In the few days since Takuya Nakayama and Eri moved back into the old estate, life had become almost decadent—meals appearing when they were hungry, clean clothes ready when they reached for them.
Of course, that mostly applied to Eri.
As for Takuya, his days were far from leisurely.
Not only did he have to readjust to being "monitored" without blind spots by his mother and the household staff, he also had to undergo a brand-new challenge: prenatal caregiver training.
He had specially invited a professional nurse from Sugiyama Obstetrics to come every afternoon for lessons.
"Mrs. Nakayama, nutritional intake in early pregnancy is extremely important. Especially folic acid—its supplementation is crucial for fetal neural tube development."
In the living room, the nurse pointed at an illustrated booklet as she patiently explained. Eri listened intently, nodding from time to time. Beside her, Takuya was even more exaggerated—holding a small notebook, pen flying across the page with a seriousness surpassing even his Tokyo Tech entrance exam days.
Only his mother, Miyuki Nakayama, sat on the opposite sofa with her arms folded, looking neither approving nor dismissive. She merely shot occasional glances at her son's theatrical posture, curling her lip in mild disdain.
"Mom, did you hear that? It's science!" Takuya said proudly, handing over his notebook like a treasure. "The expert says this is called precision parenting!"
Miyuki gave the scribbles a single glance before lifting her teacup with disinterest. "When I had you and your brother, I didn't know anything about acids or no acids. You both grew up just fine."
"Times have changed." Takuya retrieved the notebook and switched to gentle persuasion. "It's like how we used to use an abacus but now use calculators. Traditional wisdom is priceless, but we also need modern tools, right? This is East-meets-West, double insurance—all for Eri and your future grandson!"
With a bit of coaxing and banter, he finally softened the traditional-minded matriarch. Though she still grumbled "you and your tricks," her ears were clearly perked, listening more closely than anyone.
That afternoon, when Takuya finished another round of his "new-dad crash course" and saw the nurse off, the old housekeeper, Keiko, approached him.
"Young master, you have a visitor."
"Oh?" Takuya followed her gaze to see a man at the entrance—wearing a jacket, slightly messy hair, but bright, focused eyes. He held a large, heavy paper box.
Yu Suzuki had just returned from America.
"Suzuki-san, you took your time this trip." Takuya laughed as he took the box. "Whoa, this is heavy. What'd you bring me?"
"It's not for you." Suzuki actually smiled for once. "I heard your wife is expecting. This is a gift for Mrs. Nakayama."
Takuya brought him to see Eri.
She was resting under the sun-lit veranda with a light blanket over her legs, bathed in warm afternoon light. Seeing Suzuki, she rose slightly and greeted him with a gentle smile.
"Congratulations, Managing Director Nakayama, Mrs. Nakayama," Suzuki said, bowing.
Eri eyed the large box curiously and gestured for Takuya to open it.
Takuya tore it open quickly. Inside were several oddly shaped cushions and a diagram.
After studying it a moment, he realized—it was a modular pregnancy pillow.
"Yu, that's very thoughtful!" Takuya said sincerely.
These were only just becoming popular in the U.S. Suzuki, a pure tech nerd, thinking of this was truly impressive. It was practical, too—something that could genuinely ease a pregnant woman's discomfort.
Eri was delighted, thanking him repeatedly.
After the greetings, the two men headed into the study.
Soon, Keiko came in with tea and homemade yokan, her eyes warm and fond as she looked at her young master.
"Young master, Mr. Suzuki—please enjoy."
"Thanks, Auntie Keiko," Takuya said, popping a piece of yokan into his mouth. "Yours is still the best."
Once Keiko left and closed the door, the two finally got down to business.
Suzuki took a sip of tea, then pulled a thick stack of reports from his briefcase.
"Takuya, things went even better than expected in the U.S.! MotionAnalysis' technology is more advanced than we imagined. All motion-capture data has been fully recorded, and the post-processing corrections were done manually by me and the team."
He spread a page before Takuya—dense data and several key-frame wireframes.
"Look at this—the arc of a punch, the curve of a kick, even the instant the body loses balance after being struck. All of it captured perfectly. For the first time, we have truly real movements."
His eyes glowed with the radiance of a creator seeing the first shape of a dream.
But that glow dimmed quickly.
"However—the hardware division is stuck."
His voice dropped, heavy with frustration.
"Our 3D arcade board has hit a huge bottleneck. The kind of 3D we want only exists on graphical workstations worth tens of thousands of dollars. The engineers' hairlines are disappearing—getting that level of performance into a cost-controlled board is nearly impossible."
Takuya listened quietly, fingers tapping the table unconsciously.
He knew Suzuki wasn't exaggerating.
At this point in time, 3D graphics still belonged to the domains of the military, scientific research, and ultra-expensive CG—there was no such thing as a "consumer-grade 3D GPU."
