Top floor, president's office.
Yamashina Makoto lay sunk deep in the broad leather swivel chair like a puddle of mud.
The Blue Mountain coffee on the desk had long gone cold, and a thin film of oil had even formed on its surface.
The heavy wooden door was gently pushed open, and Mitsui Chuta hurried in, closing it tightly behind him as though he had a guilty conscience.
"President. Richard's people have already gone to the underground warehouse. This time, they brought extremely professional outside appraisers. They're counting those backlogged, unsellable toys one by one, not even overlooking the scraps in the corners." Mitsui Chuta lowered his voice, unable to hide the trace of panic in his tone.
Yamashina Makoto expressionlessly lifted the cold coffee and took a sip.
It was bitter—so bitter that the root of his tongue went numb—but it was just what he needed to stay awake.
"Let them investigate." Yamashina Makoto set down the cup, his voice hoarse as though it had been scraped across sandpaper.
Mitsui Chuta stood stiffly before the desk, looking at Yamashina Makoto's face, which was calm to the point of near lifelessness.
"The Planning Department... has erupted." Mitsui Chuta swallowed and continued his report. "Several longtime employees are refusing to cooperate with the handover. They're smashing computers and throwing folders around the office, calling you... the eternal sinner who sold Bandai."
"Have security throw them out. Fire them on the spot. No resignation procedures, and they won't get a single yen in severance." Yamashina Makoto's tone was as flat as water. He did not even raise his eyelids, as if he were merely ordering a few bags of garbage thrown out.
Mitsui Chuta's heart jolted, and he quickly acknowledged the order before turning to carry it out.
"Chuta." Yamashina Makoto suddenly