Takuya Nakayama pushed the development kit back to the center of the table.
"One month. If you can master the core logic on the new architecture in that time, I'll consider it a passing grade."
The tense shoulders of the ten newcomers slumped in unison.
The long-haired woman let out a breath of relief and wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"But don't get ahead of yourselves," Takuya Nakayama said, his fingers tapping the table with a crisp sound. "This is just a skeleton. It doesn't even have flesh and skin yet."
His gaze shifted to the long-haired woman.
"Art. Right now, the Peashooter is just a green tube, and the zombie is a gray box. If we release this, players won't even give it a second glance."
"I know!" The long-haired woman quickly flipped open her sketchbook and pushed it toward Takuya Nakayama. "I've already drawn over thirty versions of the chibi American cartoon-style sketches. I've added a smiley face to the Sunflower and tattered clothes to the zombie—we're currently working on the pixel art conversion. We can swap in the assets by next week."
Takuya Nakayama glanced at the sketches.
The lines were fluid, and the key features were captured perfectly.
He nodded, then turned to the Bespectacled Planner.
"The values. I just tested it—the Sunflower's sun production interval is a fixed ten seconds, and it also takes ten seconds for a zombie to move one tile. Who entered these numbers?"
The Bespectacled Planner pushed up his glasses and flipped open his notebook. "We used fixed values just to get the program running."
"That's fine for testing, but absolutely not for the final build." Takuya Nakayama leaned forward. "In the first level, the player only has Peashooters. When does the first zombie spawn? How often does sun fall? These values need to be fine-tuned hundreds, even thousands of times."
The Bespectacled Planner nodded repeatedly, his pen flying across the paper as he took notes.
"The goal is to make the player feel overwhelmed, like they're just barely holding the line, but still managing to win in the end. That's what creates flow." Takuya tapped the table. "Go calculate it. Test it. Pull up the value tables for every single level."
"Understood!"
Takuya finally looked at the Buzz-cut Programmer.
"The frame rate can't drop when there are thirty zombies on screen. Also, add a level editor."
The Buzz-cut Programmer froze. "A level editor?"
"Right. The planners can't keep coming to you to change the code and recompile every time they need to tweak data or place zombies." Takuya Nakayama pointed at the development kit. "Build them a visual tool. Let them place the zombie spawn points and input the values themselves."
The Buzz-cut Programmer scratched the back of his head. "Building an editor will take some time, but I can get it done this week."
The tasks were assigned.
Everything that needed to be said had been said.
The rest was up to these young developers.
Designing plants, designing zombies, laying out levels, filling in values, composing music.
Takuya Nakayama stood up and draped his suit jacket over his arm.
The ten newcomers rose with him.
"The launch day of this console will be the day this game faces the market's judgment," Takuya said, walking to the door and gripping the handle. "Don't screw it up."
The door closed.
The thick carpet in the hallway muffled their footsteps.
The meeting room fell silent for two seconds.
Then, a storm of intense discussion erupted.
"Quick, quick! List out the numerical requirements the Managing Director just mentioned!"
"The concept art needs to be finalized today! We start slicing the sprites tomorrow. We can't be sure about the effect until we actually put them in and run the game!"
"I'll set up the editor framework this afternoon. Just get the requirements to me first!"
Takuya Nakayama listened to the commotion behind the door, tugged at his tie, and walked toward the elevators.
It was mid-September.
Takuya Nakayama's car pulled smoothly into the underground parking garage of Sunrise Animation's headquarters.
The OVA adaptation of Gundam Sentinel.
This was the first major Gundam animation project after Sega's acquisition of Sotsu and its complete merger with Bandai.
Countless eyes in the industry were watching.
And the most critical part, the script, was stuck.
The elevator doors opened.
Producer Masuo Ueda was waiting at the entrance, handing over a briefing report.
"Managing Director. Mr. Takahashi has been pulling all-nighters in the conference room for two days straight," Masuo Ueda said in a low voice. "He's rejected all the previous script versions. The screenwriting team is already complaining loudly."
Takuya Nakayama took the report and glanced over it.
"It's a good thing he's demanding," Takuya Nakayama said, rolling up the report and tapping it against his palm. "This project was forcibly shut down by Bandai back then, and he's been holding a grudge. Now that Sega is footing the bill, he's definitely going to want to create a masterpiece."
The two walked to the door of Conference Room 3.
The door wasn't fully closed, leaving a sliver of a gap.
From inside came Masaya Takahashi's exasperated voice.
"Rewrite it! This section is completely unsustainable!"
"Mr. Takahashi, this is already the fifth draft—" a screenwriter's voice sounded exhausted.
"So what if it's the fifth draft? Even if it's the fiftieth, you'll rewrite it if it's not right!" Masaya Takahashi slammed the table. "The New Desides' motivation for rebelling is too flimsy! The audience will just think they're a bunch of bored lunatics!"
