Two weeks later, a call from Director Yoshikawa's office came straight to Nakayama Takuya's desk.
"Executive Director, MITI has approved our application." Yoshikawa's voice carried a faint tremor. "The speed… it's much faster than we anticipated."
"As expected." Nakayama leaned back in his chair, twirling his pen with an easy smile.
Section Chief Eikura wanted political credit; a "highway" proposal hand-delivered to his desk was a gift too good to ignore — of course he'd fast-track it.
On the other end, Yoshikawa paused as if searching for words.
"It's not just the approval. Eikura said our proposal caught the attention of the WIDE Project team."
Nakayama's hand froze mid-spin.
The WIDE Project?
Wasn't that the computer-network initiative led by Professor Jun Murai — the one Japan's academic world was building?
"They said… they're very interested in our 'highway' plan." Yoshikawa's voice climbed half a pitch. "The leader of the WIDE Project, Professor Jun Murai of Keio University, is coming to Sega tomorrow for an on-site exchange."
"…Who?" Nakayama shot upright.
"Jun Murai!" Yoshikawa repeated, exasperation mixed with disbelief. "What did you actually deliver to MITI — a plan, or a hornet's nest? How did you manage to lure that deity out?!"
After hanging up, Nakayama was still stunned.
Jun Murai — the man future generations would call "the Father of the Japanese Internet."
And his half-serious, half-bluffed "big picture" proposal actually drew him in?
He immediately snatched his desk phone.
"Notify Software Development Lead Nohara and Hardware Division Manager Nakamura. Drop everything and come to my office at once!"
Before long, Nohara and Nakamura rushed in one after another.
"Executive Director, is the network live? Can we start development?" Nohara's eyes sparkled, clutching the rough draft of the software concept.
Nakayama inhaled deeply.
"The permit is approved. But more importantly—Professor Jun Murai is visiting tomorrow."
The office fell dead silent.
Nakamura pushed up his glasses — even his usually stoic face now carried unmistakable shock.
Nohara's jaw dropped.
"P-P-Professor Jun Murai? The WIDE Project's Murai?" he stammered, visibly short of breath.
A top-tier academic who only appeared in journals and news articles — why would a mere game company have any tie to him?
"Exactly." Nakayama stood, sweeping a stern look across the two. "He read our 'highway' plan. He wants to see how Sega intends to execute it."
He stepped forward and slapped Nohara's shoulder.
"So shelve the panic. Tomorrow we're not meeting just a professor — we're meeting the Father of the Japanese Internet. Bring every ounce of skill you've got and show him what we can do."
Nohara straightened like a soldier.
"Yes, sir! I'll have all materials prepared this afternoon!"
Even Nakamura's eyes gleamed with excitement.
---
The next day, Sega's headquarters entrance was lined with executives in immaculate suits, Yoshikawa standing front and center — everyone ten minutes early.
Two black sedans soon rolled to a smooth stop. A few young assistants stepped out first, followed by a lean man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a slightly worn suit and gold-rimmed glasses.
No trace of arrogance — he looked almost curious, taking in Sega's modern building with genuine interest.
It was Jun Murai.
"Professor Murai, welcome!" Yoshikawa hurried forward with a broad smile, offering his card with both hands.
After brief greetings, the group was ushered into the highest-tier conference room.
Once seated and served tea, Murai waved aside pleasantries and cut directly to the point.
"Executive Director Nakayama, I've read your proposal to MITI. Very interesting." His gaze bypassed the executives and locked onto Nakayama. "I want to know — after connecting to the network, where exactly does Sega plan to begin?"
The bluntness surprised even Yoshikawa.
Nakayama nodded at Nohara, who immediately distributed their prepared documents.
"Professor, these are the three software applications we've conceptualized."
Murai adjusted his glasses and quietly read through the pages.
Only the sound of rustling paper filled the room.
"BBS, email, instant messaging…" Murai tapped the pages lightly. "Good ideas — especially the latter two. They certainly address the challenges of multinational communication. But what I want to know is: as a commercial company, how does Sega plan to position these applications long-term?"
The real question.
Nakayama smiled, leaning slightly forward.
"Professor, to be honest, our initial thought was simple. We just wanted something faster than fax machines to improve internal workflow."
Half-truth, half-joke. The room's tension eased.
"But while preparing the application materials, we realized the potential is far greater." Nakayama's tone shifted, becoming crisp and serious. "So we drafted a bolder plan."
