The Second Party War (2)

"All of them? Wouldn't it be much more efficient to just call the team leads and relay the message?" Nakayama asked, suggesting a more streamlined approach. Yoon-gi shook his head.

"I have something I want to say to the entire staff."

"Understood. I will do as you command."

Nakayama immediately began gathering the personnel from the development department into one of the conference rooms.

Sega's development department. Of course, it wasn't as if there was only one. The department that developed the home console SG-1000 was the development department, the department that developed arcade games for game centers was also the development department, and there were others for various other products. However, the group gathered today was specifically the 2nd Development Department, the team behind the SG-1000.

'It's serious.'

They looked exactly like soldiers who had been defeated in war.

'Well, that's to be expected.'

Yoon-gi had no intention of blaming them. Instead, as soon as he entered the conference room, he stepped onto a pre-arranged podium and spoke to the slumped developers.

"I'm not firing anyone."

His Japanese was fluent. However, the developers looked at Yoon-gi with expressions of utter bewilderment. It was understandable, given that Yoon-gi was currently wearing a mask. The gold mask covering the upper half of his face was enough to catch anyone off guard, a reaction Nakayama had also shown before they entered the room. But it couldn't be helped. It wouldn't matter if he revealed his face now, but if the new project he was about to initiate became a massive hit, the mastermind behind it would inevitably draw attention. In truth, he might have felt it didn't matter if he were found out now, but following his personal philosophy of 'it's better not to be found out if possible,' Yoon-gi wore the gold mask.

"Now, you heard it when you were notified. The major shareholder has summoned you. The major shareholder here has something to say to you today, so listen carefully."

At Nakayama's words, the developers—true to the strict hierarchy of a Japanese company—began to focus, albeit with a hint of absurdity. However, the look of defeat hadn't vanished entirely, so Yoon-gi spoke again.

"Everyone, you've been quite anxious for the past few months, haven't you? The console you worked so hard to build was recalled in its entirety, and there hasn't been a word about a new project. You come to work, but you're told to do nothing, yet you aren't exactly being reprimanded either. You must have thought, 'Am I going to be laid off?' Am I right?"

At Yoon-gi's witty remark, a bitter smile spread across the developers' lips. Because it was the truth. When a company suddenly stops giving you work? It's nice for a few days, but when it stretches into weeks and months, it becomes incredibly unsettling. But thanks to Yoon-gi's comment, the developers weren't just focusing out of forced compliance; they were starting to relax their tension and take a genuine interest.

"Sega has no intention of blaming you. Because, when you were making the SG-1000, did you make it the way you first intended?"

The gloom returned to the developers' expressions.

"No, right? The higher-ups didn't even treat it like an important project, saying it would sell no matter what because it was made by 'Sega,' and they constantly put the brakes on every component you wanted to use. What was the result? A pretty piece of junk that had lower specs than the Famicom but cost more. Is this your responsibility? At least, I don't think so. And it's not President Nakayama's responsibility, either."

Before long, the developers' gloom had turned back into bitter smiles, mixed with a sense of empathy.

"President Nakayama had difficulty properly intervening in the SG-1000 project. If this insightful man had taken an interest from the beginning, the SG-1000 would have looked much better. For instance, maybe the number would have been 2000 instead of 1000?"

The overt witticism hit the mark. Finally, audible laughter spread through the conference room. A presentation by a major shareholder, which should have been stiff and formal, had transformed into a place of catharsis.

"So!"

Yoon-gi captured their attention again with a powerful voice. As he raised his hand, the lights in the conference room dimmed, and a projector at the back of the room emitted a beam of light, forming blue letters behind Yoon-gi's back.

As Yoon-gi, who had been standing in the center, ducked below the podium, the separated letters merged together.

And as Yoon-gi slowly straightened his knees, the combined letters rose gradually in sync with his head, settling above him to show off their blue presence. It was a start that included a definitive visual expression. The developers stared at Yoon-gi and the letters as if mesmerized, and when Yoon-gi raised his right hand again, they focused their attention back on him.

"The Genesis Project."

Every developer in the room shouted the name in their hearts simultaneously, and as if he had heard them, Yoon-gi continued immediately.

"In English, it means origin, or genesis. That's right. We at Sega will create the first true home console for Sega. And you will be the protagonists of that project!"

Thud!

As Yoon-gi intentionally struck the podium, the ear-splitting sound sent a thrill through the developers. If they were part of Sega's development team, they certainly weren't lacking in skill. That was why Yoon-gi had deliberately set out to boost their morale. And this resulted in the developers feeling absolutely no sense of discomfort with Yoon-gi's 'gold mask,' but rather, they began to worship him. The eyes of the developers were filled with pure, unadulterated passion.