Takuya Nakayama pushed the door open and walked in.
The meeting room was thick with smoke.
The long conference table was covered in discarded printouts, storyboard sketches, and empty coffee cans.
Masaya Takahashi was clutching his hair with both hands, his face covered in stubble, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion.
Several screenwriters sat opposite him, exchanging glances, none daring to speak.
Seeing Takuya Nakayama enter, Masaya Takahashi froze for a moment, then quickly stood up.
"Managing Director."
Takuya Nakayama gestured for him to stay seated and pulled out an empty chair.
"Where are you stuck?"
Masaya Takahashi pushed a stack of scripts forward.
"The narrative structure." He pointed to the draft of the first episode, his voice laced with anxiety. "The political background of Gundam Sentinel is too deep. The fall of the Titans, the rise of A.E.U.G., the threat of Neo Zeon. If these things aren't explained clearly, the plot simply won't move forward."
Masaya Takahashi grabbed a pen in frustration.
"But if we add a narrator to explain all this, it'll be too dry. The audience wants to see mechs fighting, not sit through a history lesson."
Takuya Nakayama picked up the script and flipped through a few pages.
Large blocks of background exposition. Year X, Faction Y did Z.
It was definitely enough to pull anyone out of the story.
"Mr. Takahashi," Takuya said, closing the script and tossing it back onto the table. "Let's change our approach. Don't treat the audience like fools, but don't treat them like scholars either."
Masaya Takahashi stopped spinning his pen.
"The biggest problem with the Gundam series is that the barrier to entry keeps getting higher." Takuya raised a finger. "New fans who haven't seen Zeta Gundam or ZZ Gundam will be completely lost when they're hit with a barrage of jargon. Meanwhile, the old fans hate hearing the same old story beaten to death."
Eiji Yamaura nodded beside him.
"Break the background information into pieces," Takuya said, grabbing a blank sheet of A4 paper and drawing a few circles on it with a pen. "Woven into the daily routine."
Masaya Takahashi leaned in closer.
"In the first episode, we don't need any narration," Takuya said, tapping his pen on the paper. "The male protagonist is in the hangar, calibrating the S Gundam. The MS's radio transceiver doubles as a receiver, and the cockpit screen displays the relevant tuning information, broadcasting news from the Federation Assembly. It can mention the post-war reconstruction of the Gryps War in passing."
Masaya Takahashi shot to his feet.
"Cut to the Federation Army high command," Takuya Nakayama said, continuing to circle things on the paper. "They're holding a tactical meeting. A general slams the table, cursing the mess the Titans left behind and complaining about the strained military budget. Let the audience piece together the current state of affairs through their argument."
"What about New Desides?" Masaya pressed, his words coming faster.
"Political slogans," Takuya said, setting down his pen. "They're painting slogans at their base. During internal meetings, they're fighting. Some want to hold onto Earth Supremacy, while others think the cause is lost. We'll use these authentic reactions to piece together the chaos following the First Neo Zeon War."
The meeting room fell silent.
A few screenwriters scribbled furiously in their notebooks.
Takuya Nakayama leaned back in his chair.
"Fragmented storytelling. We don't need the audience to fill in the blanks; they can understand who's fighting whom and why through these details. We don't need to explain the entire backstory of the Gryps War—just the parts relevant to this story's plot. Old fans will feel a sense of immersion seeing these easter eggs. New fans, just by watching this, will be able to understand the cause and effect logically. We're not playing riddles."
Masaya Takahashi leaned forward, bracing his weight on the desk as he stared at the A4 sheet of paper covered in circled notes.
"Yes!" he exclaimed, slamming his palm onto the table. The impact sent a shudder through the nearby coffee can. "This is exactly the right feel! We're cutting into this grand era through the eyes of ordinary people!"
He spun around to face the screenwriters.
"Scrap everything! Rebuild the framework for episodes one through three based on this approach!"
The screenwriters immediately flipped open fresh notebooks.
Masaya Takahashi turned to Takuya Nakayama, rubbing his hands together.
"Managing Director, this is a massive overhaul. The original deadlines—"
"I told you," Takuya Nakayama said, rising from his seat and smoothing the hem of his suit jacket, "we aren't rushing this OVA. How much time do you need?"
Masaya Takahashi did the math in his head.
"At least two more months. It has to be polished to perfection. Every line of dialogue, every background plate—everything needs to be reworked."
"Fine. I'll review the final draft in two months." Takuya Nakayama walked to the door.
He paused, turning his head back.
"Mr. Takahashi, Katoki Hajime's team is already working on the model designs in tandem with the mecha concepts. The day the OVA is released, S Gundam models will be on shelves all across Japan." Takuya Nakayama tapped the doorframe. "Your script is the engine that will drive this money-printing machine."
