"Not only should the pay not be lower, it should be on par with technical positions. Of course, we can lower the overti rate, since we don't plan to have them work overti anyway," Takuya Nakayama interrupted bluntly. "This position is all about dealing with the fallout and cleaning up after those genius programrs and irascible artists. It's essentially emotional labor. If we don't pay them well enough, who would want to do this dirty, thankless work?"
Tamura paused, hesitating. "Won't this disrupt the salary structure's balance? Other departnts might complain that the Developnt Departnt is harboring deadweight—"
"Let them complain. Tell them to co back and lecture when their efficiency and per capita output reach half of ours." Takuya snorted coldly, his tone domineering and unyielding. "The Developnt Departnt is Sega's cash machine, the core of the core. As long as they deliver gas on ti, I'd even approve keeping cats in the office. I want efficiency, not so abstract notion of fairness."
He paused, his tone softening slightly, but his gaze remained sharp. "Tamura-san, do you know what I hate most?"
Tamura unconsciously straightened his posture. "Unpaid overti?"
"That's just one of them," Takuya Nakayama said, leaning back in his chair. "I despise that outdated Showa-era practice of forcing subordinates to drink after work to supposedly foster team cohesion. How are you supposed to write code the next day after getting sloshed? Can you write ga code while drunk? It's a waste of the company's electricity and manpower. As for the excuse that going ho early will make you look weak at ho, the salaries and bonuses paid to Sega's Developnt Departnt employees are more than enough to dispel that myth. Besides, spending more ti with family leads to happier employees, which in turn leads to better work. You don't need to explain that basic principle to you."
Tamura wiped the sweat from his forehead.
In all of Japan's corporate world, probably only Executive Director Nakayama would dare to speak such blunt truths.
Indeed, ever since Takuya Nakayama took power, the atmosphere in the Developnt Departnt had beco a breath of fresh air—or perhaps a mudslide—within the industry.
No mandatory "drinking parties," no pointless waiting around to "read the air" for when the boss finally leaves.
As long as the work is done, no one will stop you from leaving at 4 PM.
There's even a rumor that a new mid-level manager tried to pull that "workplace bullying" routine, implying that subordinates would face consequences if they didn't attend the weekend golf outing. The next day, Executive Director Nakayama found out and imdiately had Human Resources put the guy on unpaid leave, with the justification, "If he loves golf so much, let him play his heart out."
"We pay them to work, not to make friends." Takuya Nakayama stood up and straightened his collar. "If you want to drink and chat, finish the project, take the bonus, and go drink your heart out in Hawaii. The company will reimburse you. But at work, efficiency cos first. You can't work well if you're exhausted. Is that really so hard to understand?"
"I understand," Tamura said, closing his laptop. This ti, his response carried a genuine tone. "This plan not only addresses the placent of our veteran employees but also frees up our core developnt team. It's a win-win. I'll imdiately start drafting new compensation standards to ensure these seasoned professionals feel valued."
In those rigid Japanese conglorates, veteran employees marginalized by outdated skills often have only one path left: being relegated to the "window tribe"—idling away their days, collecting a salary until retirent.
At Sega, these veterans were experiencing a second spring, even earning substantial salaries.
If this news got out, it would undoubtedly make many envious.
"Also," Takuya Nakayama said, reaching the doorway and placing his hand on the doorknob. He paused, turned back, and smiled. "I heard so forr colleagues who were poached by Sony are privately complaining about the rigid rules and the constant need to entertain executives?"
Tamura froze for a mont before breaking into a smug smile. "There is so truth to that. I heard they even have to line up after work to bow to the Section Chief and thank them for their hard work." After being accustod to our relaxed atmosphere, working there must feel like being imprisoned. Last week, a forr programr who quit contacted through a friend, asking if he could return."
"That's good," Takuya said, pulling open the door. "Let them regret it. As long as Sega remains standing, these people will eventually beg to co back. When that ti cos, these Technical Manager positions will be their last ticket ho—of course, they'll have to queue."
The door closed.
Tamura gazed at the closed door and let out a long sigh.
He turned to gaze at the bustling Tokyo cityscape outside the window, the thought growing clearer in his mind: even without considering the young Managing Director's talent for ga developnt, his skill in managing and understanding people alone was enough to make those old fossils sit up and take notice.
The position of Technical Manager wasn't just a title; it was a sharp knife slicing into the rigid, traditional Japanese employnt system.
No wonder Sega's Developnt Departnt, under this young man's leadership, had remained so powerful and efficient.
Five days later, Oguchi Hisao knocked on the Executive Office door once more.
Unlike his previous disheveled appearance—sweating profusely and clutching a ssy stack of fax papers—he had clearly taken care to present himself today.
His shirt collar was crisp, he held a neatly bound file folder, and even his gait had beco noticeably steadier.
"Managing Director, here's the list."
Takuya Nakayama took the folder and flipped it open.
Twelve nas were listed, each followed by a brief résumé and current assessnt.
Oguchi Hisao's efficiency was impeccable. Not only had he shortlisted the candidates, but he had also thoroughly investigated their recent projects and personal circumstances.
Takuya Nakayama's finger paused over several familiar nas as he scrolled through the list.
"Watanabe..." He pointed to the na on the third line. "If I hadn't seen this na, I would have forgotten the Hardware Departnt even had soone like him. He was the main force behind the audio chip debugging for the ga Drive. What, can't keep up with the Model 2's requirents now?"
"Watanabe's technical skills are unquestionable," Oguchi Hisao replied objectively, without any personal bias. "The real issue is that his wife just had their second child, and his elderly relatives are unable to care for themselves. He's now shouldering all the household responsibilities and is often busy late into the night after returning ho. He's severely sleep-deprived; I saw him pinching his thigh to stay awake during last week's eting. Asking him to compete in overti with those fresh graduates, full of energy, is simply unreasonable."
"And then there's this—Sato from Arcade Team 2." Takuya Nakayama chuckled. "I rember he gritted his teeth and took out a thirty-year mortgage to renovate his house inside and out, all to make it easier to care for his paralyzed elderly relative, right? People like him dread project delays that could jeopardize their bonuses. Assign him to monitor progress, and he'll be more punctual than an alarm clock."
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