[The characters, places, organizations, events, and so on appearing in this work have no connection whatsoever to reality and are entirely fictional products of the author’s imagination.]
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“A thickness of 10 mm definitely does look a bit clunky, but now isn’t the time to obsess over shaving it down.”
Henry placed the rough prototype on his palm and examined it from every angle. Considering the limitations of the year 1979, the tactile click of the buttons and the afterimage characteristic of LCDs were already something to be grateful for. No, in fact, they were beyond merely tolerable and were actually quite excellent. Still, the 10 mm thickness—an unavoidable compromise due to the manufacturing process, despite being reducible—kept bothering him. And although the design was identical to the mock-up, perhaps because of the temporarily processed plastic material or the unpolished finish, it looked somewhat dull and heavy to Henry’s eyes.
‘It’s not as if there’s no way. If we design it by carving into the board and embedding the mercury battery, we could reduce it to under 6 mm, but…’
If they did that, the difficulty of the manufacturing process would skyrocket and the defect rate would soar. This wasn’t simply an issue of production cost; it would be an act of self-destruction that ate into the initial supply volume itself. On top of that, going with an embedded mercury battery meant making a stupid disposable device whose battery couldn’t even be replaced. Since Henry needed to seize the market decisively ahead of [Nintendore], which was scheduled for release next April, he ultimately decided to leave thickness as one of the cards for an “upgraded version.”
‘There’s a 99% chance [Nintendore] won’t be able to put out a product next April, but still. I have to block even a 0.1% variable.’
For the goal of preempting the market, Henry had personally crushed trial and error like a bulldozer and taken command at the front, and as a result, the development speed was close to the speed of light. After all, they had produced a rough prototype capable of playing games in just two months. The process of selecting components—the CMOS microprocessor at the core of the hardware, the slimmest circuit board of the era using epoxy resin, the sound chip, and even the speaker—had been completed in an instant. Because time was tight, they used off-the-shelf rubber contact switches, but the overall blueprint was perfect.
The LCD pattern design had also entered the field test stage. Procedures such as production line adjustment and mass-production product testing remained, but in Henry’s mind, the factory was already running. Since he had no intention of compromising on design, the molds for the main body and buttons had been ordered even before the cooperation with [Sapeu]. Even so, the reason they still had not arrived was partly because of detailed adjustment work due to shrinkage. But the fundamental reason was the material Henry had insisted on.
“Since I insisted on ‘chromium-molybdenum steel,’ the kind used in aircraft engines, as the mold material, it’s only natural it’s taking a bit longer. But only when the mold comes out properly can quality remain consistent without error even after tens of thousands of pressings.”
Henry murmured quietly as he checked the schedule on the table.
“Once the master mold arrives, we’ll send it straight to Japan and put it on [Sapeu]’s consignment production line. Since the pace of securing volume is much faster than planned, we can push out shipments by sea instead of expensive air freight. Now all that’s left is distribution. We’ll unveil it at CES in Las Vegas next January and release stock across the United States at the same time. As for Japan, we’ll watch the situation and push for a simultaneous launch if possible. Europe, well, I don’t feel like running around personally, so when distributors line up, we can just pick one and leave it to them.”
The problem, as expected, was funding.
Henry had originally set the timing for mass production of the game device after January of next year. January was when his silver investment would bear spectacular fruit, and he had intended to inject a portion of the astronomical profits he would obtain then into [Enjoy] and get the production line running.
For that grand(?) plan, he had poured a staggering 39 million dollars out of the 40 million dollars in loans into the blazing inferno known as the silver market. The remaining 1 million dollars, by Henry’s calculations, was exactly enough to cover both companies’ labor costs, mold production costs, and his own luxurious living expenses until next January.
But a variable had appeared. The strange cooperative relationship with [Sapeu] that had begun almost simultaneously with the company’s founding, the veterans from [ARF Electronics] who were far more capable than expected, and above all, the driving force of the insane talent named Marcus Wayne had combined, and development had been completed at the speed of light.
‘No, it’s a problem even when people work too well. Wasn’t it the universal rule of office workers to drag things out until the deadline no matter what?’
Of course, Henry had absolutely no awareness that he himself had bulldozed forward while completely ignoring complex issues like cost and profitability and shouting, “Just do it!”
Originally, the standard release formula for electronics in the 1970s went like this: reveal a prototype at CES in Las Vegas in January and test the waters, attract buyers’ attention at the New York Toy Fair in February to secure preorders, then use that money to enter production. Since the production cost of electronics at the time was incomparably higher than it was now, no manufacturer, no matter how confident, gambled by blindly producing inventory without preorders.
‘It’s too fast compared to the plan. The production line is already on standby, but I don’t have the bullets. Should I ask the bank for another handout? Or, hmm…’
Henry operated the rough prototype in his hand a few more times, then set it down without regret. On the document, he wrote a short and forceful phrase: “Afterimage issue must be resolved.” Instead of signing in the approval box, Henry left only sharp points of criticism on the document, then walked out. When he ran into Marcus, he patted him on the shoulder and said, “Please keep at it just a little longer,” before heading upstairs.
