So, these conservative old bones have been smuggling their own agendas into the deal all along!
They agreed to the merger on the surface, but in reality, they were digging a pit for Sega.
They wanted to use Sega's funds to plug Bandai's holes, then shut the door and continue reigning as local tyrants.
Utterly foolish!
Right now, Bandai's stock price is plummeting daily, and their capital chain could snap at any moment.
Sega has plenty of time to wait; Bandai doesn't!
Every extra day they stall, Bandai's valuation shrinks a bit more, and the shares in Makoto Yamashina's hands will sell for even less!
These stubborn old fools, just to cling to their pitifully small amount of power, don't care about the company's survival, much less his own survival as President!
"So you think my last move was too light, huh?" Makoto Yamashina gritted his teeth, the words squeezing out through the gaps.
He slammed the draft shut and looked up at Chuta Mitsui.
"Go, get the head of the Security Department," Makoto Yamashina's voice was bone-chillingly cold. "Also, notify Human Resources to prepare the second list of dismissals. Anyone involved in drafting these additional clauses—not a single one is to be left behind. All of them are to be demoted!"
Chuta Mitsui's heart skipped a beat.
"President, if we make too big a move and cause panic among the lower-level employees, what then?"
"Panic?" Makoto Yamashina sneered. "The lower-level employees don't care who the boss is. What they care about is whether they'll still get their salaries next month!"
He rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the street below.
"Have some of the lower-level employees who've worked with Sega before leak the word," Makoto Yamashina instructed without turning around. "Tell them Sega is about to take full control of Bandai. Whatever benefits they have over there, Bandai will have hereafter. Tell the people doing the actual work that after the merger, seniority won't matter—you get paid based on your skill. Let them focus on their jobs."
Chuta Mitsui bowed his head in acknowledgment and turned to leave the office.
That afternoon, in the lower-level office area of the Bandai Building, the atmosphere shifted subtly.
The deathly silence and palpable anxiety of the previous few days seemed to have been swept away by a fresh breeze.
In the breakroom, a group of young employees huddled together, their voices lowered.
"Did you hear? It's officially decided. Sega is taking over everything."
"Really? Does that mean we won't get laid off?"
"Laid off? No way! Sega's Game Development Department is always short-staffed. I heard their project bonuses are paid out instantly. They don't care how many years you've been with the company—only whether your project makes money."
A bespectacled employee leaned in, his face lit with excitement.
"My college roommate works at Sega. He says their creative department doesn't have to waste time writing those pointless reports every day, and their budgets get approved way faster. Not like here, where buying a reference book requires three Section Chiefs to sign off, and it still takes half a month to get the money."
"That'd be great! If we really adopt Sega's way of doing things, we won't have to suck up to those old geezers every day."
The rumor spread rapidly through the cubicles.
For the upper management, being swallowed by Sega meant a loss of power and a redistribution of interests. But for the bottom-rung employees—the ones working overtime every night, earning a fixed salary, and enduring workplace bullying—switching to a new, wealthy, and generous employer was an immense boon.
The panic was not only contained but even transformed into a faint sense of anticipation. In the office area, the clatter of keyboards grew more intense, and the voices answering phones carried a newfound confidence.
Meanwhile, in the executive office area on the top floor...
Several burly men from the Security Department stood before the Deputy Head of the Legal Department's desk, watching him pack his personal belongings with expressionless faces. The Deputy Head's face was deathly pale, his hands trembling, not daring to utter a single word.
At the end of the hallway, Makoto Yamashina stood in the shadows, watching the scene coldly.
The purge had only just begun.
Unlike the suppressed joy and rhythmic keyboard tapping of the lower-level employees below, the executive office area on the top floor was now as deathly silent as a graveyard.
The thick Persian carpets in the hallway usually muffled the footsteps of the executives, a silent testament to their composed authority. But today, even the sound of breathing was deliberately suppressed.
A suffocating tension hung in the air, the oppressive stillness before a storm.
Several senior directors, who had been the most vocal in the board meeting, vehemently demanding the defense of Bandai's dignity, were now all holed up in their offices. Their heavy mahogany doors were bolted shut, and the blinds drawn tight.
Ota, the General Manager of the Planning Department, sat behind his expansive leather desk, an unlit Seven Stars cigarette held between his fingers.
His hand shook violently, spilling tobacco flakes onto his expensive custom-made suit trousers. He didn't even notice, too preoccupied to even brush them off.
His mind was consumed by the image of the Legal Department's Deputy General Manager being stripped of his suit in public and driven away like a stray dog to answer customer service calls.
The incident had already spread like wildfire through the executive ranks, becoming a Sword of Damocles hanging over everyone's heads.
Suddenly, the red internal phone on the desk rang out, a jarring intrusion.
Ring, ring, ring—
Ota flinched violently, the cigarette slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor.
He stared at the red telephone as if it were a venomous snake, its tongue flicking, and hesitated to reach for it.
After five or six rings, the line went dead, leaving only a suffocating silence.
Ota collapsed back, as if all the strength had been drained from his body. He grabbed a silk handkerchief from his desk and vigorously wiped the cold sweat that had broken out across his forehead.
The tide had turned.
Sega, this monstrous beast, had already opened its bloody maw, and Makoto Yamashina was its sharpest fang.
Anyone who dared to stick their head out at this critical juncture would be used as a live target by Makoto Yamashina to raise the flag of victory!
Meanwhile, in Makoto Yamashina's President's Office.
The spacious desk was piled waist-high with files and documents.
These were all Bandai's project approval forms, financial reimbursement vouchers, and overseas travel records from the past five years. A tab was inserted at every critical entry.
Makoto Yamashina's eyes were sunken, yet they gleamed with a strange excitement.
He flipped open a yellowed ledger, his finger tracing each line, like a vulture searching for a flaw in its prey.
Chuta Mitsui stood respectfully before the desk, holding a freshly drafted list, its ink still wet.
"Heisei 6, North American Branch, channel expansion expenses: thirty million yen. Where's the invoice?" Makoto Yamashina stopped, slamming the ledger onto the center of the desk with a dull thud.
Chuta Mitsui quickly flipped through the records in his hand and pushed up his glasses. "President, this expense was personally approved by General Manager Takano of the Overseas Business Department at the time. His explanation was that it was a special public relations and entertainment expense used to open channels with Walmart, so—there is no invoice."
"No invoice?" Yamashina snorted coldly, a cruel smile curling his lips. "Thirty million yen, and not even a scrap of paper left behind? That's embezzlement of company funds! Investigate! Have the Finance Department dig up every single one of Takano's reimbursement slips from the past five years and audit them one by one! If a single yen is missing, I'll make him spit it out!"
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