Fu Zhan's spirit lifted.
"You haven't issued a gag order?"
"No need," Takuya Nakayama waved his hand dismissively. "This isn't top secret. Letting a little news leak out to build anticipation in the market isn't a bad thing."
Fu Zhan quickly seized the opportunity.
"Then once we finish the PC port of The Legend of Nezha, can we apply for a development kit for the new handheld? Mercury Technology wants to test the waters on this new front with Sega. If we can capture the handheld market, it would be a significant piece of the pie."
Takuya Nakayama smiled.
"Once you finish the PC port, you'll have all the development kits you need."
Fu Zhan clenched his fist and agreed repeatedly.
Takuya Nakayama stood up, walked to the desk, and picked up a document.
"Do a good job. I'll give you a hint. Our pricing strategy for this new handheld will be quite generous. It's very likely to become the first game console that this generation of Chinese youth can truly afford."
Fu Zhan stood up with him.
"The first one they can afford—"
"And," Takuya Nakayama turned around, "China is currently working hard to join the WTO. Once they successfully join and trade barriers are broken, the difficulty of officially selling game consoles in China will be greatly reduced. When that time comes, you can calculate the market size yourself."
Takuya Nakayama stopped there.
He tossed the documents back onto the desk, saying no more, leaving Fu Zhan to digest the implications himself.
Fu Zhan stood rooted to the spot, his mind buzzing.
WTO. Low pricing. The first handheld console for young people. A triumphant return home.
These words, woven together, sketched a commercial blueprint so vast it made his heart race.
Fu Zhan suppressed the surge of excitement.
"I understand. I'll arrange the team to push forward with the PC port as soon as I get back. We'll also start planning the new handheld in parallel. We won't let Sega down."
After a few more casual words, Fu Zhan picked up his briefcase and strode out of the office.
The moment Fu Zhan left the executive office, the solid wood door to the outer room was gently pushed open.
Chuta Mitsui squeezed inside, clutching three thick, hard-shell folders tightly to his chest. His suit jacket was buttoned to the top, and his tie was knotted with precision.
The secretary, carrying an empty coffee cup, stepped out and nodded to him.
Mitsui hastily returned the half-bow, walked quickly to the inner office door, and knocked.
"Come in."
Mitsui pushed the door open and shut it behind him.
Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his large executive chair, legs crossed, flipping through a report from Daiwa Securities.
"Managing Director." Chuta Mitsui walked up to the massive desk and bowed ninety degrees.
Takuya Nakayama didn't look up from the report, casually gesturing to the leather chair opposite him.
"Sit. How is Richard's investigation going? President Yamashina hasn't been causing him any trouble, has he?"
Mitsui dared to sit only halfway, placing the folder in his arms neatly on the desk.
"President Yamashina has been extremely cooperative. Mr. Richard's team has already taken full control of the finance office. The old accounts of the Planning Department and the Overseas Business Department are being reviewed line by line. As for the cases involving General Manager Takano and General Manager Ota, the Metropolitan Police Department came to collect evidence yesterday."
Takuya Nakayama turned a page of the report, the paper making a crisp sound.
"Bandai is too large. Richard's American-style auditing method won't untangle this mess overnight." Takuya Nakayama put down the report and looked at Chuta Mitsui. "You didn't come today just to report on these rotten accounts, did you?"
Chuta Mitsui immediately straightened his posture, opened the red folder on top, and handed over a list with both hands.
"As you've already deduced, Managing Director, the first part of all of Bandai to be fully inventoried and audited is the model development system and production plant in Shizuoka Prefecture."
Takuya Nakayama took the list and scanned it.
"The workforce at the factory is relatively straightforward," Chuta Mitsui said, his speech quickening. "It's mainly assembly line workers and entry-level technicians. There are no complex kickbacks or vested interests involved, so the books are clean."
Takuya Nakayama tossed the list onto the desk.
"Go on."
"The factory is currently operating at half capacity," Mitsui explained, pointing to a line on the list. "We can only proceed with a few production plans that already have confirmed orders. New Mobile Report Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz has been on sale for some time now. According to the original schedule, the core mobile suit models for it should have entered mass production this month."
Takuya tapped his fingers lightly on the desk.
"The project is stalled."
