Late January, Tokyo.
The cold wind from Haneda Airport had barely left his overcoat when Nakayama Takuya climbed straight into the car bound for Sega Headquarters.
California's sunshine stood in stark contrast to Tokyo's damp chill.
Half a month of nonstop work had left him thoroughly exhausted, too.
The president's office, on the top floor.
The General Affairs Section had switched on the heating ahead of his arrival.
Nakayama Takuya hung his overcoat on the rack, walked to his desk, pulled out his chair, and sat down.
Several urgent documents requiring his signature were already piled on the desktop.
His assistant came in with a steaming cup of strong tea and set it on the corner of the desk.
"Director Hoshino has been waiting outside for ten minutes," the assistant reported quietly.
"Send him in." Nakayama Takuya lifted the cup and blew at the floating tea leaves.
The door swung open.
Hoshino walked in wearing an immaculate gray suit, a thin briefing paper in his hand.
After the New Year holiday, he looked considerably more refreshed. The bloodshot streaks in his eyes had vanished, and his cheeks had even filled out a little.
"President, did the California trip go smoothly?" Hoshino walked to the desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
"The money's been spent, and the job's done." Nakayama Takuya took a sip of tea and set down his cup. "How was your vacation? I heard you took your family skiing in Hokkaido?"
"We came back after less than five days." Hoshino pushed the briefing paper to the middle of the desk. "I couldn't stay put. Indonesia blew up."
Nakayama Takuya's gaze fell on the briefing.
The bold black figures were painfully conspicuous.
The Indonesian rupiah had fallen past 10,000 to one against the US dollar.
"Didn't Suharto's