In the shadow of Japan's hard-won reckoning with karoshi, a quiet counter-movement is taking shape among some Gen-Z workers who are voluntarily stepping back into the crucible of high-pressure corporate culture. At firms like Global Partners in Tokyo, young employees are seeking out public scolding, predawn rallies, and relentless intensity — not as punishment, but as a path to growth. Their choice sits in uneasy tension with the 2015 Dentsu tragedy that forced a nation to name its wound, raising an enduring question: can a generation choose the fire without inheriting the burn?
Gen-Z workers in Japan embrace corporate machismo, rejecting 'soft' workplace culture
The 2015 suicide of a 24-year-old Dentsu employee from overwork highlighted the human toll of intense corporate culture that some Gen-Z workers now paradoxically seek to revive.
Holding back is evil
Mark
Why would young people deliberately seek out harsh workplaces when their parents' generation fought so hard to escape them?
Mimi
Because they're watching their peers mentally disengage. Half of workers in their 20s and 30s say they're checked out. Some of these Gen-Z workers see that as worse than being pushed hard—at least intensity feels like growth.
Mark
But doesn't Japan already know where that path leads? A young person died from overwork at Dentsu in 2015.
Mimi
Yes, and that's the tension. The founder of Global Partners acknowledges that overwork and mental health damage should be left behind. But he also believes the pendulum swung too far toward caution and political correctness, and that something vital got lost.
Mark
What's the appeal of being publicly scolded as a motivational tool?
Mimi
For some of these workers, it signals that someone cares enough to correct them. An environment where no one ever challenges you feels abandoning. They're interpreting harshness as investment in their development.
Mark
Is this actually a widespread movement, or just a handful of people at one company?
Mimi
It's a small cohort. But Global Partners has become an internet sensation, and they're attracting young hires specifically because of their intense culture. It's a signal that some Gen-Z workers are hungry for something different than what the last two decades offered.
Mark
What does the founder actually want to restore?
Mimi
He wants the sense of collective purpose and sacrifice that powered Japan's post-war economic boom. But he's caught between nostalgia and reality—he knows the old system broke people, yet he believes the new softness is breaking something else: ambition, grit, the willingness to push yourself.
The Pulse
- A cohort of Gen-Z workers in Japan is actively rejecting the softer workplace culture their predecessors fought to build, seeking out firms that use public correction and high-pressure rituals as tools for personal development.
- The trend cuts against decades of reform sparked by the 2015 death of a 24-year-old Dentsu employee from overwork — a tragedy that made karoshi a national reckoning and reshaped corporate policy across Japan.
- Social media has responded with alarm, labeling firms like Global Partners cult-like and sadistic, while the workers themselves insist the intensity is a form of care that disengaged, frictionless workplaces cannot offer.
- A 2023 survey reveals the deeper fracture: half of Japanese workers in their 20s and 30s report mental disengagement, suggesting that both extremes — crushing pressure and hollow softness — are failing the same generation.
- The movement's own founder admits the contradiction, calling for a return to 90 percent of the Showa-era ethos while acknowledging that its darkest costs must stay buried — a calculation that remains unproven and deeply contested.
In the shadow of Japan's hard-won reckoning with karoshi, a quiet counter-movement is taking shape among some Gen-Z workers who are voluntarily stepping back into the crucible of high-pressure corporate culture. At firms like Global Partners in Tokyo, young employees are seeking out public scolding, predawn rallies, and relentless intensity — not as punishment, but as a path to growth. Their choice sits in uneasy tension with the 2015 Dentsu tragedy that forced a nation to name its wound, raising an enduring question: can a generation choose the fire without inheriting the burn?
On a Tokyo morning, young employees at Global Partners press together in a circle, swaying and shouting motivational mantras in unison — a scene that feels lifted from Japan's post-war economic boom. That is precisely the point. This small business support firm has become an unlikely emblem of generational revolt: Gen-Z workers deliberately choosing the workplace intensity that Japan spent decades trying to dismantle.
For much of the twentieth century, Japanese corporate life demanded total devotion — late nights, company loyalty above all else, and a culture of shared sacrifice. Then came the 2015 death of a 24-year-old Dentsu employee from overwork, a tragedy so stark it forced the country to confront karoshi — death by work itself. Mental health entered the corporate conversation. Managers were trained to be gentler. The old machismo was meant to be history.
At Global Partners, some young workers have decided that gentleness is the problem. Kotaro Kawabata, 26, joined because he wanted to be toughened. He welcomes harsh correction and decorates his desk with motivational notes. Asuka Obri Okabe, 28, describes public scoldings as a form of love — what frightened her was an environment where no one noticed her mistakes at all.
