Mentorship

Nakayama Takuya looked at the man in front of him, who looked tired but had a light in his eyes, and a smile slowly crept onto his lips.

They not only understand technology and management, but also human nature.

"Well said." Nakayama Takuya stood up and patted Hisao Oguchi on the shoulder.

"Would you like to come to the Managing Director's Office and be my deputy?"

Nakayama Takuya spoke these words casually, but to Hisao Oguchi, they were like a thunderclap from a clear sky.

Hisao Oguchi froze on the spot, the stack of fax papers he hadn't yet put down crumpled in his hand.

He opened his mouth, uttering a short, meaningless syllable; his brain was clearly still processing the massive information overload.

Go to the Managing Director's Office? That's the heart of Sega, the decision-making level.

Just ten minutes earlier, he was arguing with the Administrative Department about the Art Team being short of a scanner.

"What, you're reluctant to give up the meals we eat here day and night?" Nakayama Takuya joked.

"No—no! I'm willing! I'm very willing!" Hisao Oguchi suddenly snapped back to reality, his voice cracking with excitement, drawing the attention of several programmers passing by outside the glass door.

He quickly lowered his voice, but then his brows furrowed, and a troubled look appeared on his face. "But Executive Director, I have a lot on my plate right now. If I leave now, many projects will immediately fall into chaos—"

He's a very honest person.

Even when good things come his way, his first thought is still about his work and responsibilities.

I didn't say I'd transfer you right now.

Nakayama Takuya waved his hand, signaling him to relax. "You should finish up the work at hand for this stage. It's important to see things through to the end, which is why I value you."

He paused, then tapped his finger on the progress chart on the table. "Before that, I'll give you a task. Just do it casually in your regular work; there's no rush."

"What mission?" Hisao Oguchi, puzzled.

"Give me a list of those people you just mentioned—those older employees who aren't technically proficient but understand processes, know how to navigate interpersonal relationships, and have wives and kids waiting for them to cook dinner."

Nakayama Takuya's tone became more serious. "Regardless of which group, if you think he's suitable for project coordination, put his name on the list. I'll have Human Resources Department create a new job category called 'Technical Management,' with a re-evaluation of salary and benefits—definitely no lower than a coder's."

Hisao Oguchi's eyes lit up.

He knew all too well what this meant; it was practically a golden road to success for those veterans whose careers had reached a dead end.

"As for the positions they've created, don't worry about them," Nakayama Takuya continued. "Didn't a batch of recent graduates already join in April? Let energetic young people handle the hair-draining work like coding. Let veterans mentor new recruits; this fills the management vacuum and creates opportunities for advancement for the young. That's called metabolism."

This series of combined measures not only relieved Hisao Oguchi's worries, but also directly streamlined Sega's somewhat chaotic development process from a systemic perspective.

"Once the list is ready and you've handed over your current tasks, you can come and report to me." Nakayama Takuya stood up and straightened the hem of his suit jacket. "Next week, I'll have HR talk to you about your new position's salary. Think about how much you want in advance; this is a special request from the executive director, so be bold."

After saying that, Nakayama Takuya turned around, pushed open the door, and left, leaving behind a dashing silhouette.

In the conference room, Hisao Oguchi stood there stunned for a full half minute.

He only let out a long sigh of relief when the noise outside returned to his ears.

He looked down at the crumpled stack of fax papers in his hand, then at the workstation next to him that needed his help to "put out the fire," and suddenly these headache-inducing chores no longer seemed so repulsive.

He straightened up and bowed deeply in the direction Nakayama Takuya had left.

"Thank you for your guidance, Executive Director!"

His voice was loud and clear, full of confidence.

The Human Resources Department is located on the thirteenth floor of the building.

Nakayama Takuya knocked on the door of the Human Resources Director's office, and after receiving a "Come in" response, he pushed the door open and entered.

Director Tamura was frowning at a pile of attendance sheets when he saw that the company's most sought-after executive officer had just entered. He jumped up before he could even sit down and hurriedly stuffed the messy reports on the table into the drawer.

"No need to hide it, I'm not here to check up on you." Nakayama Takuya pulled out a chair and sat down, casually picking up a report and glancing at it. "The Sales Department's lateness rate has hit a new high again this month?"

"Uh—he said he was drinking with distributors until 3 a. m. last night." Tamura smiled awkwardly and quickly poured Nakayama Takuya a glass of water. "What brings you here today, Executive Director, to inspect my work?"

"Inspecting your work is the president's job, I wouldn't dare overstep my bounds. I'm here to talk about two things." Nakayama Takuya held up two fingers, without any pleasantries. "First, I've taken a liking to Hisao Oguchi and plan to transfer him to be my deputy. He'll be promoted half a rank, and you can discuss the salary with him. You should expedite the paperwork on your end. I need this guy urgently."

Tamura directly searched on the computer in front of him.

Hisao Oguchi? That "jack-of-all-trades" who's always running around between departments?

Although he has a good reputation and is a hardworking and dedicated individual, isn't promoting him directly to the position of executive deputy a bit of a leap?

But he was a smart man; these personnel appointments were only communicated through notification, not discussion.

"No problem, Oguchi- san is indeed diligent, I'll arrange it right away." Tamura nodded vigorously.

"The second thing is a bit more troublesome." Nakayama Takuya leaned forward, his fingers lightly tapping the table. "I need you to create a new job category in the Development Department called Technical Manager."

Then, he explained in detail the plan that Hisao Oguchi had just mentioned.

They pulled out those older employees who were technically less skilled but familiar with processes and interpersonal relationships; these employees didn't write code, but were specifically responsible for project coordination, schedule management, and handling cross-departmental disputes.

As Tamura listened, his initially professional fake smile gradually faded, replaced by an expression of near surprise.

As the HR director, he was all too aware of the pain points of large companies.

The lifetime employment system is like a tight band around the neck. Those older employees who can't keep up with the times can't be fired or scolded. They just sit there occupying positions and their seniority pay keeps increasing every year. It's practically a cancer on the company.

"This—this is a great idea!" Tamura couldn't help but exclaim, his pen flying across his notebook. "Instead of having them pretend to be busy at their desks without producing any real results, it would be better to have them streamline processes. But how do we set their salaries? After all, they're not producing core code anymore. If we calculate it as an administrative position, it might be significantly lower than a technical position—"