"What I fear most…" Suzuki's voice tightened, "is that we'll be forced to compromise—lower polygon counts, reduce refresh rates, drop 60 FPS to 30. If that happens, all the fluid, realistic motion we captured becomes stuttery trash! Might as well hand-animate it!"
For someone like Suzuki, a perfectionist to the bone, this was agony.
The air in the study grew heavy.
But Takuya's reaction was unexpected.
Instead of worrying, he casually picked up another piece of yokan and ate it, savoring the sweetness.
"Mmm. Just right."
Suzuki's eye twitched.
"Takuya!" he finally snapped. "Our hard work—our invaluable data—might become electronic garbage! How can you still be eating?!"
"Why shouldn't I?" Takuya swallowed and took a sip of tea, calm as ever. "I know you're anxious. But don't be."
He tapped the table softly.
"You said we're missing a cost-effective consumer-grade 3D graphics processor, right?"
"Yes!" Suzuki said firmly. That was the core issue.
"And that's because our eyes have only been looking at our own industry—games, entertainment." Takuya's lips curved slightly, his eyes gleaming. "We assumed that since the market doesn't have one, it must not exist."
He leaned forward.
"Think again. Besides us—who else needs real-time, highly accurate calculations of complex 3D objects?"
The question blitzed through Suzuki's mind like lightning.
A man of deeply vertical thinking, he rarely thought laterally. But with one nudge, another domain flashed into view.
"Industrial design… automotive manufacturing… architectural simulation…?" he murmured, eyes widening.
"Exactly." Takuya snapped his fingers. "CAD/CAM."
Suzuki shot to his feet, chair scraping loudly.
He understood.
In the game industry, 3D was cutting-edge—almost overkill.
In heavy industry, involving billion-yen projects, 3D graphics were a daily necessity.
And unlike film CG, which took forever to render, these industries needed real-time visualization.
Those expensive workstations—they must have specialized graphics chips behind them!
"We kept thinking we needed to invent from scratch, but someone may have already paved the road!" Suzuki's voice trembled with excitement.
Seeing his sudden resurrection, Takuya chuckled.
He picked up the phone without hesitation.
"Kobayashi? It's Nakayama. I need something from the company database."
"Yes, sir. Please tell me."
"I want a list of all Japanese companies involved in CAD/CAM. Big or small—if they touch the field, include them."
He paused.
"Especially those that develop—or try to develop—their own workstations, graphics accelerators, or GPU chips. Every single one."
"Yes, sir!"
After hanging up, Takuya pushed the remaining yokan toward Suzuki.
"Eat. Thinking too fast drains blood sugar."
But Suzuki was too wired to eat—pacing, muttering.
"Right! Why didn't I think of that sooner!"
Half an hour later, Takuya's phone rang.
"Sir, I've prepared the documents. How should I send them?"
"Fax everything to my home."
Soon, the fax machine in the corner whirred to life, spitting out pages listing dozens of companies, their fields, and products.
Suzuki grabbed the first sheets and skimmed through them.
"No… pure software agent."
"This one builds CNC machines—the hardware is outsourced."
"This one—SGI? Top-tier U.S. workstations, but too tightly locked down. Impossible."
His brows began to furrow again.
Takuya took a page, then another, comparing them.
"Don't just look at the big names," he said. "We need a company with both semiconductor development capability and CAD software expertise."
His finger tapped a name—Fujitsu.
"Fujitsu?" Suzuki murmured. "Their main business is large computers and communications. Their semiconductor division is strong. And their CAD software… ICAD, I've heard of it. It's extremely fast—specialized for massive assembly models."
"Massive assemblies?" Takuya repeated, smiling. "Sounds perfect for us."
Suzuki froze—then a shock ran through him.
Their eyes met.
"Takuya… our 3D fighting game models—each character has a few hundred polygons, maybe a thousand total. But fundamentally, each is just a skeleton—a small assembly model!"
"And if Fujitsu's tech can handle tens of thousands of industrial components," Takuya added, "then handling our few hundred polygons would be—"
"—using a cow-cleaver on a chicken!" Suzuki finished, trembling.
"No," Takuya corrected with a grin. "It's hiring a master blade-smith to craft us a smaller, affordable knife—one that does only what we need, but does it well."
He flipped to another page—Toshiba.
"Toshiba works with workstations too, but their software—CATIA—comes from Dassault. They produce workstations, not design the software. Not suitable."
After reviewing everything, Suzuki clutched the pages marked "Fujitsu."
"Takuya… Fujitsu is our best shot. If we can get them on board, we solve both the chip design and the toolchain."
"Then go," Takuya said. "The hardware team is probably tearing their hair out already. Show up now, and you'll be their savior."
Suzuki nodded fiercely—so fiercely he forgot to say goodbye. He grabbed the key fax pages and practically sprinted out of the room.
Watching his hurried figure disappear, Takuya chuckled and shook his head.
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