The discussion circled back to the immediate matter of chip procurement.
"So, for the current MC68000 and Z80 sourcing, Takuya-kun, what are your specific thoughts?"
Director Terai inquired.
Takuya analyzed with evident preparation.
"There are several licensed Z80 producers."
"NEC—they're collaborating with Hudson on the PC Engine, direct competitors. Even ignoring that NEC supplied Z80s for our SG-1000, a sudden surge in orders—especially MC68000s—without SG-1000 sales spiking would tip them off to our new console plans. They could throttle capacity or just leak suspicions, disrupting our launch. To safeguard core intel, rule them out first."
"Hitachi—they have Z80 compatibles, but their enhanced versions integrate a memory management unit (MMU). Our new console's software handles memory directly; the MMU adds little value and hikes costs—poor value."
"Sharp—their focus isn't on general-purpose processors like Z80; capacity and pricing may not suit us."
His finger landed heavily on Toshiba's name in the document.
"So, the optimal entry point is Toshiba."
"Two reasons."
"First, as we discussed, Toshiba's reeling from the sanctions storm. Though electronics aren't directly targeted, the fallout—U.S. politicians smashing Toshiba radios on camera—has tanked their North American rep and sales. Production lines are underutilized, desperate for bulk orders to spread fixed costs and sustain cash flow. Compared to other semis whose R&D peaked years ago, Toshiba's heavy front-loaded investments mean fiercer cost recovery pressure—giving us more leverage in pricing than ever."
"Second, and most crucially, Toshiba holds licensed production rights for both Motorola's MC68000 and Zilog's Z80."
"This lets us bundle procurement—tying the two chip orders for greater bargaining power."
The directors' eyes lit up.
"Bundled procurement—"
Hatano murmured, clearly hooked.
Takuya pressed the advantage, unveiling his action plan.
"My suggestion: Sega offers a massive 600,000-chip bundle—300,000 each of MC68000 and Z80—as negotiation leverage."
Terai and Hatano's brows twitched subtly. 600,000 chips meant 300,000 initial units—for a Sega scarred by SG-1000's flop, it was a bold stake.
"That equates to 300,000 units' worth—one each per console," Takuya clarified. "Use this order to negotiate a highly competitive package price. Facing such commitment, they'll have to take it seriously."
"If Toshiba digs in on price, refusing sufficient concessions—then—"
Takuya paused, the room's air thickening. A faint curve touched his lips, his eyes like polished obsidian—calm yet piercing.
"We double down: 1 million chips total—500,000 each!"
"Press those core chips' unit prices to our psychological floor—or lower!"
"A million chips?!" Hatano's voice cracked slightly; he straightened, fingers drumming the glossy table before halting, as if tallying the risks and rewards. A million chips, 500,000 units—it was wagering Sega's next 1-2 years.
Terai seemed throttled, speechless. His thick brows knit, mouth agape, eyes raw with shock and caution. This wasn't bold—it was near-mad gambling. A market flop meant mountains of unsold chips and red ink drowning Sega. He could already envision warehouses stuffed with silicon and balance sheets bleeding deficits.
Silence stretched, broken only by the air vent's whisper.
Finally, Terai spoke, Adam's apple bobbing, voice parched: "Takuya-kun, a million—can you guarantee absorption? This isn't child's play." His stare bored into Takuya, hunting for any waver.
Takuya met it squarely, tone even but ironclad. "Rest assured, Directors."
No bluster—just facts: "Our launch lineup—creative, technical, playable—will be revolutionary. Follow-on dev teams are assembled, ensuring steady software supply and a robust content moat. I'm absolutely confident: we'll not only absorb a million-chip order but cement Sega's next-gen lead. If you or the board doubt it, I'll arrange a launch demo before Toshiba talks—let the games speak."
"This isn't just about slashing current hardware costs," Takuya pressed, voice laced with strategic poise. "It sets a pricing benchmark favoring us long-term. Once Toshiba bites on this million-chip rate, future hikes—from them or others—will weigh their worth carefully. We're paving for enduring gains."
The room heated subtly with Takuya's words.
That poise beyond his years, market acuity, and guts to bet big humbled the veterans, even shaming them faintly. They glimpsed echoes of Hayao Nakayama—the audacious founder who forged Sega's miracles.
Terai and Hatano locked eyes again; this time, shared flames of resolve and decision burned.
High risk, yes—but colossal rewards if won. Takuya's prowess made it worth the gamble. Plus, his demo promise and board vote post-meeting lightened their burden.
"Agreed!" Terai's voice steadied, edged with veiled thrill; his palm slapped the desk lightly, sealing it. "Follow Takuya-kun's blueprint!"
Hatano nodded vigorously, tone decisive: "We'll marshal all resources to back your Toshiba talks and any supply chain shifts! Whatever support needed—ask freely, no reservations!"