Spring break was about to end, but the computer room at Tokyo Institute of Technology was buzzing with activity.
Section Chief Nohara and the two student administrators sat upright before the main control console, performing their final checks on the screens.
"Executive Director, all nodes have been inspected. Server load normal. We can open the public gateway at any time," Nohara reported, his voice barely containing excitement.
On the launch day, both Professor Endo, Dean of the School of Engineering, and Professor Yonezawa were present.
Professor Endo—usually stern and expressionless—couldn't help leaning forward again and again, watching the rolling lines of system messages with an almost childlike curiosity.
Takuya Nakayama threw a meaningful glance at Professor Yonezawa.
The professor cleared his throat, rubbed his hands, and sat down before a brand-new terminal. He grinned. "Finally, the day has come."
His hands—more accustomed to chalk and lab equipment than keyboards—typed a little awkwardly.
The only sound in the room was the crisp clatter of keys.
Very soon, on the BBS main page, a bolded, pinned post appeared.
Title: [Announcement]Tokyo Institute of Technology Electronic Bulletin Board — Now Online!
Content: Just two short lines.
Posted by: Yonezawa.
"This is Yonezawa. Aoyama, can you see this? We beat you to it!"
The room went silent for a beat.
The next moment, the two student admins leapt up cheering, and the SEGA engineers burst into applause.
Dean Endo blinked, then reacted. "Aoyama? You mean Dean Aoyama of Tokyo University?"
Professor Yonezawa leaned back, arms folded, humming in triumph as if he had just won a decisive battle.
Dean Endo shook his head helplessly, then turned and clasped Takuya Nakayama's hand with rare solemnity—his grip warm, firm.
"Nakayama-kun—no, Takuya." His voice was filled with genuine emotion. "On behalf of the university, on behalf of all faculty and students, thank you. This is a new step for Tokyo Tech as we enter the information age. A model of excellence in industry-academia cooperation!"
"You flatter me, Professor Endo," Nakayama replied quickly. "It's an honor to contribute to my alma mater."
"Alright, Endo, enough with the formalities," Yonezawa said cheerfully.
He winked at Nakayama. "Takuya, don't forget about Todai. Otherwise Aoyama might kick down my office door."
"Don't worry, sir. I'll make sure everything is fair." Nakayama smiled.
Tokyo Tech's BBS ran smoothly for two full days.
During those two days, the computer room practically became Yonezawa's new office. He wandered in whenever he had a free moment, claiming he was "checking that the server didn't break," but in reality, he was refreshing online users and post counts. Every time the numbers climbed, his smile only broadened.
"[Help]When will the soda in the vending machine on A-building's 3rd floor be restocked?"
"[Discussion]Regarding Professor Yonezawa's latest paper on signal processing—can the Fourier transform formula on page 3 be optimized?"
"[Chat]Sakura season is coming. Anyone want to form a group for Ueno Park? Ladies first!"
Reading these eclectic posts, Yonezawa looked like a kid sneaking candy.
Especially when someone seriously discussed his paper—he immediately straightened up proudly as if the entire student body were saluting him.
On the morning of the third day, the phone suddenly rang.
A SEGA engineer picked up. After a few lines, his expression grew strange. He covered the receiver and said to Takuya Nakayama, "Executive Director… it's the University of Tokyo—asking for Professor Yonezawa."
The professor's ears perked up. At the words "University of Tokyo," he rushed over and snatched the phone.
"Aoyama! What is it? Realized you need advice now?" he said loudly on speaker, making sure everyone heard.
On the other end, Professor Yuki Aoyama spoke through gritted teeth. In the background, the hum of servers could be heard—he was clearly in his own machine room too.
"Yonezawa, I just want to confirm your system is actually stable. Don't end up corrupting our data later. That wouldn't be a small matter."
"Oh, spare me your worries." Yonezawa leaned lazily against the desk. "Our BBS works beautifully! Students love it. You at Todai better prepare your servers properly."
"You—!"
Aoyama was clearly provoked.
The Todai engineers who had been at Tokyo Tech to observe all flushed in embarrassment. Watching the BBS explode in popularity had already made them anxious, and now their dean was sparring publicly on the phone…
Nakayama nearly laughed. He stepped forward and took the receiver.
"Professor Aoyama, hello. This is SEGA's Takuya Nakayama."
Aoyama's tone immediately softened. "Executive Director Nakayama, how is the system?"
"It has completed forty-eight hours of continuous stress testing with excellent performance indicators. I'm preparing the team to depart for your campus."
"Good! We'll be ready!" Aoyama sounded truly relieved.
After hanging up, Nakayama turned to the Todai engineers, who were staring at him with desperate anticipation.
He smiled and waved to Nohara.
"Section Chief Nohara—pack up. Next stop, the University of Tokyo!"
"Yes!"
SEGA's team moved instantly.
The Todai engineers let out a long breath, faces glowing with barely contained excitement. They followed behind SEGA's engineers, practically bouncing.
