Everyone was waiting.
Waiting for someone else to speak first, waiting for someone else to take the fall for this disgrace that would stain their reputations for a thousand years.
Makoto Yamashina looked at this group of executives. Usually, they would hold court with grand speeches, arguing until their faces turned red over department budgets. Now, they had collectively become mute. A wave of nausea churned in his stomach.
"Why is no one speaking?!" Makoto Yamashina suddenly exploded in fury, his finger slamming against the table. The impact sent the teacup rattling and humming. "Didn't someone suggest restarting the merger negotiations early? Sega is about to seize Sotsu right now! Why don't you come up with a plan? Have you all gone mute?!"
The room fell into a dead silence.
The General Manager of the Toy Division kept his head down, staring intently at the teacup in front of him as if studying the molecular structure of the tea stains.
The Human Resources Manager held a pen, mindlessly drawing circles on his notepad, pressing so hard he nearly tore through the paper.
Several of the veteran managing directors simply closed their eyes, pretending to be lost in deep thought, their breathing slowing to a crawl.
Everyone was doing their own mental math.
They had collectively decided to resist the merger in the first place.
Why should I be the one to stick my neck out now?
You want me to negotiate with Sega?
If the terms are brutal and Bandai gets dismantled, the employees will brand me a traitor. But if Sega finds me too difficult, I'll be caught in the middle, hated by both sides.
Only a fool would take on a thankless job destined for eternal infamy.
Chuta Mitsui sneered again, the sound gratingly loud in the silent boardroom.
"President, this is a difficult situation," Mitsui said, his gaze sweeping the room with mockery. "Sega is at the height of its power, and Takuya Nakayama is holding all the aces. If we approach them now, that kid will demand the world and suck us dry. We might not even be able to save Bandai's name. Who among us can take responsibility for that?"
He spat the word "responsibility" with such venom it felt like a heavy boot stomping on everyone's nerves.
The older board members' eyelids twitched violently, but they kept their lips sealed, not uttering a word.
Makoto Yamashina felt a surge of nameless rage rush to his head, his temples throbbing.
"Responsibility? You're talking to me about responsibility now?!" Yamashina slammed his hands onto the table, standing up abruptly. His eyes were bloodshot as he swept his gaze across the room. "Once Sega signs that contract with Sotsu, Bandai won't even have the right to discuss responsibility! All those mountains of Gundam models in the warehouse will turn into worthless scrap plastic!"
He suddenly pointed a finger at the General Manager of the Toy Division. "You! Tell me! Will the production line for next month's new Gundam Wing OVA units still start?"
The General Manager flinched as if a cat had stepped on its tail, stammering, "President, this—this depends on when Sotsu approves the licensing agreement. If they hold it up, we really—we really can't start production. Forcing it would be a copyright infringement, and Sega's Legal Department could sue us into bankruptcy."
"Then go pressure them! Go ask! Go beg them!" Yamashina roared, his voice strained to the breaking point.
"We asked..." The General Manager of the Toy Division said, his face twisted with despair, on the verge of tears. "The Section Chief we're dealing with at Sotsu has been on sick leave since yesterday afternoon. We called their company, but they're just passing the buck, saying the higher-ups are in a meeting and no one can sign off on it."
Makoto Yamashina's legs gave out, and he collapsed heavily back into his chair.
It was over.
Sotsu was already preparing for the handover. They had no intention of dealing with Bandai at this critical juncture, and they certainly weren't going to offend their future employer, Sega, on Bandai's behalf.
"Reopen the merger negotiations," Yamashina ground out, each word a struggle, as if he were expending his last ounce of strength. "Contact Sega immediately. Put the Game Division and all overseas toy distribution channels on the table. Let them take whatever they want."
He looked up at the executives seated around the conference table, a final flicker of hope in his eyes.
"Who's going to contact Sega?"
Dead silence.
The only sound was the irritating hum of the air conditioner.
When Honda from Daiwa Securities had gone to negotiate with Sotsu, he had gone as a benefactor, bringing a mountain of gold.
Now, if Bandai sent someone to Sega, they would be going as a supplicant, begging for mercy on their knees.
If they went, they would be signing a humiliating treaty. If they returned, they would be stabbed in the back by all of Bandai and nailed to the pillar of historical shame.
Chuta Mitsui turned his head and gazed leisurely out the window.
The General Manager of the Toy Division lowered his head and took notes frantically, pretending to be very busy.
The Human Resources Manager began organizing the documents in front of him, his movements as slow as a slow-motion replay.
Watching this scene, Makoto Yamashina felt a bone-chilling cold rise in his heart, and he was utterly despaired.
This was Bandai.
An old company held hostage by so-called pride and face, dragged down by internal factional struggles, and deeply poisoned by the culture of "reading the air."
Even though a huge hole had already been blown in the bottom of the boat, the seawater had already reached their necks, and it was about to sink, the people on the boat were still arguing about who should get the buckets and who should be responsible for the leak.
Some even felt that as long as they didn't admit the boat was leaking, it wouldn't sink.
Ostrich mentality. Dying for the sake of saving face.
"Fine." Makoto Yamashina nodded stiffly, his voice strangely calm, so calm it was frightening. "No one is going, right? Then let's not discuss it. Let's all die together."
He crumpled the faxed paper on the table that had caused all of this and threw it violently into the trash can next to him.
"Meeting adjourned."
Makoto Yamashina rose from his seat and strode out of the conference room without a backward glance.
Inside, the remaining executives exchanged uneasy glances. No one breathed a sigh of relief; no one felt any lighter.
They all knew that avoidance solved nothing. Sega's noose was already tightening around Bandai's neck.
But as long as they weren't the ones pulling the rope, they felt they could at least survive another day.
That afternoon, the office area of Bandai Headquarters remained a hive of activity.
Employees were on the phones, typing away at their keyboards, processing their daily tasks. On the surface, everything seemed normal.
But in the unseen corners—in the smoking rooms, in the restrooms—low-voiced speculation had already spread like a plague.
"Did you hear? Sotsu is being acquired by Sega."
"Really? What happens to our Gundam license? Will we even get our bonuses for the second half of the year?"
"Who knows? Management hasn't said a word. I heard the top brass had a meeting this morning, got into a huge fight, and ended up deciding nothing."
"How can they not make a decision now? Is our company really going under?"
Panic rippled through the ranks; the great building was on the verge of collapse.
Meanwhile, in the President's Office on the top floor, Makoto Yamashina stood alone by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the leaden sky.
The phone on his desk rang several times, its shrill chime echoing through the empty office, but he never answered.
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