[MM#25] The Condition Was Working on Two Projects at the Same Time (Patreon)

After Mega Man was released, it was rarely mentioned around the company. The atmosphere already felt as though it had become a thing of the past, and some people even spoke to me with a hint of sympathy, which only left me feeling awkward.

Even so, I often talked with M.K., who had joined the company the same year I did and was developing Famicom (NES) games in the neighboring booth, although we belonged to different planning sections. We would chat about tokusatsu dramas and superhero anime, and we also exchanged opinions about each other's games.

The biggest difference between M.K. and me was that I could never become what you would call a "hardcore fan." I watched countless movies and TV shows, enjoyed them, and was deeply moved by them, but I never felt the urge to dig into them any further.

M.K., on the other hand, seemed to know everything—the names of the characters, the countless episodes behind each story, and every little detail. Whenever I talked about a favorite scene from a tokusatsu hero series, he would explain the related characters and storylines as if giving a lecture. Although we had watched the very same scenes, I always felt he had been looking at them from an entirely different perspective.

The novels and manga that leave a strong impression on me become worn out because I read them over and over again. Whenever I mentioned that, he would smile with a look of genuine sorrow on his face. As for manga series, I rarely finish collecting every volume, and there are plenty of series that I simply stop reading halfway through. He found that completely unbelievable and could only shake his head in disbelief.

It wasn't that I lost interest. It was more like I naturally took away only the parts I found truly fascinating. That way of thinking seemed impossible for him to understand, and every now and then it would lead to lighthearted debates between us—which we both enjoyed.

When it came to Mega Man, M.K. was perhaps the only person who truly understood me. He always shared the worries and frustrations that came with being a game planner. He was also the only one who would honestly tell me, "I don't understand," when I went too far into my theories about the game's design. Looking back, I think those conversations also taught me how to see things from the player's point of view.

One day we talked about how new ideas are born. When he asked me where inspiration comes from, I answered, "You need the ability to question things that everyone else takes for granted." He laughed and said, "The way you think is really unusual."

At the time I didn't really understand what he meant, but I chose to take it as a compliment.

When I told him—and only him—that I wanted to make a sequel to Mega Man, he simply laughed and said, "I knew you'd say that."

While the game was quietly fading from people's attention inside the company, he was the one who showed the greatest understanding of it. That single remark strengthened my determination more than ever.

Developing the NES Version of Legendary Wings

Shortly after the new year began, I started work on the Famicom (NES) version of the arcade game Legendary Wings. It was an original title created by a senior planner in the same planning department, a vertically scrolling shooter. This was my second time adapting an arcade game for the Famicom (NES), following Trojan.

During our planning meetings, that senior planner told me, "You can make whatever changes you think are necessary." Since the game was being converted from a vertically oriented arcade screen to a horizontal home console screen, I believed that changes to the gameplay were inevitable.

Although Legendary Wings was a shooting game, I felt its appeal did not lie in demanding highly precise controls, but rather in letting players enjoy its unique world. With that in mind, I decided to redesign the gameplay for the home console while preserving the atmosphere and visual style of the original backgrounds as much as possible.

Among the staff who had worked on Mega Man, INA (Inafune / INAFKING) moved to M.K.'s team. Meanwhile, F (YASUKICHI), my junior who had been with me since Trojan, and TOM (Tomita / TOM-PON) remained on my team.

Since M.K. belonged to a different planning department, having INA transferred to his team was quite unusual. However, the character designs from Mega Man had been highly praised within the company, and because M.K.'s team was short on character designers at the time, INA was assigned there as reinforcement. M.K.'s team would later go on to produce several highly polished Disney licensed games.

My own team also gained several new character designers, so unlike during Trojan, TOM and I no longer had to create all of the pixel art ourselves. However, Mega Man and Legendary Wings had completely different artistic directions, so we once again had to develop an entirely new approach to pixel art from the ground up.

As for the overall game structure, I carefully decided which elements should faithfully follow the arcade version and which should be redesigned for the home console. At the same time, I wanted to stay as close as possible to the original game's image. The underlying reason was simple: since it was already a straightforward shooting game, I couldn't find any compelling reason to fundamentally change its gameplay.

Even while working on this project, Mega Man was never far from my thoughts. Every evening after returning home, I wrote down everything I had realized while developing Mega Man, the lessons I had learned, and any new ideas that came to mind. Because I had already experienced developing the game, I could vividly recreate new scenes in my imagination and even "play" them in my head. Before I knew it, I was discovering bugs in those imaginary scenarios, thinking of fixes, and writing them down in my notebook.

Just as Legendary Wings was finally beginning to take shape, my manager informed me that I would be traveling to the United States on business. The purpose of the trip was to attend planning meetings for a licensed game based on an upcoming film from Lucasfilm, the movie production company founded by George Lucas.

That announcement also implied that my next project after Legendary Wings had already been decided.

The opportunity to work with the company behind Star Wars was an incredible surprise. At the same time, however, it threatened the possibility of making a sequel to Mega Man.

