Hatano's expression changed.
This wasn't a polite, feigned difficulty; it was a genuine, bitter smile.
"You've hit the nail on the head."
He rubbed his hands together, as if organizing his thoughts.
"Sometimes I envy Terauchi."
Hatano sighed softly and continued.
"I've been to China with Terauchi a few times. Whether it's the mainland, Hong Kong, or Taiwan, they have a solid industrial base and government efficiency that's at least passable. Even when policies change, the communication channels are clear. A heads-up and some contingency planning means we're rarely caught off guard."
"Mexico is different."
Hatano began counting on his fingers.
"Power supply—the industrial zone in Tijuana loses electricity three times a month. Not for maintenance, but just... gone. The power company blames aging equipment and promised a repair schedule six months ago. Nothing has happened. We had to install diesel generators ourselves, which added another layer of costs."
"Water supply is better—industrial water is temporarily sufficient. But the local government changed hands this year. The new water official hinted that we should 'strengthen our cooperation.' You know what that means."
"Regarding labor—" Hatano paused, "workers from Old Mexico aren't clumsy. Once trained, they're quite efficient."
"The problem is their instability. They work for three months, save enough, and then go back home for two months before returning. All that training cost goes down the drain. Or else, the factory next door offers just fifty pesos more, and they're gone the next day."
"And then there's the union." Hatano's wry smile deepened at the mention of the word. "Last time, they went on strike over ten extra minutes for taco breaks. I'm not kidding. We negotiated for a week, and finally compromised on five minutes. Just those five minutes—the lost work hours from one production line over a year—will sting for quite some time."
Takuya Nakayama listened without immediately responding, mentally reviewing the issues.
"What about security?"
"Tijuana is a border city. What do you think?" Hatano's answer was blunt. "The factory's safe during the day, but we have to station guards at night. Last year, someone scaled the warehouse wall and stole three boxes of casing molds. We called the police, but they came, looked around, and left without even taking a report. I had to hire a local private security firm to stabilize things."
"What's the background of that security firm?"
"Don't ask," Hatano said, waving his hand. "Anyone running a security business in Tijuana can't have a squeaky-clean background. But they get results. Since they came on board, we haven't had a single incident at the warehouse."
Takuya Nakayama tapped his desk, considering.
"Here's what I'll do. I'll talk to Tom and have Sega of North America find some consultants familiar with Mexican investment and labor. Not just report writers, but people who can navigate the local networks. They'll need to handle policy matters and local relationships, acting as your buffer. You're here to manage the factory, not waste your energy wrangling with water officials."
Hatano's eyes flickered.
"One more thing," Takuya continued. "The Mexican factory is a major contributor to Sega's overseas profits, thanks to its proximity to the US market. Under these circumstances, you shouldn't have to absorb the special expenses for local operations yourself. What needs to be spent should be spent, and what needs to be accounted for should be accounted for. List the specific figures, and I'll help you negotiate with my father. The situation in Mexico is different from China. You can't block every hand that needs to be greased. Trying to resist will only make things worse. It's better to formally incorporate these costs into operating expenses. That way, we have documentation and can explain it to the Board of Directors."
Hatano remained silent, but the wry smile on his face gradually faded.
He picked up his teacup, finished the remaining tea, and set it down with a more relaxed gesture than when he had entered the room.
"If you'd told me this six months ago, I could have saved a few more strands of hair in Tijuana."
"That's because six months ago, I hadn't yet decided to come and talk to you about the President matter," Takuya Nakayama replied swiftly.
Hatano was momentarily taken aback by this blunt truth, then burst into laughter.
"Alright. With this support in place, I'm confident about Tijuana. Leave the Third Line to me—I won't let you down."
He stood up and picked up his briefcase.
As he reached the door, he glanced back at Takuya Nakayama.
"Oh, and I'm taking the South America report with me. I'll need to study how to establish distribution channels in the Spanish-speaking market."
"It was prepared for you in the first place."
Hatano snorted twice, chuckled, and opened the door to leave.
Time quickly moved into late May.
The Development Department conference room in the Sega Headquarters Building was occupied by a day-long meeting.
Oguchi Hisao, leading the Planning Department team, reviewed the seven teaser trailers twice, one by one.
They reviewed the first draft for completeness and then spent the second pass meticulously refining the details.
After that, they spent two more days correcting all the flaws found during the review.
Finally, they spent an afternoon doing one last thorough review.
On May 25th, a specialist boarded an afternoon flight to Los Angeles, carrying all the trial discs, trailer master tapes, and merchandise samples. Two technicians accompanied him to handle on-site equipment setup at the exhibition venue upon arrival.
After seeing them off at Narita Airport, Oguchi Hisao sent a text message to Takuya Nakayama: "Goods are on their way. All approved. Zero project cuts."
May 31st, 6:30 PM.
Dinner was already laid out in the dining room of Nakayama Hayao's residence in Haneda.
Aunt Keiko had prepared a feast: miso soup, tonkatsu, vinegared octopus, and a large bowl of the potato and meat stew Eri had been craving lately.
Eri was nearly three months pregnant, and her belly wasn't yet visibly swollen, but her appetite had become insatiable.
She was staying at her father-in-law's house to rest during her pregnancy, and Kazuki had moved in with them as well, making the house much livelier.
Takuya Nakayama rushed home from work in the evening and immediately heard his son's voice from inside the house.
"Daddy!"
Kazuki came running from the end of the hallway, his speed nearly making him slip on the wooden floor.
Takuya, carrying a paper bag in one hand, scooped his son up with the other.
The four-year-old boy was already a bit heavy, dangling from his father's arm and swaying back and forth.
"What did you do at home today?"
"I made paper airplanes with Grandma. I made seven." Kazuki held up his fingers to count. "One flew into the tree in the yard, and I can't reach it."
"Then let it stay in the tree for now. We'll ask Grandpa for a bamboo pole to knock it down later. Climbing trees isn't safe, you know." Takuya bounced his son in his arms.
Kazuki giggled uncontrollably at the bouncing.
In the dining room, Miyuki was setting the table.
Eri emerged from the kitchen with a plate of simmered dishes. Seeing Takuya, she called out, "Wash your hands. Dinner's almost ready."
Takuya set Kazuki down and went to the bathroom to wash his hands.
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