Top floor, President's Office.
Makoto Yamashina was slumped in his large leather swivel chair like a pile of mud.
The Blue Mountain coffee on his desk had long since gone cold, a thin film of oil forming on its surface.
The heavy wooden door was pushed open gently. Chuta Mitsui hurried inside, closing the door tightly behind him as if he were a thief.
"President. Richard's people have already gone down to the underground warehouse. They've brought highly professional external appraisers this time. They're inventorying the unsold toys one by one, not even letting a single scrap of waste material go unrecorded." Chuta Mitsui lowered his voice, his tone tinged with panic.
Makoto Yamashina expressionlessly picked up the cold coffee and took a sip.
It was bitter—so bitter his tongue went numb—but it was just enough to keep him awake.
"Let them search," Makoto Yamashina said, setting the cup down. His voice was as raspy as sandpaper.
Chuta Mitsui stood awkwardly before the desk, staring at Makoto Yamashina's face, which was so calm it was almost dead.
"The Planning Department... is in an uproar," Chuta Mitsui reported, swallowing hard. "A few of the senior staff are refusing to cooperate with the handover. They're smashing computers, throwing files, and calling you... the eternal traitor who sold out Bandai."
"Have security drag them out," Makoto Yamashina said, his voice as flat as water. He didn't even lift his eyelids, as if he were discussing throwing out a few bags of trash. "Fire them on the spot. No exit interviews, no severance pay."
A chill ran down Chuta Mitsui's spine. He quickly acknowledged the order and turned to leave.
"Kanta." Makoto Yamashina called out suddenly.
Chuta Mitsui stopped dead in his tracks and spun around.
"Do you think Bandai's great ship is sinking because Sega's Takuya Nakayama was too strong, or because we were just unlucky?" Makoto Yamashina leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Chuta Mitsui opened his mouth but found no words.
This was a lethal question—one he couldn't possibly answer.
Makoto Yamashina didn't seem to expect a response. He pulled open a drawer, retrieved a document, and slammed it onto the desk with a heavy thud.
"Look at this."
Chuta Mitsui stepped forward, carefully picking up the document.
It was a report that had just been submitted by the Internal Audit Group.
"Those idiots in the Toy Department! Last year, just to make the year-end performance report look good, they forced the production of one million sets of a dead-stock product that hadn't even undergone any market research! Now they're all gathering dust in a warehouse in Chiba Prefecture. The monthly storage fees alone are an astronomical sum that's enough to cripple the company's cash flow!" Makoto Yamashina suddenly became agitated, his fingers drumming forcefully on the desk, making the coffee cup rattle.
He caught his breath, pointing to another line on the report: "And the Planning Department! They insisted on jumping on the bandwagon last year and investing in that virtual electronic pet thing, throwing in a full five hundred million yen! And what happened? Not even a ripple! This market has long been fortified by Sega's Pokémon series, making it impossible for anyone else to break in! And that five hundred million yen all went into the pockets of a few mysterious outsourcing companies. And guess what? The legal representatives of those outsourcing companies are all relatives of that bastard Ota!"
Chuta Mitsui stared at the shocking figures on the report, his eyelids twitching violently as cold sweat trickled down his temples.
"I used to think that as long as we kept up appearances and stayed amicable, the company could survive." Makoto Yamashina gave a self-deprecating, bitter laugh and shook his head. "That kid Takuya Nakayama was right. The people at Bandai are still stuck in the Showa Era. They want Sega's money to save them, but they also want to shut the doors and keep playing emperor in their own little fiefdom. How could they expect to have their cake and eat it too?"
Chuta Mitsui's hands trembled as he set down the documents.
"President, Richard and his team are digging way too deep this time. What if—"
"There is no 'what if'!" Yamashina snapped, cutting him off. "The deeper they dig, the better! Let them tear open every festering wound and squeeze out every last drop of pus! Sega wants a clean Bandai. By purging those old fossils ourselves, we've made the most critical move. If we'd waited for Richard to uncover it all, Takuya Nakayama would have thought I was either protecting them or too incompetent to act. I wouldn't even have a seat at the negotiating table!"
Yamashina stood up and walked to the bright, floor-to-ceiling window.
At that moment, his heart completely died.
Or rather, the boot named "bankruptcy" that had been dangling over his head for months had finally dropped.
He no longer had to spend every night in a state of constant anxiety, calculating how to negotiate with Sega. He no longer had to rack his brains trying to balance the toxic factional struggles within his own company.
Bandai changing its name to "Zhongshan" was already a done deal, an unalterable fact.
Now, all he had to do was cooperate with Sega like a loyal dog, helping them scrub Bandai clean. In exchange, he could successfully cash out his remaining shares and secure his wealth and luxury for the rest of his life.
As for Bandai's dignity? How much was that worth?
A steady knock sounded at the door.
Richard pushed it open and stepped inside. He was still wearing that same impeccable suit, holding a thick blue folder in his hand.
"Mr. Yamashina. Excuse me." Richard walked to the desk, his tone polite but distant.
Chuta Mitsui immediately bowed ninety degrees and tactfully backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
"Mr. Richard, please, take a seat." Makoto Yamashina immediately forced a smile and gestured to the chair opposite him.
Richard did not sit.
He simply spread the blue folder open on the desk.
"Mr. Yamashina, while reviewing the accounts of our North American Branch, we discovered a severe financial discrepancy," Richard said, his long fingers tapping a line of figures on the report. "Three years ago, Bandai and Apple Inc. collaborated on the Pippin game console. Although this absurd project was halted early on, the books still show a loss of nearly ten billion yen. What's even more outrageous is that after the project was clearly terminated, the North American Branch still placed a completely unnecessary order with an equipment supplier. The down payment for this order was a staggering three million US dollars! The equipment was never even produced, and the supplier declared bankruptcy a month later. The entire down payment vanished into thin air."
Makoto Yamashina stared intently at the string of numbers.
That was Takano's doing.
Back then, to cover up the massive losses from the Pippin project, Takano had tried to balance the books by robbing Peter to pay Paul, only to be completely swindled by the American equipment supplier.
This was an open secret among Bandai's top management, and everyone had tacitly agreed never to mention it.
"Write it off as a bad debt immediately!" Makoto Yamashina declared without hesitation, his gaze fierce. "I have already turned the responsible party, Takano, over to the Metropolitan Police Department! Bandai will fully cooperate with your investigation and provide all evidence. We will not tolerate any misconduct!"
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