Post-Disaster Self-Restraint

When the assistant walked into the office with several sheets of statistics, there was wind in his stride, the excitement on his face impossible to suppress.

"Executive Director, this was just compiled by the Public Relations Department. Asahi Shimbun, Yomiuri Shimbun, and several TV stations have all sent interview requests. They want to do special reports on this. The Marketing Department suggested that maybe we should strike while the iron is hot and print these cases as posters—"

"Stop."

Nakayama Takuya raised a hand and cut him off, not even opening the stack of faxes to look.

He capped the pen in his hand with a crisp click.

"Tell the people in the Marketing Department to pour the water out of their heads. Printing posters at a time like this? Do they think we won't die fast enough?"

The assistant froze, clearly unable to keep up with his boss's train of thought. "But—this is a positive model, and it's true."

"It's true, but it's also payment in human blood."

Nakayama Takuya stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside, Tokyo was still prosperous as ever, while hundreds of kilometers away, that place was still purgatory.

"Right now, all Japan is mourning, and everyone is watching the government's failed disaster relief. If Sega jumps out at a time like this and beats the drums to advertise, 'Look how smart I am, play my game and you can save your life,' believe me, even if we saved ten thousand people, tomorrow public opinion will spray us into cold-blooded capitalists profiteering from a national calamity."

Doing good deeds without leaving a name was for saints; doing good deeds and shouting about them everywhere was for hypocrites.

Since they had already become heroes, they should not toss that whole halo away.

"Then—these interviews?" the