Joining the Company

Nakayama Takuya pressed the telephone receiver tightly to his ear. On the other end came Nakayama Hayao's steady breathing, calm as a pendulum.

He cleared his throat, adjusted his sitting posture, and made sure his voice was steady.

"Father, I'm ready."

There was a brief pause, with only the faint hiss of the current.

"Mm?" Nakayama Hayao's voice came through, betraying neither joy nor anger, carrying its usual authority.

"The 'gift' you mentioned before is ready," Takuya continued. "Next Monday, I'll report to the company on time. For the presentation of the gift, I hope to invite several group leaders and deputies from the development department, as well as the heads of the marketing department, legal department, and international business department, to be present and witness it together."

The other end of the line fell silent for a few seconds.

"Good." One word, crisp and clean, like the confirmation of an order.

"Report to headquarters at nine o'clock Monday morning." There were no unnecessary questions, not the slightest trace of personal concern, purely the tone of a superior speaking to a subordinate.

"Yes, Father."

Takuya gently hung up the phone. The click of the receiver settling back into place sounded especially clear in the quiet room. He leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath, his tense shoulders relaxing. It was done.

Early Monday morning, sunlight passed through the gaps in the blinds, cutting alternating bands of light and shadow across the tatami.

Nakayama Takuya changed into a dark blue suit, the fabric crisp and the cut well-fitted. The collar and cuffs of his white shirt were smooth as new, and his tie knot was firm and perfectly standard. He studied himself in the mirror. The young man in the reflection had clear eyes, the corners of his mouth carrying the faintest hint of a curve, steady yet showing an edge that was hard to ignore. This was the "Nakayama Takuya" he had prepared for Sega.

He carefully checked his briefcase, confirming that the floppy disk and the neatly printed proposal were both inside. Beside it, the cardboard box containing that old Soviet antique waited quietly, like a sleeping witness. He picked up the briefcase, then lifted the cardboard box with one arm. Its not-exactly-light weight made his arm sink slightly. He pushed open the apartment door and walked toward an entirely new battlefield.

Sega's headquarters building stood in Shinagawa Ward, its enormous glass curtain wall reflecting the morning sun with the cold texture unique to a high-efficiency institution. When he walked into the lobby, the front desk confirmed his identity and appointment. Their tone was professional, but a trace of curiosity could not be hidden in their eyes.

"The president is already waiting for you."

The elevator rose soundlessly, the floor numbers jumping at regular intervals on the display. The moment the elevator doors opened, Nakayama Takuya saw Nakayama Hayao waiting at the entrance.

He was still in that meticulous suit, his expression grave, his gaze as sharp as an eagle's, as if it could pierce through the human heart.

"Come with me." He was concise, with not the slightest greeting, and turned to leave.

Takuya followed. His leather shoes made faint echoes on the polished floor. In the corridor, employees passed from time to time. When they saw the president personally leading an unfamiliar young man, their steps would unconsciously slow, and their gazes kept drifting over. Though each of them would stop, lower their heads, and say, "Good morning, President," it did not stop those complicated looks—surprise, probing, speculation. Some even quickly exchanged low whispers with their colleagues.

"Is that the president's son?"

"He's so young..."

"Which department?"

The fragmented voices spread like ripples across water, then quietly died before some invisible barrier. Nakayama Takuya straightened his back and looked straight ahead. Those curious or appraising gazes did not make his steps hesitate in the slightest. He felt those silent stares and lowered discussions, as if they were only wind brushing past his side, unable to shake him at all.

They stopped in front of the frosted glass door marked "Third Development Department." Nakayama Hayao did not knock, but pushed it open directly.

Inside was a typical Japanese open-plan office area. Beige cubicles were arranged in orderly rows, computer screens flickered with lights of various colors, and the sound of keyboards clacking interwove with low discussions. The movement at the door was like a stone dropped into a pond. Work was interrupted; several people nearby were the first to raise their heads, and then more gazes gathered over, carrying displeasure at being disturbed and surprise at seeing the president personally arrive.

Nakayama Hayao's voice was not loud, yet it carried a penetrating force of its own. In an instant, it overpowered the original noise in the office and made everyone stop what they were doing.

"This is Nakayama Takuya." He swept his gaze around the room. Wherever his eyes passed, the employees unconsciously sat up straighter. As if announcing an established fact, he said, "Starting today, he will serve as deputy group leader of the Third Development Group."

The air seemed to be sucked empty in an instant, then solidified. Dozens of gazes focused on Takuya in unison, more direct and sharper than those in the corridor earlier, filled with appraisal, shock, suspicion, and a trace of nearly imperceptible mockery. The pen in the hand of a bespectacled man fell onto the desk with a tap. In the corner, someone quickly lowered his head and exchanged an unspoken look with the person beside him.

The president's son.

A backdoor hire.

A parachuted-in outsider.

Those silent labels smashed down like hail, dense and cold.

After Nakayama Hayao finished the introduction, he said nothing more. He only turned slightly to the side and gave an almost imperceptible nod of his chin toward Takuya, indicating that it was his turn.

Takuya took a step forward, standing right in the brightest patch of light by the doorway, facing everyone. He bowed slightly, wearing a smile that was just right, neither ingratiating nor arrogantly distant.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Nakayama Takuya." His voice was clear and steady, carrying through the quiet office to every corner. He calmly met everyone's eyes, his gaze moving slowly through the crowd without the slightest evasion. "It's our first meeting. I look forward to working with you."

He paused, observing everyone's reactions, then deepened his smile a little, adding a touch of self-mockery.

"I know everyone may feel... well, a little surprised that I suddenly appeared here and took this position." He frankly touched on the most sensitive issue, his tone relaxed, as though he were speaking of some harmless little matter. "After all, my surname is indeed Nakayama. That's something I can't change."

A few suppressed coughs sounded from the crowd, and someone's mouth twitched slightly, as if he wanted to laugh but held it back. The tense atmosphere seemed to have one invisible string loosened.

"However," Takuya said, turning the subject. The smile on his face faded slightly, and his eyes became focused and sharp. "What I hope even more is that in the days to come, all of you seniors and colleagues will truly come to know me and judge me through my work, through the real results I can bring to the Third Development Department, and to Sega."

His gaze swept over face after face, catching the subtle changes in their expressions: some remained expressionless, some frowned slightly as if thinking, and some showed obvious disapproval.

"I'm not here to inherit anything, nor am I here to gild myself or take a vacation." His voice remained steady, yet it carried an unquestionable force. "I'm here to work with all of you toward one shared goal—" He paused slightly here and emphasized his tone. "To create great games that can completely defeat Nintendo!"