At that time, Makoto Yamashina was still planning for Bandai to maintain its independence, spinning off only its gaming division.
Now, their hand had been completely exposed.
Sega was advancing triumphantly in the 32-bit console wars; Virtua Fighter 2 and Gundam Battle Operation were making money hand over fist.
Even Demon Samurai was able to win the favor of players with its unique style and stunning combat system.
What leverage did Bandai have to negotiate with Sega?
"If we go to talk now, we'll be meat on the chopping block," Chuta Mitsui sighed. "As soon as Sega's audit team takes a slight look at our accounts, they'll see the decline in our toy business. At that point, the merger terms they offer will likely be extremely harsh. We won't even have room to counteroffer."
"So we don't talk?" someone asked.
"If we don't talk, are we just waiting to die?"
The argument yielded no results.
A sense of confusion spread among Bandai's senior management.
They lacked both the courage to burn their bridges and carry out internal reforms, and the wisdom to come up with a merger proposal favorable to their own side.
Time slipped away day by day in this state of hesitation and silence.
In the Bandai headquarters office building, people continued to come and go every day.
Employees punched in and out as usual, discussing where to go for drinks on the weekend.
In his high-rise office, Makoto Yamashina watched the constantly declining sales reports each day, chain-smoking pack after pack of cigarettes.
He knew that Takuya Nakayama, that young man, must be somewhere, quietly watching the great ship that was Bandai struggle in the mire.
Once Bandai had exhausted its very last ounce of strength, Sega would descend like a savior, ready to swallow Bandai whole, skin and bones.
This wasn't a conspiracy; it was an open, barefaced plot.
And Bandai, meanwhile, no longer even had the strength to resist.
On the other side, at Sega's corporate finance building.
Richard Cohen, a senior partner from PricewaterhouseCoopers' New York office, was working with his team, meticulously combing through stacks of ledgers.
Takuya Nakayama would occasionally swing by the finance department. He wouldn't interfere with their actual work, just apply a little psychological pressure on the department heads who were already sweating profusely from the audit.
"Managing Director," Director Hoshino said as he walked into Takuya's office with a briefing, "news from the Bandai side. They've completely halted shipments of 'Gundam Battlefield Evolution' and are accepting returns. It's said that their gaming division is effectively paralyzed."
Takuya Nakayama flipped through the documents in his hand without looking up. "To be expected. When a team without technical foundation is forced to do things beyond their capabilities, the result is disaster."
"There's one more piece of news," Director Hoshino said, lowering his voice. "Our people heard from the distributors that Bandai's toy sales have been terrible this year. Orders for Sailor Moon and Power Rangers have shrunk significantly. They're having some major internal issues."
Takuya Nakayama stopped his pen and looked up.
"Toys aren't selling?"
"That's right. A cyclical downturn. Plus, their blind overproduction of trading cards and gashapon toys has led to a serious backlog of inventory."
Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk.
This was interesting.
He had originally thought that with the reserves Bandai had built up over the past two years, and by not getting involved in developing a home console with Apple—the Bandai Pippin—they would be able to escape disaster and hold on for a while longer.
He hadn't expected them to narrow their own path like this.
"Has Makoto Yamashina contacted us?" Takuya Nakayama asked.
"No," Director Hoshino shook his head. "Bandai has been very quiet. Unusually quiet."
Takuya Nakayama smiled.
"That's because they don't know how to open the conversation. With no leverage in their hands, they're afraid of being slaughtered by us."
He stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked out at the bustling cityscape of Tokyo.
In 1995, Japan was still feeling the aftershocks of the economic bubble, and the drama of large-scale corporate mergers and acquisitions played out daily.
Bandai, that piece of fat meat, had reached the perfect moment to be devoured.
"Don't worry about them," Takuya Nakayama said, turning to Director Hoshino. "Let them continue to struggle. The longer they drag this out, the more their internal conflicts will intensify, and the lower our negotiation costs will be. Take the investment department and rebuild a detailed evaluation model of Bandai's financial data from the last two years, especially the sales figures from the overseas market. I need to know exactly how much money they've lost."
"Understood."
Takuya Nakayama sat back down at his desk and opened the interim audit report submitted by PricewaterhouseCoopers.
To strike iron, one must be strong oneself.
Before swallowing Bandai, Sega had to clean up its own house to ensure this massive machine could digest Bandai's bloated business lines.
Business competition was never about hosting dinner parties.
Bandai's silence was just the calm before the storm.
And Sega was already prepared to welcome this feast.
The autumn in Tokyo was always accompanied by a dry, cool breeze.
The ginkgo leaves outside the Sega headquarters building in Ōta Ward had begun to turn yellow, signaling that this year's business war had entered the white-hot heat of the second half.
For Sega, the autumn of 1995 was a season of harvest.
Several core blockbusters that had shone brightly at the summer E3 exhibition, after months of final polishing and disc pressing, finally began to be rolled out to the global market in batches.
In particular, "MGS2," which had completed development even before E3, rode the momentum of the event immediately after it concluded, hitting store shelves and achieving huge sales as well as receiving excellent reviews.
Driven by these high-quality software titles, the installed base of Jupiter began to climb steadily.
However, Takuya Nakayama, the company's Executive Managing Director, was buried under mountains of legal documents, audit standard manuals, and confidential consulting reports from PricewaterhouseCoopers and McKinsey.
When Hisao Oguchi pushed the door open, he was carrying a stack of market feedback reports on "Phantasy Star IV" and the new version of "Super Robot Wars Alpha."
He glanced at Takuya, who was engrossed in financial statements, and subconsciously lightened his movements.
"Managing Director, this is the summary of the launch data from the North American and European markets last week," Oguchi Hisao said, placing the documents on the corner of the desk. "Also, the Promotions Department would like you to have the final say on the GG ad placement plan for the year-end promotional season."
Takuya Nakayama didn't even look up; he simply tapped his left index finger on the desk, signaling for him to take a seat.
He circled a point on a complex cross-audit flowchart with the red pen in his hand, then let out a long sigh and took off his non-prescription glasses.
"Oguchi-san, you can handle these matters yourself," Takuya Nakayama said, rubbing his temples, his voice raspy. "Since I have already delegated the authority for game coordination to you, feel free to issue directives. As long as the budget doesn't exceed the fluctuation range set at the beginning of the year, you don't need to report every single thing to me."
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