After dealing with all the overt and covert questioning inside the company, Takuya Nakayama finally prepared to go home, shake off the jet lag, and take a short break.
He had rushed to the office before even adjusting to the time difference—for this very purpose.
He had just stepped toward the elevator when he caught sight of someone trotting toward him with a strained smile: Finance Division Director Kuroda, here for a "follow-up communication."
Kuroda almost jogged the last few steps. The face known across the company for strictness and rigidity was now pulled into an awkward, overly polite smile.
He even rushed ahead of Takuya to press the elevator button for him, turning sideways afterward to gesture invitingly like a hotel concierge.
"Executive Director, thank you for your hard work!"
Takuya glanced at him, said nothing, simply gave a faint nod.
The elevator hall fell into an oppressive silence, broken only by the soft flicker of the indicator lights.
Sweat gathered at Kuroda's temples. This silence was even more suffocating than being reprimanded. Clearing his throat, he finally bowed deeply and began explaining.
"Executive Director, about the inquiry letter we sent to the U.S. branch a few days ago—please understand, it was merely routine protocol from the Finance Department, a necessary regulatory step strictly for documentation purposes—"
His back bent lower and lower, nearly parallel to the floor. His voice trembled with a plea he wasn't even aware he was making.
"In terms of budget, there is absolutely—absolutely!—no issue at all! From now on, all procedures will follow your instructions as the highest priority!"
This so-called "Iron Judge" who could reject even a board member's reimbursement form without blinking now looked like a student timidly confessing his poor exam performance.
Watching him now, Takuya couldn't help feeling a hint of irony.
Just days ago, the cold lines on that fax were so rigid, every sentence brandishing company regulations like a sword.
Now, the man who wielded that sword was practically ready to shred the rulebook to wipe his own sweat.
The elevator arrived with a soft ding.
Takuya did not immediately step inside. Instead, he reached out and gently patted Kuroda's shoulder.
Kuroda stiffened reflexively, only to realize a moment later that it wasn't a reprimand.
"Director Kuroda," Takuya said evenly, neither cold nor warm, "I understand your difficulties—and your responsibility."
Kuroda jerked his head up, completely stunned. He had prepared countless apologies and self-criticisms, but certainly not this.
"The Finance Department's duty is to guard the company's purse strings and be accountable for every expenditure. You're not wrong. In fact, you did your job well."
Takuya slipped his hands into his pockets, relaxed.
Then he added with a light laugh, "Honestly, if I went ahead with such a large off-budget expenditure and the Finance Department didn't even send an inquiry letter, then I would have to worry whether our management system had already collapsed."
The words washed over Kuroda like warm sunlight, dissolving days of anxiety in an instant.
He had been bracing for punishment—maybe even reassignment to some dead-end position. But instead of blame, Takuya affirmed him, not as an offender but as a professional doing his duty.
What kind of magnanimity was this?
Kuroda felt the cold sweat on his back evaporating. He opened his mouth to speak but only managed a hoarse, "Executive Director—I—I don't deserve such praise—"
"There's nothing undeserved." Takuya smiled. "My job is to find new growth for the company, to open paths toward the future. And sometimes the future can't wait for a full round of approvals. Our roles differ—conflict is natural."
He looked at his reflection in the elevator door, straightening his tie.
"When urgency requires bending the rules, fine. But rules themselves cannot be allowed to break. So, once I'm back from my break, I'll personally prepare a complete report and finish every procedure properly."
He paused, then turned to look Kuroda in the eye—the kind of gaze that seemed to see straight through a person.
"This report isn't to explain myself. It's to give Finance a proper, compliant file for the archives. I won't let people who execute rules strictly be the ones left in fear—that's not Sega's corporate culture."
"And from now on, if the U.S. branch has similar expenses, just send the invoices directly to me."
With a single sentence, he cleared all responsibility from Finance and granted them ease and protection for future decisions.
Kuroda could no longer hold back. He bowed deeply—ninety degrees.
"Thank you, Executive Director! Truly, thank you!"
This time, there was no fear in his voice—only genuine admiration and gratitude.
"Alright, go get back to work."
Takuya stepped into the elevator and pressed the close button.
"Oh, and—the Blue Mountain coffee beans you bought were good. I appreciate the thought."
The doors slid shut, cutting off the sight of Kuroda's flushed, emotional face.
---
Back at his Minato-ward home, Takuya opened the door and was greeted by a warm, familiar sense of comfort.
Shedding his fatigue, changing into the slippers laid out at the entryway, he immediately spotted someone in the living room.
Under the soft light, his wife Eri was nestled on the sofa, holding a maternity magazine.
She wore loose, comfortable loungewear, and her belly had grown noticeably; a gentle glow seemed to envelop her, serene and lovely.
Takuya's heart melted at once.
What Wall Street?
What Silicon Valley empire?
None of it mattered compared to this scene.
He tiptoed closer, intending to surprise her—
"Ahem!"
A deliberately stern cough from the dining room stopped him.
His mother, Miyuki Nakayama, stepped out carrying a tray of freshly cut fruit. Her face showed little warmth as her gaze locked onto him.
"So you do remember to come home? I thought maybe America had some business so important you didn't need a home anymore."
Takuya froze, caught between amusement and helplessness, and straightened up obediently.
"Mother, I'm home."
"Business trip, was it?"
Miyuki set the crystal fruit tray down on the table with a sharp clink, making Takuya's heart jump.
"Do business trips leave a pregnant wife alone at home for weeks? Eri's belly is growing and she has no one beside her—what were you thinking?"
Anyone overhearing would think he'd been out having affairs.
Takuya opened his mouth to explain the urgency of work, but Eri tugged his sleeve playfully, giving him a wink that said don't.
She set aside her magazine and took Miyuki's arm gently.
"Mother, please don't be angry. Takuya works hard for our family. He's exhausted."
She stroked her belly, smiling softly.
"And he called every day—never missed once. The baby has been behaving too. Just earlier, he even kicked me, like he was saying, 'Welcome home, Dad.'"
"Really?"
Miyuki's expression flipped instantly, gloom replaced by delighted curiosity. The scolding vanished—grandchild priority activated.
"Again? Let me hear!"
She hurried over, pressing her ear carefully against Eri's belly, listening intently, beaming.
Completely ignored, Takuya rubbed his forehead. Watching the harmonious pair of mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, he could only feel helpless and warm at the same time.
He drifted toward the record player, picked a vinyl from the shelf, and placed it on.
Debussy's Clair de Lune flowed through the room.
The record player was something he bought specifically for Eri and the baby—"prenatal education," he had called it, even dragging the doctor from Sugiyama Obstetrics into the explanation.
Seeing him join them for prenatal bonding, Eri's smile grew even sweeter.
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