The person Kobayashi Tetsu wanted to find was none other than this student Kitagawa's father.
The enormous Mario cut-out standing in Akihabara had been drawn by Kitagawa's father—an illustration Tetsu was extremely satisfied with.
Of course, Tetsu understood one thing clearly:
A graphic designer with that level of skill was essentially the lead artist of any studio. Reaching someone like that wouldn't be easy.
At the school festival, there were not only students but also parents and nearby residents. Whenever anyone showed interest and came closer, Tetsu would casually ask their names and jot them down.
Most adults, though, unlike the children, had disposable income. Rather than writing their names, they preferred to simply pay the 100-yen game fee.
The older one gets, the more one values privacy.
"Adults really are different from kids…"
Tetsu had just been thinking that when a slightly gloomy-looking middle-aged man approached. He had medium-length hair tied into a single ponytail, wore glasses, and carried an unfocused, drifting gaze.
Tetsu leaned back a little on instinct.
This was clearly the man he'd been looking for.
He grabbed the notebook and went on the offensive.
"Interested in trying home-console games?"
"Ah? Uh… sorry." The man shook his head. "I'm not here to play. I'm looking for someone."
"Try it anyway—write down your name and impressions and you can play for free. Or pay a hundred yen, that works too." Tetsu pressed on, stepping a little closer. "And who knows, maybe the person you're looking for is back there."
He pointed behind him.
The game booth was drawing so much attention that the surrounding stands looked empty in comparison.
The man hesitated, touched his pocket, then picked up the pen.
"Just your name," Tetsu reminded gently.
The man quickly wrote a single kanji: 剛 — Takeshi.
Tetsu lifted his head, studying the man's face.
Could this be Kitagawa Takeshi?
He gestured politely to let him through. Kitagawa walked past him into the shade and immediately found the person he'd been looking for—his child, absorbed in the game console.
Tetsu tapped his fingers on the table, thinking.
"Choosing to give your name instead of paying a hundred yen—should I take that to mean your finances aren't doing so well lately?"
Of course, this wasn't a conclusion drawn from a single point.
Tetsu had noticed several details:
Kitagawa Takeshi's hair was neat, his nails clean, his teeth well cared for—signs of habitual grooming.
But there was also the sharp smell of cheap shampoo lingering on him, a harsh chemical scent like a bad air freshener in a taxi. It covered nothing.
His clothes were decent, but his leather shoes were dusty—a sign he had walked rather than taken a car.
Combined with offering his name instead of money, Tetsu was nearly certain the man was in a difficult stage of life.
While Kitagawa was talking with his son, Tetsu stepped under the canopy, grabbed a piece of stiff card, folded and trimmed it, then wrote a series of details with a fountain pen.
The address of the Atlus Workshop in Setagaya.
His home landline.
And after a pause, another string of numbers.
A beeper number—pocket bell.
Japan hadn't yet opened pager services for personal users. No matter how much money Tetsu had, he couldn't get one. So this number belonged to Kentarō—registered under Sega's corporate account, as befitted a department head who couldn't be expected to rush home every time someone needed him.
Strictly speaking, the address and home phone were enough.
But Tetsu knew very well the effect a pager number could have on someone.
When he tore off the card and lifted his head, Kitagawa was already leading his unlucky kid out of the shade.
"Nakajima, I'll leave things here to you. I need to take care of something."
With a few quick instructions, he pocketed the card and followed.
They had just walked past a few stands when Tetsu stepped in front of them.
"Mr. Kitagawa Takeshi, if you'd please stop for a moment."
"You're that kid from the home-console booth?" Kitagawa looked puzzled.
Tetsu cast a quick glance toward a student-run lemonade stand nearby.
"Mr. Kitagawa, would you sit down and talk a bit?"
He gestured politely—but Kitagawa only waved him off.
"Don't drag adults into kids' business. You two talk it out yourselves."
Tetsu clicked his tongue.
Youth really did have its disadvantages.
He raised his voice slightly.
"I'm talking about work, Mr. Kitagawa. Surely that's something worth discussing?"
Kitagawa halted. Tetsu extended the card.
It wasn't a formal business card, but the information on it carried weight.
Kitagawa's gaze lingered on the pager number. After a moment, he urged his son forward.
"Go play over there. I'll come find you later."
Only then did he sit down with Tetsu beside the lemonade stand.
Tetsu ordered two cups. The flavor was nothing to brag about, but the portion was generous.
"Forgive me for being blunt," Kitagawa said curtly. "Kobayashi Tetsu… I don't believe I've heard the name."
"Yes—my name is ordinary and unremarkable. But you may have heard of something else."
Tetsu said, "For example—Kobayashi Puzzle."
Kitagawa suddenly raised his eyes, staring at him.
Kobayashi Puzzle.
Kobayashi Tetsu.
Keeping his easy smile, Tetsu took a sip of lemonade.
"I made it."
Kitagawa straightened at once, all the earlier indifference gone.
"So you're that 'Atlus'… unbelievable. I didn't think…"
He trailed off.
Didn't think the creator would be a teenager.
"But let me be direct as well—someone like you, a prodigy, what business could you possibly have with someone like me?"
Seeing the confusion, Tetsu didn't bother with circles.
"I'm assembling a small game studio and need an excellent graphic designer. I've spoken to your son—he said his father is exceptional. And I've seen your cut-out in Akihabara. It truly is impressive."
Kitagawa adjusted his sleeve, unable to hide a trace of pride.
Of course it was his masterpiece.
However—
He rejected the offer immediately.
"Sorry. I'm doing well at my company. I won't be leaving."
Japan's employment system was largely lifelong. Once hired, one rarely quit. The entry barrier was strict, but the benefits afterward were generous.
That he said this didn't surprise Tetsu at all.
Tetsu leaned forward slightly, hands on the table.
"Yes, I understand you're not the type to change jobs lightly. But having your work constantly taken, claimed by others, absorbed by superiors under various excuses—that must feel terrible, no? The designer credited for the Akihabara piece is listed as Kinoshita Hayato. That name has nothing to do with Kitagawa Takeshi, does it?"
The instant shift in Kitagawa's expression told Tetsu everything.
He had hit the mark.
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