Inside the Investment Department's office, Director Hoshino Masashi held a steaming cup of coffee, leisurely gazing out the window.
In the corner, a small television played the noon news.
"—At dawn today, Operation Desert Storm officially began. The U.S.-led coalition launched airstrikes against Iraq—"
Hoshino barely reacted at first.
But the next news headline made his hand jerk violently—the scalding coffee splashed across the back of his hand.
"—To stabilize the global energy market, the U.S. President has announced the immediate release of the national strategic petroleum reserve—"
On-screen, the crude oil futures chart plummeted like a kite with its string cut, diving straight toward the floor.
Hoshino froze.
The burning pain on his skin couldn't snap him out of the shock.
He stared, wide-eyed, at that cliff-like downward line—cold sweat beading down his spine.
Scenes from a few months ago resurfaced vividly in his mind.
Back in August, when Iraq invaded Kuwait, global oil prices had surged as though strapped to a rocket.
Seeing that irresistible upward curve, he had been fired with excitement. He'd immediately proposed in the boardroom that Sega mobilize cash and charge into the oil futures market to make a killing.
Many board members, blinded by the soaring chart, eagerly agreed.
Only Takuya remained calm, tapping lightly on the table.
"Director Hoshino, this is money we can earn—but we must not get greedy."
Hoshino, flushed with enthusiasm at the time, blinked.
"Takuya, what do you mean? Oil prices climb every single day. This is our golden chance to strike big!"
"True, it's an opportunity—but you must know whose opportunity it is."
Takuya glanced around the room, unruffled. "This pool is too deep. We're a small boat, not an aircraft carrier. Sipping soup is fine—try to eat the meat, and the next wave will flip us."
After a pause, he added:
"Once the U.S. makes any concrete move—any clear sign that they intend to restore order in the Middle East—that is our signal to exit. Otherwise, when the real hammer to suppress oil prices comes down, none of us will escape."
Hoshino's brows had knitted together in skepticism.
As a professional investor, he found Takuya's reasoning too 'political'—lacking numerical justification.
"Takuya, I get you're cautious, but military action will only heighten panic. That means oil prices will go even higher."
"Not necessarily."
Takuya had smiled faintly, leaning forward.
"Think about it, Director—Uncle Sam has spent half a century bleeding that polar bear dry. You think he'll happily allow high oil prices to pump fresh blood into the Soviet Union? Undoing decades of Cold War effort?"
That single sentence hit Hoshino like a lightning bolt.
His earlier dismissiveness vanished, replaced by solemn contemplation.
Right—the Soviet Union.
He'd been staring only at oil and war, ignoring the deeper geopolitical game beneath it all.
The board ultimately approved only a conservative amount of funding—but it was more than enough for Hoshino.
The following months were a roller coaster.
Oil rose from twenty-something dollars to over forty.
Everyone was euphoric, sleepless with excitement.
Only Takuya kept reminding him:
"Don't celebrate too early. The key American move hasn't appeared yet. Open the champagne only after we sell."
Then came U.N. Resolution 678—the final authorization for military action.
Hoshino called Takuya immediately, his voice trembling:
"Executive Nakayama! The authorization passed! This is the signal, right?"
"I believe so. Do it. Sell everything," Takuya replied, calm as ever.
"Liquidate. Not a single drop left."
"Now? Prices just retreated from the peak—they're still oscillating. Shouldn't we wait a bit?"
"No. Wait, and it won't be profit—it'll be a noose."
"…You're right. There won't be much room for another rise anyway."
Hoshino gritted his teeth and gave the order.
Because their capital wasn't large, the liquidation went through smoothly—completed before the market even reacted.
Final result:
Bought at the low twenties, sold in the high thirties—nearly forty.
Net profit: over fifty million U.S. dollars.
At the time, Hoshino had chalked it up to luck—and Takuya's sharp analysis.
But now, staring at that vertical collapse on the TV, even the burning on his hand paled before the icy fear spreading through his chest.
He finally understood:
What they had avoided wasn't just a bad investment.
It was a catastrophe—one that could have drained Sega's lifeblood.
He grabbed the phone with trembling hands and dialed Nakayama Takuya.
The call was picked up after a single ring.
"Director Hoshino?"
"E–Executive Nakayama! It's me, Hoshino!" His breath was uneven. "Did you see the news? The oil price— the oil price, it—"
He couldn't form a coherent sentence.
That guillotine-straight price line kept slicing through his mind.
"Oil? Ah, yes, I saw the noon news."
Takuya sounded almost indifferent.
"Seems our timing wasn't bad."
"Not bad?! Executive—this was beyond 'not bad'!"
Hoshino was pacing the office anxiously.
"If we hadn't sold back then, today we would already—"
He couldn't even finish the thought.
"Hoshino, we simply refrained from being greedy."
Takuya chuckled lightly. Then:
"By the way, those fifty million dollars in profit… they're still sitting untouched, aren't they? Any plans?"
"Ah—"
Hoshino froze.
He'd been so consumed by fear he hadn't even thought about the money.
They had reinvested only the original principal—into Coca-Cola stock.
The fifty million profit had been sitting idle for over a month.
"Money sitting still will only lose value."
Takuya's tone gained a hint of amusement.
"And look—the war has begun. Weapons and equipment are being consumed by the ton. American arms manufacturers must be watching their hardware perform live on international television—opening champagne while the orders roll in."
Hoshino's breath caught.
His brain snapped instantly into alignment.
Of course—war.
War consumed not just oil—
but astronomical quantities of weapons.
"You mean—"
"The U.S. rolled out all its treasured toys—Patriot missiles, Tomahawks, M1A1 tanks. This isn't a war. It's a global arms expo held in broad daylight."
Takuya spoke lazily, as if explaining tomorrow's weather.
"After the shooting stops and the world sees how powerful American tech is, you think foreign buyers won't flood them with orders? If we buy up some military-industrial stocks now, taking our share of the feast—is that unreasonable?"
Hoshino felt the fog lift completely.
His earlier dread evaporated—replaced by an electric thrill.
He saw it already: those stocks rising like Patriot missiles streaking skyward.
"I understand! I'll make arrangements immediately!"
"Don't rush."
Takuya tapped something on his end—Hoshino could hear it through the receiver.
"Remember this well: fireworks are beautiful, but only for a moment. This is fast money—one wave, then exit. Once the 'arms expo' ends, the funds must return to our long-term blue-chip stocks. Stability and dividends—that's the real foundation."
"Yes! Yes, I've got it!"
Hoshino bowed instinctively toward the phone, like a student before his teacher.
After hanging up, he exhaled a long, shaky breath, stepped out of his office, and hurried off to assign orders to his staff.
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