Mega Man itself had overcome countless obstacles before it was finally completed. Although its initial production run had been modest, it gradually continued to sell through additional shipments. My plan was to use those results—and the potential I believed Mega Man possessed—to persuade management that a sequel deserved to be made.

Why did one impossible challenge after another keep appearing?

I felt as though Mega Man had completely taken over my life.

Of course, it had all begun with my own determination. I was the one who had insisted on creating it in the first place. That was precisely why I felt responsible for making the real Mega Man. But to fulfill that responsibility, I first had to overcome the enormous mountain that now stood directly in front of me.

Developing the Famicom (NES) Version of Willow

The Famicom (NES) version of Legendary Wings was ultimately not released in Japan due to factors such as the arcade version's sales performance. At the time, the company president (now chairman) had personally praised its background graphics, so I had high hopes for the project. Unfortunately, it did not turn out as I had expected.

Even so, we completed the game in six months, exactly as scheduled in our original development plan. Although it was disappointing that it could not be released domestically, the improvement in our designers' skills was remarkable, and I felt that we had reached a level of experience quite different from what we had achieved with Mega Man.

Without any time to rest, we moved straight on to the next project.

Its title was Willow.

Everything about our meetings at Lucasfilm was astonishing. The first surprise was the sheer size of the property. After passing through a modest security gate and driving for a short distance, a vast expanse of rolling green lawns stretched out before us. Far off in the distance stood a solitary white building, which served as both the office and the studio. It was a place called Skywalker Ranch, resembling a quiet country estate. From the outside, the buildings looked like traditional Western architecture, yet inside they housed remarkably modern facilities. At first glance, however, the interiors appeared simple and elegant, with wooden walls and tasteful furnishings. Nothing suggested that this was where cutting-edge films were being created.

Then they showed us beneath the floorboards. Hidden under the floors, behind the walls, and above the ceilings was an intricate network of cables and wiring. They even lifted part of the floor so we could see it for ourselves. I was impressed by the contrast between the peaceful surroundings and the advanced technology concealed within the building. It struck me as the kind of meticulous attention to environment that only true creators would think of.

"This area isn't open to anyone outside the project, and you're the first visitors from Japan."

One of the staff members said this with a smile as he guided us through the facility.

That made perfect sense. In 1988, Lucasfilm had only recently relocated most of its major operations from its previous location to this vast natural setting.

The first thing they did was screen Willow, which had not yet been released. We were led into an incredibly luxurious theater with a beautifully designed interior. Judging from the exterior of the building, I had imagined a small screening room, so I was genuinely surprised.

Of course, the film was entirely in English, but I was still able to grasp the general story and atmosphere. After the screening, we began our meetings about the arcade and home console versions of the game. The discussions took place outside beneath a covered patio. It was my first time holding a business meeting while enjoying a cool, refreshing breeze. Everything felt so open and relaxed that I found myself wondering what all those days and nights of relentless struggle back in Japan had been for.

Even so, I asked the questions I had prepared in advance and discussed how much of the game design I envisioned would be acceptable. To my surprise, there were far fewer restrictions than I had expected, and it seemed I would have a considerable amount of creative freedom.

As soon as I returned from that unforgettable trip to America, I drew up a development plan.

It wasn't a document for anyone else to read. It was my own private battle plan.

I drew two lines across the page. Above one I wrote Willow. Above the other I wrote Mega Man 2.

For a long time, I had been thinking about how to make a Mega Man sequel become a reality. My original plan had been to strongly appeal to management and secure a development line for it. But once Willow had been assigned to me, that idea was no longer realistic. After flying all the way to America for meetings, there was no way I could come back and simply say, "I'd like to make Mega Man instead."

Then why not make both at the same time?

That's one of my worst habits.

Once an idea comes into my head, I can't stop. I charge ahead without thinking about the consequences. ...Just like the illustrations for Section-Z, and just like the original idea for Mega Man, my confidence always outruns any logical basis for it.

In fact, many of the questions I asked during the Willow meetings were intended to determine whether running two development lines simultaneously would even be possible. For example, I wanted to know whether there would be frequent meetings or approvals during development, or whether Lucasfilm would regularly request changes that were beyond our control. As it turned out, there was nothing of the sort. Once development began, they would be almost entirely hands-off.

That meant the only remaining obstacle was me.

How could I possibly manage two projects at the same time?

This was the most critical moment. If I made the wrong decision here, everything would disappear like a bubble bursting. Worse still, I would end up letting down the members of both development teams.

From then on, every night I planned all the way through the end of the year. I drew schedules, erased them, and drew them again. Hiring more staff or extending the deadline would only burden the company, so I had to build a strategy using only the people I already had.

It was far more reckless than I had imagined.

No matter how I calculated it, I would have less than two hours of sleep each day.

There was simply no way that could work...

Eventually, the day came to submit the Willow development plan.

With another plan—the one I had kept entirely to myself—firmly fixed in my mind, I opened the door to my manager's office.

(Automatic translation by AI)