When SEGA arrived at Tokyo University, they were met by Professor Aoyama and a line of stone-faced department heads.
But with the internal corporate simulations and Tokyo Tech's deployment behind them, Nohara's team was seasoned. They didn't even wait for introductions to finish—they spread out and got to work with practiced ease.
Terminal setup. Server configuration. Network tests.
Everything smooth, efficient, seamless.
The Todai engineers—once mere observers—were now taking the lead alongside SEGA.
Professor Aoyama watched, the tension in his face gradually relaxing.
In less than half a day, Nohara approached him and bowed slightly.
"Professor Aoyama, the system is deployed. It can go online anytime."
Even this experienced dean was caught off guard.
So fast.
So fast it didn't feel real.
"We… we can use it now?" he asked.
"Yes." Nohara handed him a freshly printed system manual. "This is the administrator guide. We've already provided preliminary training to your tech staff."
Aoyama took a deep breath, opened the door to the main control room, and sat at a brand-new terminal.
All eyes gathered on him.
Unlike Yonezawa's bold clacking, Aoyama's typing was elegant and restrained.
Soon, Todai's first BBS post appeared.
Title: [Announcement]University of Tokyo Electronic Bulletin Board — Officially Online.
Content: One single line.
Posted by: Yuki Aoyama.
"The pursuit of truth begins with this step."
The room fell silent.
Faculty and students of Todai stared at the statement—solemn, lofty, unmistakably "Todai." Pride lit up their faces.
Yes… this was the dignity of Japan's top university.
Then a young teaching assistant suddenly snorted.
Aoyama frowned sharply at him.
The TA quickly covered his mouth, eyes still sparkling with suppressed laughter.
"Professor, your line 'The pursuit of truth begins with this step'… isn't that implying Tokyo Tech was just… fooling around?"
The mood shifted instantly.
Everyone reread the line.
And indeed—the meaning changed completely.
High.
Too high.
A silent jab without using a single insult.
The corner of Aoyama's mouth twitched upward, but he forced it back down and coughed sternly.
"No baseless interpretations."
He returned to greeting his colleagues—when suddenly an engineer monitoring network activity shot to his feet.
"Professor! Professor Yonezawa has posted on our BBS!"
Everyone rushed over.
On the Todai homepage, a post shot to the top.
[Congratulations]Congrats to our friendly neighbor for going online—welcome to the information age (though two days late).
Posted by: Yonezawa.
Silence.
Then the room erupted into laughter—even the stern department heads couldn't hold it in.
Aoyama's face shifted from white, to red, to blue, before finally collapsing into a cold growl through his teeth:
"That damn old fox Yonezawa!"
He stormed to his terminal and hammered out a reply.
"Rather than trading jabs, let us compete in scholarship. I look forward to your next paper."
Two minutes later, Yonezawa replied:
"Soon, soon. Don't rush."
Seeing the deans of Japan's top two universities bickering like schoolboys on a BBS, the entire room nearly doubled over laughing.
The news of Tokyo Tech and Todai launching their BBS systems hit Japan's academic world like a stone thrown into a still lake.
In SEGA's software development division, Section Chief Nohara was already leading the team through a full review of both deployments. The whiteboard was filled with optimization notes and contingency plans.
Everyone was still running on a high.
Takuya Nakayama leaned against the doorway, watching the team—victorious yet unrelaxed—and felt deeply satisfied.
He tapped the doorframe twice.
"Executive Director!" Nohara stood at attention.
"Alright. With both Japanese BBS deployments done, it's time to rest." Nakayama clapped his hands. "I'm announcing: everyone in the development team gets the next two days off, fully paid!"
For one second—silence.
Then: an explosion of cheers.
"Awesome!"
"Long live Executive Director Nakayama!"
Nohara exhaled. The nonstop sprint had exhausted everyone.
Just as he was about to thank him—
Nakayama continued.
"Rest well. Gather your strength."
His smile faded, replaced by something sharper—something visionary.
"Because next week… we travel."
Everyone quieted.
"To America."
America?
The room froze.
Nohara blinked. "Executive Director… what are we going to America for?"
"Silicon Valley."
The two Tokyo Tech students' eyes widened instantly; their breathing quickened.
"Our newly established SEGA America headquarters has created an internet operations company—Silicon Valley Online. Our BBS cannot stay confined to Japan. Next week, your mission is to transplant the entire system to America and open the eyes of those proud Americans."
A fire ignited in every heart.
"But that," Nakayama continued, "is only the appetizer."
He turned and wrote three English letters on the whiteboard.
ICQ
"BBS is a public square—a place where people speak openly." His voice was calm yet resonant. "But we need something else. A tool that lets you reach anyone you want, anytime, for real-time one-on-one communication. Like making a private call on the internet."
He tapped the three letters.
"One goal: take this not-yet-finished instant messaging software to the United States, complete it there, and launch it directly in the American market."
"This won't be like BBS. BBS can be divided into domains and topics. But ICQ—our ICQ—must face every user on the global internet."
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