Theirs is a minority view. Surveys show half of Japanese workers in their 20s and 30s are mentally disengaged, and most middle managers scold subordinates only a handful of times a year. Japan's workforce is aging and its economy needs broad participation — the old model is widely understood to be broken.
Yet Global Partners' 54-year-old founder, Koji Yamamoto, sees the cultural softening as a catastrophe, blaming what he calls Japan's adoption of Western 'woke values' for producing workers too cautious to even encourage one another. His company's internal motto — 'holding back is evil' — is a direct rebuke of quiet disengagement. He wants to revive the communal intensity of the post-war miracle years.
Even Yamamoto, though, acknowledges the contradiction. He calls for returning ninety percent of the way to the Showa era while leaving its worst excesses behind. Whether that arithmetic holds — whether a generation can choose the fire without inheriting the cost — is the question Japan has not yet answered.
On a Tokyo morning, a cluster of young employees pressed shoulder to shoulder, their voices rising in unison—"Hell yeah!"—a sound that belonged to another era of Japanese capitalism. This was Global Partners, a business support firm that has become an unlikely symbol of generational rebellion: Gen-Z workers deliberately seeking the very workplace intensity that Japan spent decades trying to escape.
For decades, Japan's corporate world was synonymous with total devotion. Men in dark suits stayed at their desks until midnight. The company was family. Work was life. Then came the reckoning. In 2015, a 24-year-old employee at advertising giant Dentsu died from overwork—a death so emblematic of systemic exhaustion that it forced the nation to confront "karoshi," the term for death by work itself. The country began to shift. Mental health became a conversation. Work-life balance became policy. Managers were trained to be gentler. The old machismo was supposed to be history.
But at Global Partners, a small cohort of young workers has decided that softness is the problem, not the solution. Every morning, employees gather in a circle, sway rhythmically, and shout rapid-fire mantras—"build up sales!"—their voices raw from the intensity. Someone is randomly selected to deliver a motivational speech to the group, a test of nerve. The company uploads videos of these rallies online, along with footage of workers being publicly scolded. Social media users called it cult-like. Sadistic. The workers themselves called it growth.
Kotaro Kawabata, 26, is one of them. He joined because he wanted to be toughened up. "Here, it's like 'boom' right off the bat," he told reporters. "Everyone is like 'All right, let's all get to work!' I absolutely love it." His desk is decorated with motivational Post-it notes. He welcomes being corrected harshly. "They're strict with me and they even get mad at me for the sake of my development," he said. Asuka Obri Okabe, 28, echoed the sentiment: she treats scoldings as "a form of love." What frightened her was the opposite—an environment where no one corrected her, where she might drift in the wrong direction unnoticed.
This is not the majority view. A 2023 survey found that 64 percent of middle managers in Japan scold their subordinates only a few times a year. A recent job-matching survey showed that half of workers in their 20s and 30s report being mentally disengaged from their jobs. Japan's workforce is aging, its economy needs diverse talent, and many young people simply do not want to sacrifice their lives to a company. The old model is broken.
Yet Koji Yamamoto, Global Partners' 54-year-old founder and CEO, sees the softening as a catastrophe. He blames what he calls Japan's embrace of Western "woke values" beginning around 2000—political correctness, cancel culture, the fear of saying anything that might offend. "Workers today are left too afraid to even say 'do your best' to each other or to shake hands for fear of being accused of harassment," he said. His company's internal motto is blunt: "Holding back is evil." If you stay silent to avoid conflict, you end up quietly quitting—mentally checked out, going through the motions. Yamamoto wants to resurrect the "gung-ho sports-team atmosphere" of Japan's post-war economic miracle, when companies functioned as tight-knit communities bound by shared sacrifice.
Yet even Yamamoto acknowledges the contradiction. He is nostalgic for the Showa era, which lasted until 1989, but he concedes that some of its aspects—the debilitating overwork, the disregard for mental health—should remain in the past. Global Partners itself is modern in unexpected ways: it has an international, gender-balanced workforce mostly in their 20s. Employees wear shorts, sandals, dyed hair. Paid leave usage is relatively high. "That's why I say we should go back 90 percent to the Showa era, and keep 10 percent as it is now," Yamamoto said. The question is whether that math is possible—whether you can resurrect the intensity without resurrecting the cost, whether young workers seeking toughness understand what they are asking for, and whether a nation that learned the price of karoshi can afford to forget it.
Notable Quotes
They're strict with me and they even get mad at me for the sake of my development— Kotaro Kawabata, 26-year-old Global Partners employee
What's truly scary is an environment where I'm never corrected, and left to move forward in the wrong direction— Asuka Obri Okabe, 28-year-old Global Partners employee
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War & Conflict