Every eye in the room focused on him.
"These three applications — aside from the basic email client we'll bundle with our office suite at a very low price—" he paused, dropping the bomb, "the other two — BBS and instant messaging — we will not operate in Japan."
"Oh?" Murai arched a brow.
"We plan to establish a brand-new Internet company in the United States to run those services independently — and offer them completely free to all users."
"Free?" Murai echoed, surprised.
"Yes, free." Nakayama met the sharp gaze behind the lenses. "Professor, you and the WIDE team are laying the foundational rails of Japan's information superhighway. Protocols, infrastructure — roads and bridges. Your work is unmatched. Sega can't contribute much there."
"But a road alone is not enough. Roads need traffic. They need towns, scenery, life. Only then do they matter."
"And Sega's specialty isn't in building roads — it's in building cities and hosting the party. We want to go to America, the most vibrant Internet environment, and use free BBS and instant messaging to build the first communities — gather the first residents. Learn what people actually want from this new highway."
"Our role is to turn it from an academic tool into a public playground. And yes, user behavior and information have value — 'free' doesn't mean unprofitable."
When he finished, the room was silent.
Murai stared at him with newfound appreciation.
He nodded slowly — acknowledging the business vision — telling Nakayama to proceed boldly and keep them informed.
Yoshikawa secretly exhaled — the crisis seemed settled.
But Nakayama didn't stop.
"Professor, speaking of new ideas — there is one more I hope you and the WIDE experts might consider."
Murai raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"I believe Japan should begin preparing a brand-new commercial institution — an Internet Service Provider. An ISP."
The unfamiliar term puzzled most Sega executives.
Murai's expression sharpened instantly.
"Reason."
"Simple. Roads need on-ramps." Nakayama spread his hands.
"We're privileged to connect to the academic network only because MITI approved it and because you endorsed it. The threshold is too high. Sega can do it — others can't. And ordinary households? Impossible."
He continued:
"Our email client will be the first test. Once finished, we'll pick a department requiring heavy communication but low urgency, and transition them to full electronic workflow."
"We'll collect data not just on seconds saved, but on overall workflow efficiency, communication overhead, and the benefits of complete digital records."
He looked directly at Murai, eyes bright.
"When that report comes out, many companies will want to connect. But who will provide them service? Should every company beg MITI and trouble you personally?"
Murai fell silent, thinking.
Behind him, WIDE members whispered among themselves.
Yoshikawa watched Nakayama with a mix of fear and awe.
He's trying to leverage Sega to pry open an entire industry…
"So," Nakayama concluded, "Japan needs professional ISPs. To extend the backbone you and WIDE build into every office — and eventually every home. Only then can your highway truly transform this country."
Another long silence.
Then Murai tapped a finger on the table.
"…When can Sega begin internal testing?"
Nakayama didn't answer — he simply looked at Nohara.
Feeling dozens of eyes on him, Nohara stood stiff-spined, clutching the familiar schedule.
"Professor Murai," he began carefully, "we've completed the preliminary technical assessment. The core functions aren't difficult. With full resources, we can finish in two to three weeks, plus another week of testing. Within a month, we can deliver a stable trial version."
Clear. Confident. Professional.
Murai didn't praise or criticize — he simply tapped the table again, thinking.
Then:
"A month is good. When it's ready, send me a few copies. My lab would like to try it as well."
Yoshikawa nearly sagged with relief.
"No problem!" Nakayama replied instantly — then added, "Professor, once it's ready, I'll send a copy to every WIDE expert."
Yoshikawa almost choked.
This brat! Give him a ladder and he'll climb straight to heaven!
But Murai didn't mind. In fact, he considered it — and nodded.
"Very well." He adjusted his glasses, a faint smile in his eyes. "I look forward to seeing what kind of 'buildings' Sega constructs."
He stood and extended his hand to Nakayama.
"Keep in touch."
Every Sega executive froze in disbelief.
Only after Murai and his team were escorted away did Yoshikawa release a long breath.
He turned to Nakayama, a cocktail of exasperation and admiration on his face.
"You— I swear, my heart can't take this. Next time you poke a hornet's nest, warn me first!"
Nakayama grinned, all bright teeth.
"Hey, the hive didn't sting us — and we even got some honey out of it."
"Honey?" Yoshikawa rolled his eyes — then couldn't stop a smile.
"Hell of a job."
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