Morale Could Be Put to Use

Others followed suit, bowing repeatedly, filling the office with cries of "Thank you, Executive Director."

They knew perfectly well what was going on.

In this industry where technology iterates as quickly as turning the pages of a book, these outdated veterans are a burden wherever they go.

Only Nakayama Takuya not only didn't kick them out, but also created a special position for them, allowing them to use their expertise and experience to earn money in a respectable way.

This is called gratitude for being recognized and appreciated.

"Alright, stop with the sentimentality."

Nakayama Takuya waved his hand, signaling everyone to stand up straight. "Let me make this clear from the start: this isn't a place for you to retire. These geniuses in the Development Department are all arrogant and conceited, either suffering from chronic procrastination or having too many ideas and not knowing how to prioritize, and they won't listen to reason. Your task is to use your experience to rein in these Mustang."

He walked up to Sato and straightened the man's slightly crooked tie.

"Sato- san, you're shameless. If the Art Team ever dares to say they're lacking inspiration and are late with their work, just sit behind them and keep an eye on them. With your experience in game art, I'm sure you'll make sure they can't find an excuse."

Sato grinned, revealing a set of white teeth. "Don't worry, Executive Director. I may not have much else, but I'm incredibly persistent. From now on, anyone who dares to delay the schedule will be made so miserable they won't even be able to use the restroom in peace."

Everyone burst into laughter.

Nakayama Takuya turned to Watanabe, his tone softening slightly. "Watanabe -san, once you've sorted things out at work, leave on time. The second baby just arrived, it's a tiring time, don't waste all your energy at the company. Once things are settled at home, you'll have the energy to keep those young people busy at the office."

Watanabe sniffed hard and nodded emphatically. "Yes! I definitely won't let the Executive Director down!"

"Go on, report to your new posts." Nakayama Takuya waved them away. "Don't stand here, it's making my eyes dizzy. Remember, you're managers now, so stand up straight."

The twelve people bowed again in unison, and when they turned to leave, their footsteps were much more steady than when they arrived.

That listless, complacent attitude has vanished, replaced by a fierce determination to prove oneself on this new battlefield.

Looking at the closed door, Hisao Oguchi sigh.

"Executive Director, your words are more effective than any bonus you could give them," Hisao Oguchi exclaimed sincerely. "These old buddies are probably laughing in their sleep tonight."

"This is called optimal resource allocation."

Nakayama Takuya sat back down in his chair, twirling his pen in a good mood. "The morale is good."

With the issuance of twelve transfer orders, these twelve "cogs" carefully selected by Hisao Oguchi were quickly screwed into the sluggishest joints of Sega's massive development machine.

The effects were immediate.

The atmosphere in the Development Department has visibly changed.

The days of people running around the building waiting for approvals or trying to coordinate resources are gone.

Programmers were surprised to find that all they had to do was sit at their desks, put on their headphones, and focus on the code on the screen; an unseen hand would always keep those dreadful, headache-inducing tasks out of their reach.

This feeling of being "protected" made these proud and arrogant technical geniuses feel a sense of "respect" for these balding seniors for the first time.

Even the time to leave work has become regular.

Without the ineffective wrangling and waiting, work efficiency skyrocketed.

At 6:30 p. m., the once brightly lit Development Department had been mostly sparsely populated with people leaving.

Standing behind the blinds in his office, Nakayama Takuya watched the Development Department employees walking out of the building downstairs, and his mood improved somewhat.

In mid-September, the sweltering heat in Tokyo finally showed signs of dissipating.

Inside Sega Headquarters, the development team, having just finished "Sonic Pinball," a casual game that combines the Sonic IP with pinball, was immersed in a relaxed atmosphere reminiscent of "final exams."

They had just returned from Okinawa, and their bones felt completely sunburnt; they didn't want to move at all.

The door was pushed open, Nakayama Takuya walked in, carrying a thick brown paper bag.

"Looks like everyone's fully charged." Takuya tossed the paper bag onto the conference table with a dull thud. "Perfect timing, new work is here."

The lead planner let out a groan and slid down the chair. "Executive Director, we just got back from Okinawa, can we have a couple of days to recover?"

"The deadline isn't tight. Take a look and think it over slowly." Nakayama Takuya pulled out a chair, sat down, and pulled out the project proposal. "Code name: <72 Hours After the Disaster>. The platforms are the Mega Drive and GamePocket handhelds. I want it to cover all age groups."

Several heads crowded around.

"Disaster prevention education game?" The lead planner glanced at the title, his brows furrowing deeply. "Executive Director, isn't this kind of thing the Ministry of Education gives to elementary school students as homework? Who would pay money to be educated on a game console? Players want excitement and thrills."

"Who says educational games can't be exciting?" Takuya tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table. "Don't make it like those rigid games where you press A to dodge an earthquake. I want you to make it a survival game, more like an RPG, where you can roam and interact freely."

He turned to the second page of the proposal and pointed to the flowchart on it, explaining.

"The first phase is a resource game. Players are given a limited budget. Should they buy expensive first-aid kits or stockpile cheap compressed biscuits? Should they hire workers to reinforce dilapidated bookshelves or install explosion-proof film on the windows? Every penny allocated directly determines their survival rate later on."

The development team members exchanged glances, their initial disdain lessening somewhat.

This has a bit of a strategy game feel to it.

"Phase Two: Random Disasters Strike." Nakayama Takuya's voice deepened. "Earthquakes, tsunamis, fires, or complex disasters. This is when you'll need to use what you do best—QTEs (Quick Response Events)."

He stood up and gestured. "The ceiling is falling, two or three options pop up, you only have 2-5 seconds to react. Hide under the table, hide in the corner, or lift the chair over your head? Press the wrong key or choose the wrong option? Sorry, my leg is injured, my movement speed is halved. Gas leak, you must find the valve and press the buttons repeatedly to turn it off before the countdown ends. Not fast enough? B00M, game over."

"Of course, the actual game time won't be as long as 72 hours. A game can be compressed to five to ten minutes if needed. During these 72 hours, aftershocks can occur at any time. Players not only need to save themselves, but can also choose to help their neighbors. If your neighbor is trapped under the rubble, rescuing them will consume your stamina and precious drinking water; not rescuing them will lower your score later on, and you might even lose a potential helper."