Hisao Oguchi's Answer

"You're right. Although Sato- san struggles with new graphics optimizations, he's excellent at coordinating art resources. He's thick-skinned and persistent; even the most temperamental artists in the Art Team are afraid of him. He's even participated in many of our game's animation projects, and his external communication skills are quite good. As long as the salary and benefits are stable, he should be happy to switch to the new position, since it will give him more time to take care of his elderly parents."

Nakayama Takuya closed the folder and placed it on the table with satisfaction.

This list is not just a personnel reshuffle table, but also the lubricant for Sega's future efficient operation.

These twelve people are the twelve "supervisors." By distributing them among the various development teams, we can pull those talented producers out of the quagmire of complicated administration.

Moreover, Hisao Oguchi selects people who are in a good position because they are in dire need of the job and have a real personal and family situation.

"Sharp insight and meticulous investigation," Nakayama Takuya gave a fair assessment. "This was handled beautifully, with a lot of human touch."

Despite the praise, Hisao Oguchi didn't show any obvious delight, but simply bowed slightly: "Regarding the negotiation on salary—"

"Don't worry about that, I've already spoken to Tamura." Nakayama Takuya waved his hand, interrupting him. "Your task right now isn't to rush to report to me. If Tetsuya Mizuguchi finds out I poached you, he'll definitely come to my office crying. Hand over your racing projects cleanly, organize the documents properly, and don't leave a mess. I don't need another ten days or two weeks."

Hisao Oguchi visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

What he feared most was pleasing neither side. With the title of "special advisor," he could legitimately and properly stand firm in his final post.

"Understood! I'll head back now."

After seeing Hisao Oguchi off, Nakayama Takuya picked up the phone and called over Human Resources Director Tamura.

When Tamura entered, Nakayama Takuya handed him the list directly.

"Talk to them according to this list," Nakayama Takuya said succinctly. "Don't do that condescending 'dismissal' kind of talk. Tell them this isn't retirement, it's a promotion. The position is called Technical Coordination Manager, with a 5% salary increase. They won't need to write code anymore; they'll be solely responsible for monitoring processes and progress. If they perform well, their year-end bonus will be on par with the lead developers."

Tamura glanced at the list of famous names, and his eyelids twitched.

Several of them were notorious "old hands" who usually gave him a headache, but unexpectedly, they became highly sought-after by the executive officer.

"The executive officers—these guys usually have quite a bit of pride. Do you think they'd be happy to suddenly put down their keyboards and take on miscellaneous tasks?"

"Can ambition put food on the table?" Nakayama Takuya scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "A man in his thirties, who doesn't come home to face his wife and kids' bills? On one hand, there's the anxiety of having to learn new algorithms every day and compete with younger people in speed; on the other hand, there's the prestige of using experience to manage people, leaving on time, and getting a raise. Anyone knows which to choose."

He picked up the pen, signed his name at the end of the document, and the pen tip made a scratching sound as it scratched across the paper.

"Remember, be very supportive during conversations. Just say the company needs their experience to guide us. Young people, don't say their skills are lacking. Give them plenty of face and substance, and these veterans will work harder than anyone else."

Tamura nodded repeatedly, secretly admiring him.

This "releasing military power over a cup of wine" tactic was executed brilliantly. It not only solved the resettlement problem for veteran employees but also found a manager for the project and won over the hearts of the people.

"Go ahead and do it. Let the development team leaders choose from the recent graduates for the vacant positions."

Tamura responded and left with the folder in his arms.

The conversation with the Human Resources Department went even more smoothly than expected.

For these twelve long-time employees who had been struggling in their current positions for a long time, the "Technical Coordination Manager" appointment letter handed over by Director Tamura was nothing short of a lifeline.

When Watanabe walked into the HR office, the dark circles under his eyes hadn't faded, and he was even clutching a half-empty bottle of energy drink in his hand.

He thought he was about to receive a dismissal notice, and his mind was already calculating whether the severance pay would be enough to buy milk powder for his second child.

Tamura's first words were. "Congratulations, the executive director specifically requested your promotion."

No need to stay up all night writing 3D algorithms that you can't even understand, no need to worry about being looked down upon by fresh graduates for being slow, and your salary has even increased by 5%.

Surprisingly, the job he did was what he was best at.

Watanabe's hands trembled as he held the employment contract, repeatedly checking three times whether it contained any trap clauses such as "voluntary resignation."

As for Sato, who was burdened with a 30-year mortgage, his reaction was even more direct.

When Tamura told him that his main task would be to coordinate the progress and details of art for various projects, and that as long as the projects were delivered on time, his year-end bonus would be on par with that of the main front-line developers, this man, who usually only stayed out late to get free meals at the company, thumped his chest loudly and vowed that he would sleep on the floor at anyone who dared to delay the progress.

In just three days, all twelve job transfer agreements were signed.

At 3 p. m., these twelve "veterans" who had already been marginalized in the department, led by Hisao Oguchi, blocked the entrance to the Managing Director's Office in a grand manner.

Nakayama Takuya had just finished signing a document when he looked up and saw a room full of grown men.

The atmosphere was both somewhat somber and somewhat lively.

Watanabe walked at the front; this former hero of MD audio chips had reddened eyes.

He looked at Nakayama Takuya, his lips moved slightly, and suddenly his knees buckled, and he was about to kneel down on the ground.

This is the most solemn gesture in the Japanese workplace – a dogeza (a deep bow).

For a middle-aged man who is about to be crushed by the burden of his family, this respectable job is not just a means of livelihood, but also a source of pride for him to stand tall in front of his wife and children.

"Stop!"

Nakayama Takuya reacted quickly and caught Watanabe's arm.

The young executive officer had an astonishingly strong grip, managing to hold up this 140-pound man.

"This is Sega, not a Taiga drama set." Nakayama Takuya firmly pulled Watanabe up, his tone slightly teasing. "If you kneel down, tomorrow's gossip magazines will write about me disciplining an employee, and I won't take the blame for that."

The tense atmosphere in the room instantly relaxed, and a few suppressed laughs rang out.

Sato, standing behind, bowed deeply and said in a loud voice, "Executive Director, Oguchi- san told us all about it. You personally requested these positions from the HR Director, and you personally approved this list. We—we thought we'd just coast along until retirement, but we never expected to be so valued."