Makoto Yamashina knew that among those calls, there were bound to be inquiries from banks and urgent demands for shipments from distributors.
The great ship of Bandai had completely lost its course.
As its president, he held the steering wheel, only to find that the steering mechanism had long since broken, and even the crew was preparing to jump overboard.
Begging Sega for help?
He could still vividly recall Takuya Nakayama's expression at the banquet—that half-smile, as if the young man had seen right through everything.
Sega had no need to merge with Bandai.
They only needed to wait for Bandai to bleed out and collapse. Then, like an elegant vulture, they would stroll over and pick out its most valuable organs.
Yamashina closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, seeming to age a decade in a single instant.
In April, Tokyo was plagued by incessant rain.
The leaden sky hung like a massive slab of gray metal, pressing down heavily upon the steel jungle.
Inside the top-floor conference room of Bandai's headquarters, another weekly executive meeting was underway.
The air was stiflingly heavy, filled only with the white noise of raindrops drumming relentlessly against the glass.
Makoto Yamashina sat at the head of the table, his face as grim as a storm cloud. His knuckles tapped the polished surface in a rhythmic, dull thud—thump, thump, thump.
A stack of the latest quarterly sales reports lay on the table, their cover emblazoned with a glaring red downward arrow. Yet the executives sat frozen, avoiding the reports like a plague, no one daring to reach out and flip them open.
"Let's put the Sega negotiations on hold for now," Yamashina announced, his dry cough breaking the oppressive silence as he tried to set a new tone. "Toy shipments are down, but we're not at a dead end yet. The new anime season is about to premiere—let's see how the market responds to that. As for the Game Division, cut their budget for now. No more major projects. Just hold the line."
The conference room fell silent.
No one spoke. No one nodded.
A few executives exchanged glances before tacitly lowering their heads, pretending to be engrossed in their blank notebooks.
Chuta Mitsui leaned back in his leather chair, watching the President desperately cling to his delusions. A sneer formed in his mind.
Still dreaming, are we?
The North American market was already flooded with Power Rangers merchandise, piling up in distributors' warehouses. It was completely stagnant. Return requests were flying back to headquarters like snowflakes.
The Game Division was a mere shell of its former self. The developers were all just idling at their desks, counting down the minutes until the end of the day.
And what about Sega?
They had gone silent, not even pressuring them about the previous merger proposal. This was clearly Takuya Nakayama's "starving hawk" tactic—waiting for Bandai to bleed out and collapse so he could swoop in and acquire them for a pittance.
The meeting ended abruptly, and the crowd dispersed as if a great weight had been lifted.
Chuta Mitsui returned to his office and immediately locked the door behind him.
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the rain-slicked, muddy streets below. His gaze gradually turned sharp and cold.
He was a member of the Mitsui Family.
Though only from a cadet branch, the Mitsui Family had invested heavily in Bandai, and he was the actual custodian of that massive investment.
If Bandai went bankrupt or was sold off to Sega at a rock-bottom price, he would never be able to answer to his family.
If this disastrous mess fell squarely on his shoulders, he would be relegated to the most marginal business dealings within the family, and his future would be utterly destroyed.
The business world was a battlefield, and in this game, you'd throw anyone else under the bus to save your own skin.
Chuta Mitsui refused to go down with a sinking ship, especially one captained by a fool like Makoto Yamashina.
Taking a deep breath, Chuta walked to the large desk, picked up the encrypted phone, and dialed a number he had long since memorized.
Eight o'clock in the evening.
Akasaka. A members-only cigar lounge, catering exclusively to the political and business elite, where privacy was paramount.
Inside the private room, the lighting was dim and warm. The air was thick with the rich aroma of premium cigars and the subtle scent of aged whisky.
Takuya Nakayama, dressed in a perfectly tailored casual suit, sank into the plush leather sofa. He was relaxed, engrossed in an English-language report on the North American electronic entertainment industry.
The heavy soundproof door was gently pushed open by a waiter, and Chuta Mitsui strode inside.
"Executive Director Nakayama, excuse the intrusion," Chuta said, bowing slightly, his posture humble and deferential.
"Please, sit down, Mitsui-san. It's raining hard outside, isn't it?" Takuya set aside the report and smiled, gesturing to the single armchair opposite him. His tone was as familiar as if he were welcoming an old friend.
Chuta Mitsui sat down as instructed, in no mood for pleasantries, and cut straight to the chase.
"Bandai's internal management is completely paralyzed," Mitsui said, leaning forward with his hands clasped on his knees. "Makoto Yamashina can't make a decision. He's actually pinning his hopes on the second-half toy sales to turn things around. Half the executives want to surrender, the other half want to fight to the bitter end. If this drags on any longer, Bandai's prestigious brand will be completely ruined. Even if Sega takes over in the end, it'll be a total mess."
Takuya Nakayama picked up the crystal teacup from the table and took a slow, deliberate sip, his eyes glinting with a playful, self-assured amusement.
"What does that have to do with Sega? The worse Bandai gets, the lower our future acquisition cost will be. Sega has nothing to lose but patience."
"Sega might have patience, but I don't," Mitsui said, gritting his teeth. "Bandai's valuation is shrinking every day. I'm a member of the Mitsui Family. I have to be responsible for the family's investments—and for my own future."
Nakayama set down his teacup, his smile vanishing. His gaze locked onto Mitsui, his eyes burning with intensity.
"So, what do you propose?"
Mitsui took a deep breath, pulled a thick manila envelope from his briefcase, and slid it across the smooth tabletop to the center.
"These are the actual financial records from Bandai's North American subsidiary for last month," Chuta Mitsui lowered his voice, as if peddling a lethal poison. "The official reports have been doctored. The actual inventory backlog is three times what's on the books. Their cash flow is stretched to the breaking point. The moment the North American distributors start demanding payment, Bandai will have to scramble for loan sharks to plug the holes."
Takuya Nakayama raised an eyebrow, took the envelope, and pulled out a thick stack of documents, flipping through a few pages at random.
The numbers were indeed staggering.
The hole Bandai had dug for itself overseas was far larger than the Sega Investment Department had estimated through its external channels.
Yamashina has his head buried deep in the sand, hasn't he?
"This information alone could allow Sega to slash Bandai's valuation by another thirty percent at the negotiating table," Chuta Mitsui continued, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "But I can offer Sega far more than just this."
Takuya Nakayama tossed the documents back onto the table and leaned back in his chair.
"Be specific. I'm all ears."
"Sega is secretly acquiring Sotsu, aren't they?" Chuta Mitsui dropped the bombshell, his gaze fixed intently on Takuya Nakayama's face.
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