New Position
"Not only can it not be lower, it has to be roughly the same as the technical positions. Of course, the overtime pay standard can be lower, since this position isn't intended for them to work overtime anyway." Nakayama Takuya interrupted him directly, "This position is about being caught in the middle, about cleaning up the messes of those genius programmers and irritable artists. This is somewhat of emotional labor, and if the pay is too low, who would want to do this dirty and tiring work?"
Tamura paused, somewhat hesitant. "Won't this disrupt the balance of the salary system? Other departments might object, saying the Development Department is employing idle people—"
"Let them complain. Wait until their efficiency and per capita output catch up to half of our Development Department before they come banging their fists on the table." Nakayama Takuya snorted coldly, his tone carrying an undeniable domineering air. "The Development Department is Sega's cash cow, the core of the core. As long as they can finish the game on time, I'll approve even if they want to keep cats in the office. I want efficiency, not so-called fairness."
He paused, his tone softening slightly, but his eyes remained sharp. "Tamura -san, do you know what I hate most?"
Tamura instinctively straightened his back. "Ineffective overtime?"
"That's one thing," Nakayama Takuya leaned back in his chair. "What I hate most is that Showa habit of dragging subordinates out for drinks after work to maintain so-called team cohesion. How can you write code the next day when you're drunk? Can you write game code on alcohol? That's a waste of the company's electricity and manpower. As for the argument that going home early will make your family look down on you, Sega's Development Department staff's salaries and bonuses don't even put that problem on their minds. They have more time to spend with their families. Employees can only work with peace of mind when their families are harmonious. I don't need to tell you that, do I?"
Tamura wiped the sweat from his forehead.
In the entire Japan workplace, probably only this young Executive Director Nakayama would dare to say something so bluntly.
Indeed, since Nakayama Takuya took over, the atmosphere in the Development Department has been a breath of fresh air, or rather, a mudslide, in the industry.
There are no mandatory drinking parties, and no tedious "reading the air" while waiting for the boss to leave work.
As long as the work is finished, no one will stop you from leaving even at four in the afternoon.
There were even rumors that a newly arrived middle manager tried to engage in "workplace bullying," implying that subordinates would be punished if they didn't attend the weekend golf dinner. However, Nakayama Takuya and immediately had Human Resources Department put the guy on unpaid leave, with the reason being, "Since he likes playing golf so much, let him play to his heart's content."
"We pay them to work, not to make friends." Nakayama Takuya stood up and straightened his collar. "If they want to drink and chat, they can take their bonuses to Hawaii and drink to their heart's content after the project is finished, the company will reimburse them. But at the company, efficiency comes first. You can only work well if you're well-rested, is that so hard to understand?"
"Understood." Tamura closed his notebook, his answer this time revealing a genuine sincerity. "This plan not only solves the resettlement problem for veteran employees but also frees up core development capabilities—it's a win-win situation. I will immediately begin formulating new salary standards to ensure these veteran employees are not disheartened."
In those rigid Japanese conglomerates, older employees who are marginalized due to outdated technology often only have one option: to be relegated to the "window seat" job and wait to die.
At Sega, they were able to experience a second spring in their careers and even earn substantial salaries.
If this news gets out, it will probably make many people envious.
"And another thing," Nakayama Takuya walked to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob, then stopped, turned back, and smiled, "I heard that some former colleagues who were recently poached by Sony are privately complaining about the many rules there and the fact that they have to entertain the bosses every day?"
Tamura paused, then laughed, a hint of schadenfreude in his voice. "That's true. I heard that over there, you have to line up and bow to your section chief after work to say 'thank you for your hard work.' We're used to the relaxed lifestyle here; going there would be like being in prison. Last week, a programmer who had resigned asked me through someone if he could come back—"
"That's good." Nakayama Takuya opened the door. "Let them regret it. As long as Sega remains standing, these guys will be begging to come back sooner or later. At that time, this kind of technical management position will be their last return ticket—of course, they'll have to wait in line."
The door closed.
Tamura looked at the closed door and let out a long sigh.
He turned to look at the bustling Tokyo street scene outside the window, and the thought in his mind became clearer and clearer: this young executive director, even disregarding his talent for game development, just his management skills in controlling people's hearts were enough to give those old fogies a run for their money.
This "technical management" position is not just a job title, but a radical departure from the rigid Japanese employment system.
No wonder Sega's Development Department, under the leadership of this young man, has always been so powerful and efficient.
Five days later, Hisao Oguchi knocked on the Managing Director's Office door again.
Compared to his disheveled appearance last time, covered in sweat and clutching a handful of messy fax papers, he had clearly made a special effort to tidy up today.
His shirt collar was crisp, he held a neatly bound folder in his hand, and even his walking pace was much more steady.
"Executive, this is the list."
Nakayama Takuya took the folder and opened it.
The paper listed twelve names, followed by brief resumes and current status assessments.
Hisao Oguchi's efficiency was truly impeccable. Not only did he select the right people, but he also thoroughly investigated the peripheral modules they were currently responsible for and their family situations.
Nakayama Takuya paused on a few familiar names.
"Watanabe —if I hadn't seen this name, I would have almost forgotten that there was such a person in the Hardware Department." Nakayama Takuya pointed to the name in the third line, "He was a key player in the audio chip debugging for MD back then. What, can't he keep up with the requirements of the Model 2 now?"
"Watanabe- san's technical foundation is not a problem," Hisao Oguchi answered objectively, without personal bias. "The main issue is that his wife just gave birth to their second child, and the elders in his family are not capable of taking care of themselves, so he has to shoulder all the housework, and he has to work very late into the night after he gets home. He's currently sleep-deprived every day; I saw him pinching his thigh to stay awake during last week's meeting. Asking him to work overtime with those energetic recent graduates is really too much of a stretch."
"And this one, Sato from the Arcade Group Two." Nakayama Takuya laughed, "I remember he gritted his teeth and took on a 30-year mortgage to renovate the house inside and out so he could better care for his paralyzed elderly relative, right? People like that are most afraid of project delays and bonus cuts. Letting him monitor progress is more accurate than an alarm clock."