Ajal.
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Chapter 101: The Bandai Strategy
🕑 Added 2025-10-02 11:21:29 +0000 UTCA week passed in a blur of poring over documents and discreetly tapping into personal networks.
Takuya practically buried himself in data about Bandai and Sunrise, his office lights often burning through the night. Interviews, industry analyses, shareholder annual reports, even outdated business magazines and news clippings piled higher than his head. The preliminary data gathered by the marketing department was, to him, merely the tip of the iceberg. What he needed was the massive structure beneath the surface—the hidden web of capital connections and personal relationships that truly drove decisions. Some information required special channels and no small cost to obtain even fragments.
The development of games for the new console was progressing smoothly, giving him a slight breather. Still, daily inspections were non-negotiable. He had to personally oversee the projects to ensure no overzealous developers veered off his set vision. Fortunately, his rounds revealed no issues.
These developments brought Takuya some reassurance, but the tension within him remained taut.
As long as the licensing contracts for robot anime remained unsigned, Team 8 couldn’t fully focus.
Super Robot Wars, a project infused with their heart and dreams, would be torturous to lose due to copyright issues. Takuya had even caught Team 8’s core members in the break room, sighing over robot model design books, as if mourning a lost treasure.
Bandai’s shareholder list was marked up in various colored pens, each name, shareholding relationship, and seemingly unrelated board position a thread to be meticulously traced. He was searching for the fulcrum to leverage the entire network—a key figure with subtle ties to the Mitsui zaibatsu or other potential allies. It was like finding a needle in a haystack, tedious and draining. At times, he’d stare at a long list of common surnames like “Sato” or “Suzuki,” wondering if he’d missed a critical detail.
Until one name caught his eye.
Chuta Mitsui.
The name was unremarkable in Bandai’s lengthy shareholder list, holding less than three percent of shares, not even ranking among the top ten. Initially, Takuya had glossed over it as routine. But when he cross-referenced the data in his database, the name resurfaced. What piqued his interest was a note: this individual also held over one percent of Sony’s shares.
Sony!
A revelation sparked in Takuya’s mind. Sony, a titan that, in his past life, was a direct competitor to Sega in the console market, had not yet entered the fray in this timeline. Its complex zaibatsu affiliations made it a significant player. If Chuta Mitsui was linked to both Bandai and Sony, and bore the Mitsui surname…
He grabbed the phone and dialed home. When the familiar “Moshi moshi” came through, he recognized his mother, Miyuki Nakayama, and kept his tone deliberately casual.
“Mom, do you know anything about Chuta Mitsui?”
There was a pause on the other end as Miyuki thought.
“Chuta Mitsui… yes, he’s from the main Mitsui family, a distant cousin of mine, I suppose.”
She added, “He keeps a low profile, focusing on his investment ventures. He doesn’t visit our side of the family often.”
A distant cousin.
The connection was neither too close nor too distant—perfect.
Takuya began strategizing.
Contacting this cousin directly would be too abrupt and risked botching things.
He decided to ask his grandfather to intervene.
His grandfather, a respected figure in the Mitsui family, could convey the message with authority and tact.
A week later.
In a refined tea room in Tokyo’s Ginza district, the air was laced with the fragrance of tea and sandalwood.
Takuya sat attentively.
Across from him was a lean, middle-aged man—Chuta Mitsui.
“Takuya-kun, no need to be so formal,” Chuta said, his voice calm as he poured Takuya a cup of clear, golden gyokuro tea with unhurried precision.
“I’ve heard of Pokémon and its creator, Takuya Nakayama, mentioned a few times at Bandai’s board meetings.”
Chuta sipped his tea, appraising Takuya. “Meeting you in person, you’re indeed a promising young man. Miyuki is fortunate to have a son like you.”
His words carried the warmth of an elder but also a measured assessment of his “distant nephew’s” capabilities.
Takuya bowed respectfully, as befitting a junior. “Mr. Mitsui, you’re too kind. I’ve come today with a request.”
He didn’t beat around the bush—candor was best with someone of Chuta’s caliber.
Chuta let out a soft “hm,” signaling him to continue.
“Regarding Sunrise’s rejection of Sega’s IP licensing request,” Takuya said steadily, “I venture to guess Bandai’s influence is at play?”
The tea room fell silent.
Chuta set down his cup, its base tapping lightly against the fine wooden table.
“Your guess is correct.”
His response was direct, confirming Takuya’s suspicions.
“Bandai and Sunrise have collaborated for years. Naturally, they don’t want anyone poaching their slice of the pie.”
As expected.
Takuya’s suspicions, backed by his father’s analysis and a week of investigation, were spot-on. Bandai was indeed the puppet master.
“Sega is willing to propose a mutual benefit exchange with Bandai,” Takuya said calmly, outlining a prepared plan. “In return, we ask that Bandai cease obstructing our licensing efforts with Sunrise and even Toei Animation’s IPs.”
Chuta listened, gently stirring the gyokuro tea leaves floating in his cup with the lid, though he didn’t drink. He toyed with the warm porcelain, his gaze studying Takuya through the rising steam, a faint scrutiny in his eyes. After a moment, he looked up, his lips curling almost imperceptibly.
“Takuya-kun, you’ve calculated this quite cleverly,” Chuta said, his voice low but piercing, each word clear. “If Sega’s ‘sincerity’ is enticing enough, Bandai’s board—those old foxes—wouldn’t turn down a profitable deal. After all, you focus on games, they dominate toys and merchandise. Bandai dabbles in games, but it’s small-scale, scraping fan money with mediocre tech. There’s little direct conflict. If Sega can produce quality games, it could cross-promote and boost sales—a win-win. Especially since you’re eyeing older anime IPs gathering dust, it’s practically ‘recycling waste’ for some at Bandai. Why wouldn’t they agree?”