"If anyone wants to drop out of the Genesis Project, please do so now. The Genesis Project is only for those who are full of the desire to develop."

Drop out? There was no way that would happen. The developers watched each other to see who might leave, but there wasn't even the sound of a chair shifting.

Thud-!

"Do you want to be a participant in the Genesis Project?"

"Good!! Then, come back to this place at the same time tomorrow. I will give you specific instructions."

With cheers that could have shaken the building, the developers left the conference room with the spirit of tigers. And with everyone gone, only Yoon-gi and Nakayama remained. Nakayama's eyes were peering into a distant future where he would be with Yoon-gi.

The reason Yoon-gi had deliberately left a one-day gap. It was because it was efficient. If he had just given them that rush of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠adrenaline and jumped straight into the practical work yesterday? In that case, the excitement he had instilled might have backfired. But the participants of the Genesis Project sitting here today had digested the adrenaline from yesterday in their own ways, and they were sitting there full of spirit, looking at Yoon-gi, who wore the gold mask, with eyes filled with fervor.

"I only want two things from you, broadly speaking."

At the mention of two things, the developers waited for what would follow with interested expressions.

"Developer-friendly! User-friendly!"

It was only eight words, but because it was so clear, the foundation for the future project began to build in the developers' minds.

"Everyone, what's the point of making a console? You need games to play. What is the hallmark of failed consoles? It's that the environment is incredibly difficult for developers to create games in. That is why the 'Sega Genesis' must be easy to develop for; we must create a developer-friendly environment. You're developers, too, aren't you?"

At the final words, everyone nodded with light smiles on their lips. Certainly, even if you develop a console, it's meaningless if there's no one to develop games for it. Of course, this would be an incredibly difficult task, but the developers were already motivated to do it.

"And user-friendly! Does anyone have an idea of what this means?"

It goes without saying, but given the nature of Japan, it's extremely rare for anyone to raise their hand in such situations. So, Yoon-gi didn't wait long and continued with a gentle smile.

"Does anyone remember the Atari 5200?"

Released in North America in November 1982, it was the successor to the massive hit, the Atari 2600. However, the Atari 5200 failed to a 'shocking' degree, and starting with the failure of this console, the collapse of the North American game market, known as the 'Atari Shock,' began. Naturally, the developers knew about the Atari 5200. Yoon-gi pulled out the power cord and a power strip for that very console.

"Ah...!"

As one of the developers let out an exclamation, the rest of the developers realized what Yoon-gi was trying to say, and they all nodded with bitter smiles.

"Never use this god-awful type of adapter. No, an adapter should take up one outlet; how does it make sense for one of these to take up two? And North America is even more hopeless. Look. It's a 4-socket power strip, but the Atari 5200 adapter takes up three of them."

A massive, rectangular, integrated-cord adapter. What's more, because you have to plug it in one specific direction when using a power strip in North America, the trick of rotating the adapter to plug it in doesn't work. Thus, what entered the developers' eyes was the sight of a single adapter occupying three outlets, and it was strongly imprinted in their minds.

"And, look at this board."

Yoon-gi removed the black cloth covering the whiteboard, and the photos he had taken were revealed to the developers.

"As you can see, if you look at failed consoles, the use of components is all over the place. To ensure smooth production and A/S, you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠must use components with verified stability. Performance is important, but stability is even more important than performance. A product that gives 100% power for one second is less important than a product that consistently gives 80% power, and it must be a component with no supply chain issues. This includes both developer-friendly and user-friendly aspects."

The developers nodded in unison.

"Everyone, developer-friendly and user-friendly. Is there anything you don't understand?"

There couldn't be.

"There is not."

At the development manager's words, Yoon-gi nodded and gave his final instruction.

"Then, write up a report on the draft of a console that fits this concept. The deadline is one month. It doesn't have to be perfect. Just bring it."

"Yes!"

With the development manager's booming reply, Yoon-gi left the conference room first this time.

Console development doesn't take a day or two. That was why Yoon-gi had returned to Korea for a while, and about fifteen days later, he called Nakayama to check on the current atmosphere.

They were still in the stage of writing reports, but to establish an initial concept, they needed to simulate whether it was even theoretically feasible. That was why the developers were working day and night, a phrase that didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even do justice to their dedication.

"Is that so? What did you do?"

"That's a good idea. It's not much of a reward for that enthusiasm, but a 'light gift' will be arriving soon."