Takuya Nakayama held the phone receiver tightly to his ear. On the other end, Hayao Nakayama's breathing was regular and steady like a pendulum.
He cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, ensuring his voice was steady.
"Father, I'm ready."
A brief pause, only the faint hiss of static.
"Hm?" Hayao Nakayama's voice came through, devoid of emotion, carrying his usual authority.
"The 'gift' you mentioned before, I've prepared it," Takuya continued. "Next Monday, I'll report to the company on time. For the presentation of the gift, I hope to invite several team leaders and deputies from the Development Department, as well as the heads of the Market Department, Legal Department, and International Business Department to witness it."
Silence hung on the other end of the line for a few seconds.
"Good." One word, crisp and decisive, like a confirmation of an order.
"Report to Sega Headquarters at nine AM on Monday." There were no extra questions, no hint of personal concern and purely the tone of a superior addressing a subordinate.
"Yes, Father."
Takuya gently hung up the phone, the click of the receiver settling back into place remarkably clear in the quiet room. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long breath as his tense shoulders relaxed. It was done.
On Monday morning, sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting alternating stripes of light and shadow on the tatami mat.
Takuya Nakayama changed into a dark blue suit, the fabric crisp, the cut fitting well. His white shirt's collar and cuffs were as neat as new, and his tie knot was perfectly tied. He scrutinized himself in the mirror; the young man in the reflection had clear eyes and a subtle curve at the corner of his mouth, exuding an undeniable sharpness beneath his composure. This was the "Takuya Nakayama" he had prepared for Sega.
He carefully checked his briefcase, confirming that the floppy disk and neatly printed proposal were inside. Beside it, the hard cardboard box containing the old Soviet antique lay quietly, like a sleeping witness. He picked up his briefcase, then single-handedly lifted the cardboard box; its considerable weight made his arm dip slightly. He pushed open the apartment door and walked towards a brand-new battlefield.
The Sega Headquarters building stood in Shinagawa Ward, its massive glass curtain wall reflecting the morning sun, exuding the cold efficiency characteristic of a high-performance institution. Entering the lobby, the front desk confirmed his identity and appointment with a professional tone, though a hint of curiosity was visible in their eyes.
"The President is already waiting for you."
The elevator ascended silently, floor numbers ticking rhythmically on the display. The moment the elevator doors opened, Takuya Nakayama saw Hayao Nakayama waiting at the entrance.
He was still in his impeccably tailored suit, his expression stern, his eyes as sharp as an eagle's, as if they could pierce through people's hearts.
"Follow me," he said concisely, without any pleasantries, turning and walking away.
Takuya followed, his leather shoes making faint echoes on the polished floor. In the hallway, employees occasionally passed by; seeing the President personally leading an unfamiliar young man, their steps would unconsciously slow, and their gazes would frequently turn towards them. Although each one would stop and bow, asking, "Good morning, President," it did not hinder the complex glances—of surprise, scrutiny, speculation, and even some quickly exchanged hushed words with colleagues.
"Is that the President's son?"
"So young..."
"Which department is he from?"
Faint whispers rippled out like water, then quietly ceased before an invisible barrier. Takuya Nakayama straightened his back, looking straight ahead; those curious or scrutinizing gazes did not cause his steps to falter in the slightest. He felt these silent stares and hushed discussions as if they were merely wind brushing past him, unable to shake him in the least.
They stopped in front of a frosted glass door labeled "Third Development Department."
Hayao Nakayama did not knock; he simply pushed it open.
Inside was a typical Japanese open-plan office, with cream-colored cubicles neatly arranged, computer screens flickering with various lights, and the sounds of keyboard clicks and low discussions intertwined. The movement at the door was like a stone dropped into a pond, interrupting work; a few people nearby were the first to look up, followed by more gazes converging, carrying the displeasure of being disturbed and the surprise of seeing the President himself.
Hayao Nakayama's voice was not loud, yet it carried an inherent penetrating quality, instantly overriding the existing office noise and making everyone stop what they were doing.
"This is Takuya Nakayama." He scanned the room; wherever his gaze landed, employees instinctively sat up straighter. He announced it as an established fact, "From today, he will serve as the Deputy Team Leader of the Third Development Department."
The air seemed to be instantly sucked out, then solidified. Dozens of gazes focused on Takuya in unison, more direct and sharper than those in the hallway earlier, filled with scrutiny, astonishment, and a hint of almost imperceptible mockery. A pen slipped from the hand of a man wearing glasses, clattering onto the desk. Someone in a corner quickly lowered their head, exchanging a knowing look with the person next to them.
The President's son.
Nepotism.
Parachuted in.
These silent labels rained down like hailstones, dense and cold.
Hayao Nakayama finished his introduction, with no extra words, simply turning sideways and giving a barely perceptible nod with his chin towards Takuya, signaling it was his turn.
Takuya stepped forward, standing exactly in the brightest spot by the door, facing everyone. He bowed slightly, a perfectly appropriate smile on his face, neither fawning nor arrogant nor distant.
"Hello everyone, I am Takuya Nakayama." His voice was clear and steady, reaching every corner of the quiet office. He calmly met everyone's gaze, his eyes slowly moving through the crowd, without the slightest evasion. "Nice to meet you all; please take care of me."
He paused, observing everyone's reactions, then his smile deepened slightly, tinged with a hint of self-deprecation.
"I know you might be... well, a little surprised by my sudden appearance here and taking on this position." He frankly addressed the most sensitive issue, his tone light, as if speaking of a harmless trifle. "After all, my surname is indeed Nakayama; that cannot be changed."
A few suppressed coughs rippled through the crowd, and some people's mouths twitched, as if they wanted to laugh but held back. The tense atmosphere seemed to loosen an invisible string.
"However," Takuya's tone shifted, the smile on his face receding slightly, his eyes becoming focused and sharp, "I hope that in the days to come, all of you, my seniors and colleagues, will truly get to know me and evaluate me through my work, through the tangible results I can bring to the Third Development Department and to Sega."
His gaze swept over each face, catching their subtle changes in expression: some remained expressionless, some frowned slightly as if in thought, and others showed clear disapproval.
"I am not here to inherit anything, nor am I here for a gilded resume or a vacation." His voice remained steady, yet carried an undeniable force. "I am here to work with all of you, for a common goal—" He paused here, emphasizing his words, "—to create great games that can completely defeat Nintendo!"