Returning to Tokyo, the moment Takuya Nakayama stepped into Sega's headquarters, he could almost feel a subtle tension hanging in the air.
The receptionist's eyes lit up when she saw him, her bow deeper than usual.
Colleagues he met in the elevator all respectfully greeted him with a "Director," their gazes filled with both awe and curiosity.
By the time he reached his office, his secretary had already prepared his usual Blue Mountain coffee.
"Director, welcome back." She handed him the day's schedule. "As for the Finance Department—there were no calls."
Takuya took the cup, sipping lightly, as though hearing about something trivial.
"I see."
His tone was calm, but in his heart he already understood everything.
No calls meant the biggest commotion of all.
While his plane was still somewhere above the Pacific Ocean, the atmosphere in Sega Headquarters' Finance Department had practically turned solid.
On Director Kuroda's desk lay a stack of papers, still warm from the fax machine.
They weren't the detailed budget explanations he'd expected.
They were newspaper pages—American ones.
"Director, this is the… response from the U.S. branch." The young accountant standing before him spoke in a trembling voice.
Kuroda adjusted his glasses, picked up the top sheet—and his expression instantly darkened.
Los Angeles Times, Technology Section. A bold headline: "Silicon Valley Online: The New Era of the Internet."
He frowned and flipped to another.
San Jose Mercury News, with an even more dramatic title: "Capital Sharks Smell Blood in the Water."
"Nonsense! Absurd!" Kuroda slammed the papers on his desk. "I asked for an explanation for a massive off-budget expense—this is what they send me? A pile of local American newspapers? What kind of attitude is this?!"
"Director, there's… also this." The accountant shakily handed over the last page.
The paper quality and layout were completely different from the others.
The Wall Street Journal.
Those five words froze Kuroda's hand mid-air.
He snatched it, eyes locking onto the headline:
"The Internet Catalyst: How the Silicon Valley Online BBS Is Reshaping Venture Capital."
The article didn't mention editor wars at all—instead, with a tone as cold as steel, it analyzed how a startup project called "TaWiz" had attracted the immediate attention of Sequoia Capital and KPCB within minutes of going online.
"Sequoia Capital…" Kuroda muttered. That was a name impossible to ignore.
"Director, at the very end of the fax, there's also a note—" the accountant reminded softly.
Kuroda flipped the page.
A line of crisp printed Japanese stood out:
"I approved the funding. If they still have questions after reading the papers, tell them to prepare good coffee and wait for me to return to Tokyo. They can ask in my office."
Signed: Takuya Nakayama.
Deathly silence filled the office.
Kuroda's face went red, then white. His fingers trembled as they clutched the page.
This was provocation. Naked, blatant disregard.
And yet—his eyes drifted back to the Wall Street Journal headline.
If Nikkei was the voice of Japan's economy, then this—this was the Bible of global capital.
The Bible had devoted an entire business commentary page to praising a project born from the money Takuya spent—and rated it highly.
How was he supposed to question that?
March into the Wall Street Journal office and accuse their columnist of violating Sega budget rules?
After a long moment, Kuroda let out a long, exhausted breath, as though all strength had drained from his body.
He slumped into his chair and waved a hand.
"File all of this."
"Then the… inquiry letter—?"
"Inquiry what?!" Kuroda barked, then lowered his voice, weary. "Go… go buy some good coffee beans. The Blue Mountain blend Director Nakayama likes. Keep them ready."
"Yes!"
Back in Takuya's office, the door was gently knocked.
Entering was an old board member—Director Ikeda.
Unlike the Finance Department bureaucrats, Ikeda carried a warm smile.
"Director Nakayama, welcome back. Your trip to America must have been tiring."
"You're too polite, Director Ikeda." Takuya stood to greet him.
"Oh, I'm not being polite." Ikeda sat down and spoke directly. "The faces in the Finance Department were a sight to behold today. It's the first time I've ever seen Kuroda completely shut down like that."
He spoke with humor, but his gaze was sharp, observing Takuya's reactions.
"Letting them see the outside world isn't a bad thing," Takuya replied calmly as he poured him tea.
"The Wall Street Journal… Takuya-kun, the waves you stirred up this time are bigger than any game announcement we've ever made." Ikeda's tone grew serious. "No one in the boardroom dares question your decision now. They simply… don't understand it. Tell me honestly—does this 'Silicon Valley Online' really have as much potential as the papers say?"
That was his real purpose.
They no longer dared challenge him—yet anxiety and curiosity gnawed at them.
Takuya smiled and pushed the teacup toward him.
"Director Ikeda, what do you think Sega is?"
"Games, of course. Entertainment."
"Exactly—we provide joy." Takuya nodded. "But in the future, more and more joy will come from a small screen and a cable that connects the world."
He pointed at his computer.
"'Silicon Valley Online' is our first flag planted in that new world. Right now it's only a small foothold. Soon, it will become a city. An empire. And when that time comes, we won't just be merchants of joy—we'll be the rule-makers of that world."
"And I've already instructed the U.S. headquarters to form a venture investment division. Of course, we won't be charging at the front—that's Sequoia and KPCB's job. We just have to follow behind and make money. After all, the platform is ours."
"So we'll let American capital invest in our Silicon Valley Online. Wherever their tentacles reach, ours will reach too."
Ikeda held the teacup, silent for a long while.
He looked at the young man before him—the gleam in his eyes was something he had never seen in anyone his age, nor in any senior executive of the company.
It wasn't ambition.
It was the kind of absolute confidence only someone who had already seen the future could possess.
At last, he drank a sip of tea and nodded solemnly.
"I understand. Director Nakayama—go ahead and do what you must. I'll keep the board steady for you."