It was not yet at the stage where money was being duplicated and printed out, but for worrying over such major funding problems, the cool air of an investment firm was far more suitable than the smell of solder at a game device company.
.
.
.
After coming up to the investment firm, Henry first approached Charles, exchanged a light greeting, and asked about the current situation.
“The current silver price has broken through 9.4 dollars! Boss. In accordance with the fixed 3x pyramiding principle, we’ve increased our position to 3,090 contracts. Are you really… planning to stack even more from here?”
“Yes. Keep chasing buys while strictly maintaining 3x leverage. And continue monitoring the market.”
Since June 22, when they had built their position at an average price of 8.7 dollars, it had already reached 9.4 dollars. Even if they liquidated right now, more than 9 million dollars in profit would come into his hands, but to Henry, this was nothing more than “pocket change.”
‘At least 30 dollars. And that’s if I’m being extremely conservative.’
Watching Charles return to his seat, Henry also entered his office. He lacked the bullets needed to begin mass production of the game device immediately. Should he pull another bank loan, or should he touch the family trust funds? After clutching his head for more than ten minutes, Henry first called Gilberto.
“Boss, where are you going to tell me to raid(?) this time?”
“Have investigations become a hobby for you and me?”
“Do you know how many companies were on the list I gave you back then? And at the time, there was also personnel hiring…”
At Gilberto’s smooth joking, offered without hesitation, Henry let out a hollow laugh. But soon he cut off the man’s whining and got to the point.
“Enough. Now isn’t the time to look into a new company. More importantly, how’s the situation with [The Times (The Timeg)] in Britain? Can’t we break the contract?”
The venerable British newspaper [The Times], whose acquisition had been pursued by his biological parents, was truly a ticking time bomb. It had a miraculous structure in which it could not make money even if the papers sold like hotcakes. It was in a severe state of the “British disease” known as high cost and low efficiency. The militant union had even been continuing a strike for more than a year, blocking the publication of the newspaper itself.
Debt was piling up like a mountain, and according to the due diligence report, the more they printed, the more losses they incurred. No matter how much family honor or whatever was involved, Henry did not want to take on such a troublesome burden.
“Well… Madam was afraid the Thomson family of Canada might change their minds at the time, so she set the penalty for breach extremely high. The moment we break it, we’d basically be throwing away hard cash.”
“Haa… Just how bewitched was she by the name ‘Time’…”
According to Bart, his mother had been terribly obsessed with that name while she was alive. The “One Time Square” building under Henry’s name and the acquisition of [The Times] were also products of that fixation. If possible, he had intended to let it slide as a form of filial piety, but the solutions written in the report were a spectacle.
As if to remind him that this was the 1970s, there were plenty of illegal countermeasures far more extreme than what might happen in modern times, such as eliminating certain people. But setting those aside, if he wanted to resolve it under the guise of legality, he would have to introduce computerized typesetting technology into a scene where Molotov cocktails were flying, build a secret factory to avoid the union, and even establish a security system to prevent obstruction by the transport union.
When he even saw a proposed solution saying they needed to acquire a logistics company in order to avoid the transport workers’ union, which refused to accept goods from “a company whose union is on strike,” he felt the urge to hurl the papers away.
‘To think Britain has this shitty law where you can’t even report a union. With the law like this, no wonder they’re openly running wild like a lawless shitshow…’
He could brace himself for public backlash and sweep the militant union away entirely. But the problem, again, was money. The severance and pensions that would have to be paid the moment he dismissed them amounted to a staggering 100 million pounds—nearly 220 million dollars when converted.
In the end, even if he compromised moderately and published the newspaper, it meant he would have to carry all 3,000 useless printing workers as they were. The reason a venerable newspaper that sold more than 500,000 copies every day was unable to make a profit lay precisely in these bloated labor costs.
‘And the labor costs are filthy expensive too. There’s really no answer, damn it. The British disease. I’d only ever seen shorts about the British disease. I never imagined I’d experience it myself…’
Even if he poured in money until his soul was wrung dry to normalize it through the introduction of new technology, additional factory investment, and the acquisition of a logistics company, the expected annual profit was less than a mere 10 million dollars. It was a rate of return with no telling when the investment could ever be recovered, practically an act of suicide from a business administration standpoint.
To Henry, such petty change had no value at all aside from the prestige of owning a media company. And if an American who was not even British got involved in this game, it was obvious he would be cursed by the union and the press alike, suffer all the hardship, and in the end be left with nothing but books full of red ink. On top of that, wasn’t it fated to become a declining industry and plunge in value as soon as the internet spread in the future?
It was an enormous bomb of a turd to embrace just for the sake of owning a loudspeaker that, at best, had only a little over twenty years left.