The line remained silent for a full ten seconds, the only sound the crackle of static.
Kalinski was clearly reviewing financial reports in front of him, the rustle of paper clearly audible.
$299.
In an era where the 3D0 sold for $699 and even game consoles went for $199, this price was practically flipping the table and denying others a meal.
"If we include full tariffs, we'll lose money on every unit sold," Kalinski finally said, his tone significantly more serious. "But if the Mexican factory operates at full capacity and we leverage China's supply chain tax rebates, we might break even or make a tiny profit. But that requires stockpiling—a massive amount of inventory."
"Then stockpile," Takuya Nakayama instructed. "Have the factory run three shifts. I want enough Jupiter in our warehouses to weather the initial wave of frenzied demand."
"And the release date? Rumors are flying everywhere—some say Thanksgiving, others next summer."
"No rush," Takuya Nakayama chuckled, the sound of a hunter watching their prey step into a trap. "Not a word about the release date in North America until it's officially announced in Japan. Sony is definitely monitoring our every move. If we reveal our hand first, that bastard Ken Kutaragi will have time to adjust."
"You want to string them along?"
"Exactly. Keep them guessing, make them think we're delaying the launch. Then—" He paused. "When they're least expecting it, we'll hit them with a knockout blow."
Kalinski burst out laughing on the other end of the line. "Alright, sometimes I think you're more of a damn capitalist than I am. I'll have the PR department stall, let the players save up their money, and let them speculate."
After hanging up, Nakayama didn't immediately turn to the next document. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping absently on the newly printed Q3 global supply report.
Specifically, there was a subtle discrepancy between the Model 2 board shipments for the arcade division and the component consumption report submitted by the procurement department.
The discrepancy was small, easily overlooked as normal production loss if one didn't carefully compare inventory turnover rates.
But Takuya Nakayama knew this kind of "loss" all too well.
"Mr. Koguchi," he pressed the intercom button on his desk, "come to my office. Bring the Shenzhen Factory production schedule we just received."
Two minutes later, Oguchi Hisao entered.
The man who had been Sega's Vice President in his previous life still carried the air of a sharp, efficient executive, a thick notebook always tucked under his arm.
"Sit," Takuya Nakayama said, sliding the report to the edge of the desk. "See anything?"
Oguchi Hisao glanced at the numbers circled in red, his brow furrowing slightly. "The audio co-processors for the Model 2 are 5% higher than the actual number of complete units produced. While the yield rate is a factor, this loss is excessive. Furthermore, these batches of memory chips, which should have been sent to the Yokohama Assembly Plant, have been held up at customs for three days under the pretext of 'logistics coordination'."
"Logistics coordination?" Takuya Nakayama scoffed, pulling a cigarette from the pen holder and tapping it on the desk. "I suspect they've been 'coordinated' straight to the Huaqiangbei market."
"Your meaning is that our people are betraying us?" Oguchi Hisao's expression changed. "I'll immediately arrange for the audit department—"
"Stop," Takuya Nakayama raised his hand to halt him. "Don't be so rigid. Water that is too pure has no fish—this truth is especially applicable in manufacturing."
"And on Sega's long and complex supply chain, it's even more unavoidable."
He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and the smoke drifted between them.
"What's coming is a brutal fight with Sony. A major purge now would be like cutting off our own arm. I want you to go to China—not as a judge like Bao Qingtian, but as a supervisor."
Nakayama stood up and walked to the world map on the wall, tapping his finger on the Pearl River Delta.
"I previously tacitly allowed the Nine-Tattooed Dragon to handle the replications—even letting those contract factories take private jobs—all to expand the pie and spread our mold and procurement costs. They wanted to earn some extra cash, build local connections, even those dispatched managers wanted to skim some extra profit to buy houses back in Japan—I could tolerate all of that."
His voice turned colder: "I gave them the meat to eat, not so they could steal my whole pot. We had mountains of orders for Virtua Fighter 2 and The Fast and the Furious, and arcades in North America were breathing down our necks for shipments. Yet they told me they couldn't meet production? Where did all that capacity go? Did it all end up as those VCDs and learning machines with those bizarre labels?"
Oguchi Hisao understood.
The Boss was planning to "shake the mountain to scare the tigers."
"I get it. I'll go to the site and focus solely on progress, without asking for reasons."
"Exactly. Even if you see them roasting sweet potatoes in the workshop, don't mention it. Just keep your eyes glued to the shipment numbers." Takuya Nakayama turned around, his eyes glinting with shrewdness. "If any stage falls behind, compile the deficit data into a report and send it straight to the desks of Directors Terauchi and Hatano. Don't name any names; just state that 'there's significant room for improvement in process optimization.' Those two are veterans. They'll see the data and know their own backyard is on fire. They'll put it out themselves—no need for us to be the bad guys."
This "kill with a borrowed knife" strategy both protected the board's face and ensured the problem would be swiftly resolved.
"Also," Takuya Nakayama walked over to Oguchi Hisao and lowered his voice, "I know exactly what kind of pampered lives those seconded executives are living, raking in Sega's generous subsidies. When you get there, deliver a message for me to the relevant manager."
"Tell them Sega can grant them dignity, or strip it away completely. If the official shipments are delayed by even one more day—"
Nakayama crushed his cigarette butt under his heel, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. "The Nine-Tattooed Dragon has been eager to show me his loyalty lately. His men know who's been messing with the docks and who's been swapping out the containers far better than the audit department ever could. If I have to use that channel to investigate, the findings might be more than just 'losses.'"
Oguchi Hisao closed his notebook and nodded firmly. He understood this wasn't just a business trip; it was a "warning shot" across the entire supply chain.
He tucked his pen back into his suit pocket, carefully sliding the notebook filled with its "priority watch list" into a compartment of his briefcase.
Since Nakayama had even laid out the Nine-Tattooed Dragon's unconventional connections, if Oguchi failed to demonstrate the execution he was expected to have, his position as deputy manager might not be secure.
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