If Sotsu dragged their feet, Bandai would dilute the budget and resources allocated for Sega's acquisition. That would severely diminish the value of the Sega stock their old shareholders were so desperate to hold.
"I agree. We can't afford to be greedy right now," Honda said, sliding the document on the table toward Matsushima. "I stayed up all night drafting this revised valuation proposal. I took the liberty of cutting out some of the minor, non-essential conditions and even made concessions on the cash ratio. However, the core demand for a stock swap remains unchanged. If you gentlemen agree, I'll contact Director Hattori immediately to get the Letter of Intent signed this week—no, by tomorrow!"
Matsushima snatched the document, his eyes darting across the pages as he skimmed the terms.
"Fine! Let's do it!" Matsushima gritted his teeth, a look of grim determination crossing his face. "The sooner we finalize this, the better. We need to get our hands on Sega's stock before anything else can go wrong."
The news spread like wildfire, quickly reaching Sega Headquarters.
Takuya Nakayama read the latest report Director Hattori had just submitted. A satisfied, almost mocking smile played on his lips.
"Sotsu's old bones are quicker than I thought. Must be as slippery as loaches," Takuya Nakayama said, tossing the report onto the table.
Director Hattori, seated on the opposite sofa, sipped his hot tea with the smile of an old fox.
"Bandai's moves have been terrifying—a complete slaughter. Sotsu is afraid that once Bandai finishes its restructuring, Sega will swoop in and use Bandai's example to drive their price down. Their willingness to concede now and rush to sign is exactly what we wanted. Daiwa Securities says Matsushima stamped it overnight."
"Since they're so eager to surrender, let's not play hard to get and scare them off," Takuya said, standing up and stretching. "Have the Legal and Finance Departments work overtime these next few days to finalize the contracts. Let's get the Sotsu sign taken down and replace it with our Sega Galaxy banner as soon as possible."
Director Hattori nodded and set down his teacup.
Takuya walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the rain-slicked, bustling streets of Tokyo.
The gloomy weather couldn't dim the ambition burning in his eyes.
Once Sotsu, the final piece of the puzzle, fell into place, Sega's layout in the pan-entertainment sector would be fully formed, leaving no weaknesses.
He already had a massive IP development plan in his mind, one vast enough to overturn the entire industry. Many of these projects had been stalled at the acquisition stage because they lacked a professional operations team, making large-scale deployment impossible.
Now, he just had to wait for Sotsu's seasoned veterans to come on board and start the engine at full throttle.
The physical card game release of Yu-Gi-Oh! needed to be put on the agenda immediately—it was a money-making machine more terrifying than any printing press!
The anime adaptation had to be pushed forward simultaneously; they had to seize the prime-time viewership slots on TV Tokyo.
For the first Detective Conan feature film, he needed Sotsu's connections to secure the best screening slots and promotional resources from major cinema chains and TV stations. He wanted that "Grim Reaper" elementary schooler to become a box-office juggernaut from the very start.
Beyond that, there were regrets from his past life—ideas that had been shelved—that he wanted to forcibly push forward using Sega's massive resources.
Sega's own people were too inefficient at this kind of grunt work, and they often struggled to adapt to the environment.
Sotsu's decades of deep-rooted industry connections and street-smart experience were the most critical catalysts.
"Once the Sotsu acquisition is officially finalized, we'll immediately hold a joint planning meeting." Takuya Nakayama turned to Director Hattori, his gaze as sharp as a blade. "Call in the core staff from Sunrise, Sotsu, and our own Sega Galaxy. I'm going to hold a mobilization meeting for them—I have a major project to assign."
Director Hattori stood up, smoothing his suit, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
"Managing Director, is this about the development of that new IP? Or are you—crossing into another industry again?"
Takuya Nakayama smiled mysteriously, turning to face the gray, overcast sky outside the window, as if he could already see the brilliant stars of the future.
"More than that," he said, hands thrust into his pockets, his tone radiating the confidence of a man in complete control. "You'll find out soon enough."
Atlanta. The June sun baked the asphalt, and even the air shimmered with oppressive heat.
Outside the E3 Convention Center, a massive line had already formed. Tens of thousands of gamers and media representatives, passes dangling from their necks, pressed against the entrance, eager to storm into the year's grandest gaming extravaganza.
Oguchi Hisao stood behind the one-way mirrored glass of the second-floor VIP lounge, gazing down at the surging crowd below.
Clad in a sharp, dark gray suit, the newly appointed Operations Director of Sega's Games Division already exuded the decisive aura of a man in power.
"Director Koguchi, the opening ceremony starts in ten minutes." A staff member from the North American branch hurried over, respectfully handing him a black coffee packed with ice.
Oguchi took the paper cup, didn't even bother to tear open the sugar packet, and downed half of it in a single gulp. The icy liquid slid down his throat, instantly jolting his frayed nerves and chasing away the fatigue of days spent working late.
"Let's go to the main hall." Oguchi crushed the empty cup and tossed it into a nearby trash can, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Sega won't need to fight for the headlines this year. Someone else will warm up the crowd for us."
The main stage was already swarming with people. The long lenses and heavy equipment of the media were set up in a dense, impenetrable line, their pre-flashes nearly blinding anyone who looked their way. In the front-row VIP seats, executives from industry giants like Sony and Nintendo sat warily, sizing each other up.
The clock struck 9:00 AM.
John Carmack strode onto the stage from behind the curtain.
He was still wearing his timelessly shabby T-shirt, a pair of faded, frayed jeans, and a pair of ordinary sneakers. This unkempt geek attire looked completely out of place among the sea of suits and ties in the audience.
But the moment he came to a halt, no one dared to laugh.
There were no flashy opening CGs, no deafening bass-heavy sound effects.
Carmack walked up to the microphone and tapped it twice—thump, thump.
The chatter below seemed to be muted instantly.
Every eye was fixed on the world's greatest graphics genius.
"Universal Engine version 1.0. The codebase is officially open today," Carmack said, his words coming out in a rapid-fire burst. He wasted no time on pleasantries, getting straight to the point as if every extra word was a waste of his coding time.
He clicked the remote in his hand, and the massive screen behind him instantly displayed the starkly simple Universal Engine logo—black text on a white background.
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