The heavy meeting room door closed silently behind them, sealing off the lingering buzz of heated discussion and faint anticipation.
The corridor's lighting had the soft glow typical of an office building, and the air instantly returned to its usual calm, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional distant clatter of keyboards.
Takuya Nakayama's steps were unhurried but steady. He could feel the subtle gazes trailing him, their emotions far more complex than at the meeting's start.
"Deputy Team Leader Nakayama."
A slightly hurried yet restrained voice called from behind. The head of the international business department, Tanaka, quickened his pace to catch up, stopping beside Takuya. His meticulously composed face, as if measured with a ruler, couldn't fully mask a trace of curiosity beyond his usual caution, his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the corridor's lights.
Tanaka gave a slight bow, a standard workplace courtesy, but its use on a newly appointed, young "deputy team leader"—especially the president's son—carried a subtle nuance. His tone remained textbook professional: "Regarding the Soviet copyright matter, could you elaborate on the information you have and suggest contact channels?"
Takuya paused, calmly turning to face the middle-aged man, a key figure in Sega's international operations. He knew Tanaka was known for his cautious, even conservative approach. The president's decision to let Takuya guide such a critical acquisition surely raised questions, though Tanaka's professionalism kept them unspoken during the meeting.
He pulled a pre-prepared note from his folder, neatly listing key names and terms.
"Minister Tanaka, please take a look."
He pointed to the handwritten text, his voice steady.
"The game's original creator, from what I've 'incidentally' learned, is a young man named Alexey Pajitnov."
"He works at the Soviet Academy of Sciences' Computer Center."
"But the key is, under the Soviet system, intellectual property theoretically belongs to the state. The entity handling external technology and software licensing is this organization—the 'Soviet Foreign Trade Committee,' or ELORG."
He had even noted the Russian name for Tetris (Тетрис) and ELORG's full title beside it.
Tanaka's gaze locked onto the note, his brows furrowing slightly as he rapidly processed the information.
"And your suggestion?"
"Speed is of the essence."
Takuya's eyes sharpened.
"Through official channels, like the commercial attaché at the Soviet embassy in Japan, we should express Sega's intent to purchase exclusive global, all-platform rights for Tetris and negotiate directly with ELORG."
"Based on unconfirmed information," he said, deftly leveraging the information gap, "the game's influence is currently limited to a small Soviet academic circle, with almost no commercial entities involved. This could be our golden window to secure full rights."
He paused, adding, "The focus of negotiations is ELORG. As for the Computer Center and Mr. Pajitnov himself, they lack actual copyright authority. Our strategy should prioritize appeasement and respect—perhaps prepare appropriate gifts, like high-end electronics scarce in the Soviet Union, to prevent future complications."
Tanaka nodded, a flicker of approval passing behind his glasses.
"And negotiation tactics?"
"Cut through the tangle swiftly."
Takuya didn't hesitate.
"Avoid getting bogged down in details. Soviet officials, especially those in foreign trade, likely prefer direct, efficient approaches. Securing the deal before other commercial entities enter the fray is worth a slight premium over the inflated costs of a bidding war. We should send negotiators who are straightforward, decisive, and…"
He paused, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
"…capable of holding their liquor."
The suggestion caught Tanaka off guard, but he quickly nodded in understanding.
"For gifts, beyond the usual, I recommend high-quality, high-proof Japanese spirits—like Suntory's Yamazaki or Hakushu single malt whisky, or even aged awamori from Okinawa. They might help break the ice."
These insights far exceeded what a recent graduate might know, sounding more like the seasoned perspective of an international business veteran.
Takuya tempered his edge, adding, "Of course, these are just immature suggestions based on limited information. The International Business Department has extensive negotiation experience and its own channels. The final strategy should rely on your expertise. I'm only offering a possible direction, not presuming to guide the professionals."
The words showcased his capability while expressing deference, striking a humble tone.
Tanaka's last trace of scrutiny vanished, replaced by genuine approval and surprise.
"Deputy Team Leader Nakayama, your considerations are thorough. This information and these suggestions are extremely valuable. We'll start preparations immediately and draft a plan as soon as possible."
He bowed again, this time with clear sincerity.
"Thank you for sharing."
Watching Tanaka's retreating figure, Takuya exhaled softly.
The first hurdle was cleared, at least for now.
He turned and headed toward the Third Development Department's office.
Pushing open the door, he found the atmosphere transformed.
The earlier dullness or indifference was gone, replaced by an irrepressible buzz.
Nearly every gaze converged on him—curious, probing, expectant, even tinged with faint excitement.
Team Leader Shimizu approached, his demeanor far more respectful than that morning, wearing a professional smile.
"Deputy Team Leader Nakayama, we heard the president's instructions. Our team is currently wrapping up auxiliary tasks for other projects, expected to finish in two or three days. Any suggestions?"
He proactively shared the team's current workload and progress, awaiting the new "leader's" guidance. Though Shimizu was the team leader, he was clearly gauging the "prince's" stance.
"Perfect timing."
Takuya nodded, scanning the room.
"Team Leader Shimizu, my suggestion is to complete the current tasks and then pause taking on any new auxiliary assignments."
His voice was soft but carried clearly to everyone.
"We need to focus all our efforts on preparing for the new project."
He looked at Shimizu, his tone calm yet resolute.
Shimizu understood immediately and made the call. "Alright, let's schedule the first planning meeting for Tetris on Wednesday afternoon. All team members must attend to align our approach and clarify roles."
A low murmur of discussion rippled through the office, with several young programmers visibly excited.
Finally, the Third Development Department would have its own flagship project!
And one personally greenlit by the president, led by his son!
Takuya's gaze swept the room, catching a fleeting hint of doubt and reservation in the eyes of an older, more seasoned employee in the corner.
He understood—building cohesion in a new team was never smooth sailing.