Suzuki said, wiping his brow, reluctantly standing.
Takuya smiled, stepping up. “Let me show you.”
His fingers hit the joystick and buttons, and his demeanor shifted. The earlier noise didn’t faze him; his focus locked on the screen. The office quieted, only the arcade’s hum audible. Complaining developers leaned in, Suzuki included, eyes fixed.
Takuya’s Terry moved with life—swift, precise. No longer Suzuki’s tentative shuffles, but deft hops, retreats, and dashes.
As Geese attacked, Takuya’s Terry stepped back half a pace, dodging a punch with perfect timing.
In Geese’s recovery, Takuya’s fingers moved. His left thumb traced a smooth quarter-circle on the joystick, right fingers tapping buttons crisply—two sharp clicks.
“Power Wave!”
Terry shouted, crouching, and unleashed a pale-yellow energy wave skimming the ground toward Geese.
“Whoa!” a suppressed cheer rose.
“That’s it!” a failed tester whispered, eyes wide, memorizing Takuya’s inputs.
Geese blocked, the wave thudding against his guard, pushing him back slightly.
Takuya didn’t pause. As the wave was blocked, he dashed Terry forward, exploiting Geese’s brief recovery. At near-point-blank range, he switched tactics.
The joystick moved—back, down, forward, fluidly—paired with a punch press.
“Burn Knuckle!”
Terry’s fist flared with fire, rocketing forward. The timing was perfect, catching Geese as he dropped his guard to counter.
Boom!
The fiery punch slammed Geese’s chest, screen flashing with effects. Geese flew back, his health bar dropping.
“Hit! It hit!” someone shouted, slapping a colleague’s shoulder.
“That’s how you chain moves…” Suzuki mused, stroking his chin, realizing he’d missed timing and flow.
Shimizu’s clenched hands relaxed, a relieved smile forming. This fluid demo spoke louder than words.
Takuya kept going, mixing jumping kicks, precise low attacks, and feigned openings to bait and counter with throws. His seamless play dazzled the crowd.
“Can you do that?”
“How’s that jump attack into a special move?”
“His reactions are insane…”
Developers, once daunted by “hard inputs,” now gaped in awe, itching to try. They realized the game wasn’t tough—they just hadn’t grasped its knack. Simple punches and specials hid deep strategy in this responsive system.
Suzuki, watching Geese outplayed, chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I’ve got to start from scratch.”
His quip sparked laughter, warming the atmosphere. Eyes on Takuya shifted from curiosity to full trust and anticipation. This young man had built something remarkable.
As Geese stumbled, Takuya’s fluid moves continued, captivating the room.