"Yes, sir. Mr. Richard has frozen all of Bandai's corporate accounts. Now, the downstream subcontractors can't receive their advance payments, so they've shut down their production lines. Several of our main plastic resin suppliers are camping outside the Shingfu Factory gates every day, demanding payment." A thin layer of sweat broke out on Mitsui's forehead. "The retail distributors are even more anxious, calling the Sales Department daily to demand their shipments. Gundam models have always been our most stable source of cash flow. If we miss this OVA wave, the losses will be enormous. Worse, our reputation with the distributors will be catastrophically damaged."
Mitsui placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward, his tone earnest.
"Managing Director, I implore you to approve these stalled model projects. We need a fund allocation to get the Shizuoka factory back up and running."
Silence fell over the office.
Takuya Nakayama picked up the Montblanc fountain pen from his desk, twirling it twice between his fingers.
"Every day the factory is idle, machine depreciation and personnel costs are burning through Sega's money. I know how to do the math."
Chuta Mitsui's shoulders slumped slightly, his tense muscles relaxing a little.
"However," Takuya Nakayama pivoted, "this startup funding absolutely cannot go through Bandai's original accounts. Not a single cent can be mixed in until the old accounts are fully audited."
Chuta Mitsui quickly interjected.
"I've already discussed this with Mr. Richard. We can start with independent accounting, separating the books for these projects—"
"Too much trouble." Takuya Nakayama cut him off. He grabbed a blank sheet of stationery, uncapped his pen, and wrote a string of English letters.
He pushed the paper toward Chuta Mitsui.
Chuta Mitsui looked down.
"BandaiModel."
"The subsidiary plan we agreed on earlier—launch it ahead of schedule." Takuya Nakayama capped his pen. "All of Bandai's future physical merchandise production, model development, and distribution will be moved into this new shell company. Go to the Legal Department this afternoon to finalize the paperwork. Sega will transfer the funds directly into the new subsidiary's account."
Chuta Mitsui stared at the letters on the paper, his heart racing.
This meant his authority was finally being solidified!
"What about the sales channels—?" Mitsui asked, trying to contain his excitement.
"The channel personnel will report directly to the new company," Takuya said, leaning back in his chair. "Operations continue as usual, and sales go on. But their old accounts must be fully accessible to Richard's team for auditing at any time. If anyone uses the new business as an excuse to obstruct the audit, send them straight to Legal."
Mitsui nodded vigorously.
"Understood! I will personally oversee the BandaiModel operations and ensure Mr. Richard's team faces no interference!"
He quickly closed the folder on the desk, stood up, and prepared to leave.
"Wait," Takuya Nakayama called out, stopping him.
Chuta Mitsui spun around, his hands snapped to his sides.
Takuya Nakayama pulled open a drawer, retrieved a thin technical briefing, and tossed it onto the desk.
"Go back and find the head of the Bandai Toy Design Department. Study this technology thoroughly."
Chuta Mitsui walked back to the desk and picked up the briefing.
The cover title read: Report on the Application of Infrared Sensing Technology in Consumer Electronics.
He looked puzzled. "Managing Director, what is this—"
"Infrared sensing technology has matured significantly over the last two years. Costs have plummeted, and the recognition accuracy is now sufficient." Takuya Nakayama picked up the glass of cold water from his desk and took a sip. "I've seen the transformation toys Bandai has made in the past. They're too low-end. Press a few plastic buttons, emit some red light, play a few cheap electronic sounds... The most 'advanced' feature requires waiting for the transformation animation to air on TV to sync up. The playability is far too limited. How do they expect to empty the players' pockets with that?"
Chuta Mitsui stared at the presentation in his hands, his mind racing.
"You mean... integrating infrared sensors into the toys?"
"Motion recognition," Takuya Nakayama said, standing up and walking over to Mitsui. He pointed to the man's waist. "The player performs a specific movement, the infrared sensor captures the trajectory, and that triggers the corresponding sound and light effects. We could even provide different feedback for different movements. That is true immersion."
Mitsui's hand trembled, nearly dropping the presentation.
This design philosophy completely upended the current toy market!
Right now, infrared technology was used at most for remote-controlled cars. Integrating motion recognition into wearable toys would be an absolute game-changer—a crushing blow to the competition.
"But Managing Director, even if the cost of the technology has gone down, the development cycle is still long. To justify such high R&D costs, we'd need an incredibly massive IP with a huge audience—"
"Kamen Rider."
Takuya Nakayama uttered the words.
Mitsui took a half-step back.
Kamen Rider!
Ever since Kamen Rider BLACK RX concluded, Toei hadn't released a new, mainline TV series in years. Even the last theatrical feature, Kamen Rider J, was already a decade old, dating back to 1994.
