Hisao Oguchi

"Looks like you've met your exercise target for today." Nakayama Takuya pointed to the empty meeting room next to him. "Put your things down and let's chat for a bit."

Hisao Oguchi paused for a moment, then handed his work to his assistant and followed Nakayama Takuya into the conference room.

He seemed a little uneasy; after all, being called in for a private talk by the company's most powerful and influential executive would make anyone nervous.

"I noticed you just visited three different areas." Nakayama Takuya pulled out a chair and sat down, skipping the usual pleasantries and getting straight to the point. "How many teams are you managing right now?"

"Mainly the racing projects on Mizuguchi -san's side, and two other groups that are working on arcade porting," Hisao Oguchi answered honestly, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Occasionally, when the review department is short-staffed, they'll second me over to help look at a few third-party cases."

"Wearing multiple roles, huh?" Nakayama Takuya tapped his fingers lightly on the table, lost in thought. "How does it feel? Can you handle it?"

Hisao Oguchi gave a wry smile. He had originally wanted to say a few polite words like "No problem, I can manage," but looking into Nakayama Takuya's eyes, which seemed to see through everything, he swallowed back the boast that was on the tip of his tongue.

"To be honest, it's very demanding." He sighed. "Sega's development teams are somewhat fragmented these days, with resources not being shared. Sometimes, two teams can argue for an entire afternoon over a senior artist. Most of my time isn't spent managing, but rather acting as a lubricant," preventing the gears from jamming. Even so, mistakes are common when things get hectic. Last week, due to communication delays, two teams ended up doing the same physics engine module twice."

At this point, he glanced nervously at Nakayama Takuya, worried that his complaint would make his superior think he was incompetent.

But that's exactly what Nakayama Takuya wanted to hear.

It's not the existence of problems that's scary, it's the concealment and whitewashing of problems.

The fact that Hisao Oguchi could identify the crux of the problem shows that his vision has gone beyond the execution level and he has begun to think about the problem from an architectural perspective.

"Reinventing the wheel and wasting resources are common problems in large companies." Nakayama Takuya leaned back in his chair, his tone calm yet carrying an undeniable authority. "Although the Development Department communicates quite a bit now, we still inevitably see many instances of people working alone. We need the methods of a professional army."

Instead of immediately offering a solution, Nakayama Takuya turned the tables and asked, "If you were to prescribe the remedy, disregarding budget and staffing constraints, how would you treat it?"

Hisao Oguchi clearly hadn't expected the executive director to ask such a direct question.

He subconsciously rubbed the ink off his fingers, which was left over from when he was photocopying documents for the planning team.

"Executive Director, to be honest, relying solely on myself, or on a few managers like me who are constantly putting out fires, is only a temporary solution." Hisao Oguchi carefully chose his words, but his tone gradually became more certain. "The scale of games nowadays is too large. What used to be something a few people could develop in three months now requires dozens of people to work on for a year. If we want to ensure development efficiency, we need someone specifically to oversee the process, not just whoever has time to manage it."

He gestured. "Especially for large groups like Suzuki's, which may require more than one person. This kind of work must be assigned to specific positions and personnel." If one person is in charge of the racing group one week and the fighting group the next week, they won't be able to manage both and will get scolded from both sides.

Nakayama Takuya nodded, leaning forward. "Fixed positions and assigned personnel are a good approach. But this job is tedious and tedious, and you might even be caught in the middle. Those genius programmers who aspire to be the next Yu Suzuki wouldn't be interested, and those arrogant art masters are even less willing to do it. What kind of person in the company do you think is suitable for this position?"

This is a rather pointed question.

At Sega, there's a strong, even somewhat extreme, culture that prioritizes technology.

Not writing code, not drawing diagrams, but only responsible for "urging" and "serving tea and water" sounds like a sinecure.

Hisao Oguchi was silent for a few seconds, scratched his messy hair at the back of his head, and gave a wry smile, "Probably... those who have just become fathers, or older office workers with heavy mortgage burdens."

Nakayama Takuya raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Tell me more."

"That's actually quite realistic." Once Hisao Oguchi started talking, he didn't hold back much. "Hardware is being updated too fast. From 8-bit machines to 16-bit machines, and now to Mode 12 and the next generation, the technical threshold doubles every three years. Some of the senior employees who have been with the company for seven or eight years were very good at assembly language, but they are indeed struggling with the current 3D algorithms and polygon modeling that fill the screen."

He paused, observed Nakayama Takuya's expression, and seeing that the other was listening attentively, continued, "Making them grit their teeth and compete with those fresh graduates from prestigious universities in algorithms is not only difficult but also inefficient. But on the other hand, these veterans are also invaluable."

"They understand the processes, the rules, and even better, how to deal with those eccentric producers." Hisao Oguchi counted on his fingers, "Newcomers who try to push for faster progress will be yelled at and brought to tears; but veteran staff, even Suzuki -san, will give them some face. They don't need to be at the forefront of tackling tough problems, but they can keep the logistics running smoothly, ensuring those geniuses have no worries."

"And—" Hisao Oguchi sighed, pointing to his dark circles, "People who have families have a different mindset. They don't seek overnight fame; they just want job stability, to be able to leave work on time and go home to change their children's diapers. If project management is done well, processes are streamlined, and pointless rework and disputes are reduced, then no one will have to work all night to meet deadlines. For them, that's more attractive than a simple pay raise."

Nakayama Takuya listened intently.

Isn't this the prototype of the standard "Project Manager (PM)" system in later major game companies?

In that era, the Japan game industry generally still had a "workshop-style" mentality. Lead programmers or lead planners often also took on project management, resulting in them having to write code and manage people, leading to a breakdown on both ends.

Hisao Oguchi inadvertently touched upon a pain point in modern corporate management by approaching the issue from the perspectives of "family" and "placement of long-term employees."

"Sega doesn't have that old-fashioned seniority system; whoever's capable gets promoted," Hisao Oguchi added. "But newcomers are still inexperienced and easily influenced by office politics or cliques. Veteran employees are the 'jack-of-all-trades,' and the 'lubricant.' Having them do dedicated project coordination solves their career bottlenecks and frees up those of us who want to do development from miscellaneous tasks. It's a win-win situation no matter how you look at it."