Masaya Takahashi nodded vigorously.
"I won't let Sega's name be dragged through the mud!"
Takuya Nakayama waved a hand and stepped out of the conference room.
The door closed.
Immediately, the room erupted into a heated discussion.
"Quick! Write down that idea for the hangar radio! We need to rewrite the news anchor's lines—give them that stuffy, official government tone!"
"The tactical briefing scene—the commander smashing a glass isn't enough. He needs to be pointing at the star map and cursing! That'll let the audience see the unit deployments at a glance!"
Masaya Takahashi ripped off his tie and rolled up his sleeves.
He felt the blood boiling in his veins.
All the humiliation he'd suffered at Bandai back in the day had now been converted into pure motivation.
Sega had given him maximum authority, an ample budget, and even the Managing Director was providing such professional guidance.
This Gundam Sentinel had to become a masterpiece.
In the mechanical design studio, the walls were plastered with dense, intricate line drawings.
Katoki Hajime stood at the drafting table, a mechanical pencil in hand, sketching rapidly on the paper. Beside him stood two men in suits, their Bandai Model employee badges dangling from their chests. They stood at attention, hardly daring to breathe.
"How fine can we make the panel lines on the shoulder armor during molding?" Katoki asked without looking up, his pencil tip pointing to a detail he had just drawn.
The Bandai engineer on the left immediately leaned in, measuring the drawing with a vernier caliper.
"Katoki-sensei, current injection molding technology can easily achieve a 0.2mm line. If you need them deeper, we can adjust the mold's draft angle," the engineer replied swiftly and respectfully.
Katoki paused his pencil and glanced up at him.
Back when Gundam Sentinel was still being serialized in the magazine, the people from Bandai's Hobby Division had never shown this kind of attitude.
Back then, the Bandai people would slam the blueprints on the table, point right at his nose, and yell, "This part's too complicated! The mold cost is too high! Change it!"
Now, Bandai had been spun off and restructured by Sega.
The first absolute order issued after Bandai Model's formation was to unconditionally cooperate with Sunrise's mecha design work.
Whatever the mecha designers drew, they would do whatever it took to build.
Katoki Hajime pulled over a fresh sheet of grid paper.
"Then we'll go with 0.2 millimeters. The sliding axis at the base of the S Gundam's thigh needs reinforcement. Go back and run a stress test."
"Understood! We'll have the test data sent over this afternoon." The two Bandai engineers nodded repeatedly.
The door opened.
Takuya Nakayama walked in, holding a cup of iced coffee.
"How's the progress?" Takuya Nakayama pulled over a folding chair and sat down.
The two Bandai engineers quickly bowed ninety degrees.
"Managing Director."
Takuya Nakayama waved his hand, signaling them to get back to work.
Katoki Hajime put down his pen, removed the large stack of drawings from the drafting board, and spread them across the wide conference table.
"All the refined orthographic drawings of the S Gundam—every pose, weapon mount, and transformation sequence—are finished."
Takuya Nakayama walked over and looked down at the sheets.
The lines were incredibly sharp, and the sheer weight of the mechanical structure was palpable.
To better suit the upcoming animation process, Hajime Katoki had simplified the overly complex lines from his earlier designs, yet the core mechanical aesthetic remained perfectly intact.
"Very good," Nakayama said, picking up a front-view perspective drawing of the S Gundam firing its beam rifle. "Will the animation team find this easy to draw?"
"Not a problem," Katoki replied, gesturing to the row of computer monitors nearby. "The introduction of 3D technology has been a huge help this time."
On the screens, Sunrise's digital team was running a rendering program. A massive, cylindrical space station was slowly rotating—it was Pezun Base.
"We've discussed it," Katoki said, pulling up a storyboard. "For the first battle, we'll practice on inanimate objects. The space background, the Colony Satellite, the battleships, and the wide shots of Pezun Base will all be rendered using 3D modeling. The mobile suits themselves, however, will still be hand-drawn using traditional cel animation, combined with digital coloring."
Takuya Nakayama nodded.
Biting off more than you can chew is a recipe for disaster.
At this stage, 3D technology struggled with high-detail, close-up mecha combat, often resulting in a "plastic" look. By delegating the complex backgrounds and warships to the computer, the animators could focus all their energy on the mecha's movement and performance. This was the safest technical transition.
"What about the other mecha?" Takuya asked, setting down the blueprints for the S Gundam.
"I'm leading a team to outsource the main units like the Z Plus and FAZZ," Hajime Katoki replied, rubbing his sore wrist. "Bandai engineers are working on the model designs in sync, and we're exchanging data in real-time. The efficiency is far higher than before."
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