Sega Academy

With that thought in mind, Nakayama Takuya returned to his Managing Director's Office.

Reforming recruitment is just the first step; it's about bringing fresh blood into the company.

But these entrenched ideas within the company are the tougher nuts to crack.

If we cannot change their "single-minded" mindset, no matter how many geniuses like Shigeru Miyamoto we bring in, they will only be assimilated into cogs in the machine.

He turned on the computer screen and skillfully opened Sega's internal electronic bulletin board system - BBS.

This system was an internal communication platform that the company built last year after it connected to the network. It was given a rather grand name, "Sega Academy," which means that we hope employees can freely discuss and make progress together here.

However, ideals are often grand, while reality is often harsh.

Nakayama Takuya casually browsed through the posts; the latest ones were "Notice Regarding Adjustments to This Week's Snacks in the Tea Break Area," "Announcement of Team Building Expenses After the Seventh Development Group's Project Ends," and "Explanation from the Technical Section Regarding Updates to the C Language Function Library."

The entire layout is lifeless; it would be more accurate to call it a "Logistics and Technical Support Bulletin Board" than an "Academy".

There has been virtually no discussion about game ideas and gameplay design.

That won't do.

Nakayama Takuya's fingers paused on the keyboard for a moment, then began to type.

He created a new post and typed the following in the title bar. "[Managing Director's Office Notice] All development-related questions should be asked here from now on."

After writing the title, he added a few more sentences to the body of the text, "Dear colleagues:

To improve communication efficiency and stimulate creative discussions, starting today, the Managing Director's Office will no longer provide one-on-one closed-door responses to any questions, ideas, or criticisms related to game development or existing projects.

Please post your questions directly on the Sega Academy BBS forum, adding the tag "[Executive Game Discussion]".

I will personally review and respond. If the question involves a specific area, I will also invite relevant personnel (for example, in arcade hardware technology, I will invite Yu Suzuki) to participate in the discussion.

This initiative aims to promote knowledge sharing and foster a vibrant creative atmosphere within the company. We encourage everyone to participate actively and speak freely.

Furthermore, don't be afraid of seemingly naive questions. There are no stupid questions, only silence that dares not challenge conventions.

Click to send.

The moment the post was published, it was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake.

The first person to see the post was Takahashi, a programmer in the First Development Department. He was scratching his head over a program bug when the BBS notification flashed by on the edge of his screen, which annoyed him. He was about to close it when he was drawn in by the eye-catching title.

[Announcement from the Managing Director's Office] --

He read it word by word, his eyes widening as he suddenly stood up from his chair and slammed his hand on the partition next to his colleague.

"Hey! Look at the BBS! Special Secretary Nakayama posted a thread!"

"So what if he posts? Why are you getting so worked up? He's not some idol or celebrity," my colleague replied without looking up, but still casually clicked on the BBS.

A few seconds later, the entire office area was filled with the sounds of chairs being moved and hushed gasps.

"Public question? Answered personally by the executive director?"

"Are you kidding me? If I asked a stupid question, wouldn't the whole company see it? My career would be over on the spot!"

"Look closely, he also said he would bring in a technical expert like Yu Suzuki —my god, what's the difference between this and asking a question in class, or the homeroom teacher asking the subject professor to come and sit in?"

Immediately, the offices of various Development Department were abuzz with discussion.

Some people think this is just a show by the executives to make an example of someone, while others feel a strange pressure, as if a pair of eyes are constantly scrutinizing their work.

Rumors spread quickly.

Some well-informed people managed to subtly inquire about the inside story from the executive assistant.

"Have you heard? Just yesterday, the executive director rejected all the proposals from the newly promoted development team leaders!" A planner who had just returned from the break room said in a low voice to the colleagues who had gathered around him.

"All of them?" Some people couldn't believe it.

"Leave no one alive!" The man gestured a "cut them all" sign. "It's said that the executive director's exact words were, 'Conservative, boring, and utterly uninteresting.' Luckily, it was only relayed through an assistant; if it had been in the executive director's presence, who knows what it would have turned out like."

Upon hearing this, everyone suddenly understood.

I see!

The executive director is extremely dissatisfied with the company's current creative capabilities, which is why he put on this "public lecture"!

He's not just reforming the hiring process; he's putting pressure on all the developers within the company!

This post is not a simple notification, but a declaration of war—a declaration of war against all those with a "single-minded" mentality throughout the company.

Once you understand this, looking at that post again feels completely different.

The phrase "There are no stupid questions, only silences that dare not challenge conventions" carries a chilling undertone when read now.

In an instant, the number of online users on the entire "Sega Academy" page skyrocketed, with almost all the developers glued to the post page, constantly refreshing it.

However, as time ticked by, the post from the Managing Director's Office, like a Buddha statue enshrined on the homepage of "Sega Academy," saw its page views steadily climb, but the number of replies remained an embarrassing zero.

An eerie silence fell over the entire Development Department.

Everyone was at their workstations, pretending to be working diligently, but in the lower right corner of each person's computer screen, a BBS window remained open, and their eyes would occasionally glance at it.

Refresh, still 0.

Refreshing again, it's still 0.

"Hey, do you think someone might post this?" A young planner nudged his colleague next to him with his elbow, his voice extremely low, as if afraid of being overheard.

"Who dares to be the first to ask that question? What if they ask something stupid and get hung up on the spot by the executive director? How will they ever be able to work here again?" The colleague didn't even look up, his fingers flying across the keyboard, but he hadn't actually typed a single word.

"But didn't the executive director say there are no stupid questions—"

"That's just polite talk, do you really believe it? You have to listen to the opposite of what your boss says, that's a rule for survival in the workplace."

These whispers were happening in every corner.

Everyone had mixed feelings; they hoped someone could break the deadlock and see what this young executive director was up to, but they were also afraid that they themselves would be the ones to break the deadlock.

In the midst of this suffocating silence, a new reply notification popped up on everyone's screen without warning.

"1"

That glaring "0" has finally changed!

Almost simultaneously, countless mice clicked the refresh button.