This once-dominant titan of the Japanese tokusatsu scene was now essentially dormant.
Bandai held the licenses for the related toys, but without new shows to drive sales, the production lines had long since gone cold.
"Kamen Rider has been absent for too long," Takuya Nakayama said, walking to the floor-to-ceiling window and gazing down at the bustling Tokyo cityscape. "The market needs a new hero. And Sega needs a new hardware platform to bridge the gap between toys and games."
Chuta Mitsui gripped the presentation folder in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Once we've sorted out the production lines here at Bandai Model, have the design department draft a preliminary technical proposal for the infrared-sensing transformation belt," Nakayama said, turning to face Mitsui directly. "Then, we'll take that proposal and pay a visit to Toei and Ishimori Productions."
An indescribable surge of excitement shot straight to the top of Mitsui's head.
He had initially assumed Sega's acquisition of Bandai was merely a move to absorb their existing model assets and sales channels.
Now, it was clear that Takuya Nakayama's ambitions went far beyond that!
Sega was going to directly intervene in the production planning of tokusatsu series, leveraging its own technology and Bandai's manufacturing power to redefine the entire tokusatsu toy market!
Once this plan took off, Bandai Model would become one of Sega's most formidable cash cows.
And he, Chuta Mitsui, would be the one steering this cash cow!
"I'll go back and organize a meeting with the Design Department immediately!" Chuta Mitsui's voice trembled as he bowed repeatedly. "I will have the technical feasibility report and preliminary plan on your desk within a week!"
"Go on. Let those old-fashioned people at Bandai see just how big a game they can play by following Sega."
Clutching the folder, Chuta Mitsui strode out of the Executive Office.
In the hallway, he walked briskly, his leather shoes making almost no sound on the carpet.
His mind was now racing with thoughts of infrared sensors, transformation belts, and Kamen Rider.
Sure enough, Sega had arrived, and life was good.
September.
Tokyo's sweltering heat hadn't completely faded.
Inside a small meeting room on the third floor of Sega Headquarters, the air conditioning was blasting.
Ten newcomers were huddled around a conference table.
No one spoke.
The buzz-cut programmer sat in the center, cradling the black development kit for the new handheld console in both hands.
His thumbs rapidly tapped the D-pad and the A button, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.
The handheld's crude built-in speaker emitted a monotonous "beep, beep."
Takuya Nakayama stood behind him.
On the screen was a grid five rows by nine columns.
On the far right, a block composed of gray pixels was slowly moving to the left.
The buzz-cut programmer pressed the D-pad, and the cursor flew to the leftmost column.
He pressed the A button, bringing up a drop-down menu.
He selected a green, pixelated tubular plant.
Plant it.
The number "50" in the upper-left corner of the screen instantly changed to "0." That was the resource counter currently standing in for "Sun."
Every two seconds, the green tubular plant spat out a green pixel.
The pixel landed on the gray block, and the block flashed.
It hit five times in a row.
The gray block vanished.
"Managing Director, the core loop is up and running." The buzz-cut programmer let go, gently placing the development kit on the table.
The other nine newcomers all turned their gazes to Takuya Nakayama.
Takuya pulled out a chair and sat down, picking up the development kit.
The casing was stained with a bit of sweat.
He pressed the restart button without hesitation.
The cursor moved. The keypress felt crisp.
He didn't plant a Peashooter, choosing a Sunflower instead.
He waited quietly.
Ten seconds later, a yellow pixel popped up above the Sunflower.
He moved the cursor over with the arrow keys. Upon contact, the resource number in the upper-left corner increased by 25.
To the right, a new gray block spawned.
Takuya deliberately did nothing.
The gray block nudged one space to the left.
It hit the Sunflower.
The Sunflower flashed three times, then vanished.
The gray block continued forward until it moved off the left edge of the screen.
The screen went black.
A few large white English letters appeared: GAMEOVER.
Collision detection, resource consumption, production logic, enemy-player interaction.
It was all there.
Takuya Nakayama stared at the white letters on the screen, his mind drifting back twelve years to a small apartment in Meguro Ward. There, on the monitor of an off-white MS-DOS computer, the same crude, monochromatic blocks had once flickered.
Back then, he had sat alone, tapping away at the keyboard, writing the assembly code for Tetris line by line.
The image on the screen now was just as crude as it had been then.
And just as full of raw, primal vitality.
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