Stellar Lab Radio Episode 4 Guest：Nozomu Yachie
What kind of thinking and formative experiences lie behind the bold ambition to “record life”?
In Part II, we trace the origins of how Dr. Nozomu Yachie chose the path of a researcher and how he developed his current style of continuously crossing disciplinary boundaries.
From encounters with influential mentors to the impact of his father, and his deliberate stance of “not creating labels,” a consistent thread runs throughout his journey: the ability to see underlying structures and a deep respect for people.
We invite you to listen to Part II.
Listen from here (in Japanese)
Why He Became a Researcher Despite “Not Being Good at Studying”
Kokeguchi: Earlier, you mentioned that you weren’t good at studying or memorizing things. But becoming a researcher requires a lot of study, doesn’t it? I’d love to hear why you decided to become a researcher and how being “bad at studying” has affected you even after becoming one.
Yachie: When I say I’m not good at studying or that my memory is weak, it might sound like I’m just some fool doing research randomly. I should correct that impression.
What I’m actually very good at is framing things. I’m very good at saying, “So basically, this is what it comes down to,” and organizing ideas. I think I’m exceptionally good at that—better than most people.
Kokeguchi: Do you mean categorizing and structuring ideas when someone explains something?
Yachie: Yes. When very smart people talk in a complicated and messy way, I’m good at summarizing it sharply and saying, “But in essence, this is what you’re saying, right?” I think I’m very good at that.
On the flip side, when it comes to unexplored areas—things no one has really attempted—I’m also good at throwing out an idea like, “If we try something like this, something big could happen,” and letting everyone expand on it.
Kokeguchi: So you’re more of an organizer.
Yachie: Yes, I think so.
Kokeguchi: When did you realize that about yourself?
Yachie: I wouldn’t say I consciously realized it. I think I just happened to meet a professor during my undergraduate years who naturally trained me that way.
Kokeguchi: Your supervisor at the time?
Yachie: Yes. Professor Tomita at Keio University. I joined his lab in my first year as an undergraduate. He was incredibly good at that kind of thinking. He would constantly challenge students to debate. When we would mumble through messy arguments, he would cut through it and say, “So in essence, this is what you’re saying, right?” He was extremely intelligent.
Kokeguchi: Was that when you decided to become a researcher? Or was it earlier?
Yachie: Well, my father is a researcher, so the idea of becoming one was always somewhere in my mind.
Kokeguchi: Oh, really?
Yachie: Yes. But I didn’t know how to become one. My father is a medical doctor, and since I disliked studying, I thought there was no way I could go to graduate school. I ended up entering Keio’s Shonan Fujisawa Campus (SFC), which at least at the time allowed admission with just one math exam and an essay.
That’s how I got in. The essay prompt back then was something like “Discuss the future of mass media.” I proposed this strange device that would print newspapers at home on demand.
Kokeguchi: That’s quite ahead of its time.
Yachie: This was 20 or 25 years ago. I got in with just math and an essay. And then there was Professor Tomita.
To summarize briefly: he was originally a leading AI researcher who had taught at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh. Around the time the human genome—those 750 megabytes—was decoded, he shifted his lab at Keio from artificial intelligence to biology. Because the genome had been sequenced, he believed we were entering an era of decoding the blueprint of humanity.
Even though he was already an associate professor, he went to Keio’s medical school and earned another Ph.D. That makes no sense, right? I remember thinking, “What kind of adult does that?” I thought he was extraordinary. Since I was in his lab from my first year, I probably ended up the way I am now because of that environment.
Kokeguchi: So meeting Professor Tomita sort of installed your way of thinking?
Yachie: I think I’m quite different from him now. But when I was in his lab, I was probably very similar—even the way I spoke might have resembled his. I was deeply influenced by him. He was truly remarkable.
I think I can reveal this story now. At one of our lab retreats, we played a game called “Thirty-One.”
Kokeguchi: Not the ice cream—an actual game?
Yachie: So we played this game called “31.” The way it works is that two people go up on stage and take turns eliminating numbers from 1 to 31. You choose a number to eliminate—but you’re not allowed to eliminate the number your opponent just chose.
So let’s say I pick 15. My opponent can eliminate any number except 15. Then I have to eliminate a number that’s different from both 15 and whatever they picked. We alternate like that.
Professor Tomita said, “I’ll play against whoever wins among you students.” I was extremely focused and ended up winning among the students. So it became a showdown: me versus Tomita.
When we got on stage, he said, “Yachie, you’re probably going to eliminate numbers starting from 30 downward, right? You can go first.” I thought, Great—I get the first move. That’s an advantage.
So we kept eliminating numbers. We got all the way down to the 29th number. At the time he was around 45 years old—about my current age—and I remember thinking, This guy’s older, but he’s really sharp. I was using my brain at full speed. I wondered whether he could eliminate the very last number.
And he did.
The whole lab went wild—“Tomita did it!” It was a huge moment.
Later, I replayed the game in my head. If you write the numbers 1 through 30 on a board, you’ll see it. Whenever I eliminated the third number from the left, he eliminated the third number from the right.
Kokeguchi: So there was a pattern.
Yachie: Exactly. If I eliminated 1, he eliminated 30. If I eliminated 2, he eliminated 29. I’m explaining it in a simplified way now, but he had a more complex algorithm behind it.
I was completely being played.
Do you see what I mean?
Kokeguchi: He understood the rule.
Yachie: He created his own rule internally. And not only that—he created a rule that guaranteed his victory.
At the time, he was the dean of the Faculty of Environmental Information. He used to write a weekly blog called “The Dean’s Diary.” In it, he wrote about the retreat and mentioned how he had a great match with Yachie. Then he concluded by saying something like, “In a game that requires memory, I think it’s impressive that I defeated someone in his twenties.”
That was it.
Kokeguchi: He didn’t reveal the trick?
Yachie: No. That’s the point. He never said, “Actually, I used this algorithm.” Most people would want to be admired. They’d say, “Here’s how I outsmarted you.” But he never did. He just wrote that he won through memory.
That’s the kind of adult I grew up around.
Kokeguchi: And later you realized what had happened.
Yachie: Yes. I can’t even remember whether I figured it out myself or someone else in the lab noticed first. But once I understood it, I realized how remarkable he was.
He later became director of a research institute in Tsuruoka, Yamagata, in his early forties. He had extraordinary leadership and charisma. Truly an exceptional person.
Kokeguchi: I can see how that experience connects to what you’ve been saying about not confining yourself to labels or fixed domains.
Yachie: Absolutely. I think that mindset was completely formed there.
Kokeguchi: And he himself moved from AI to biology.
Yachie: Exactly. That influence is still very much alive in me.
“A Scientific Lens” — What I Learned from My Researcher Father
Kokeguchi: Your father was originally a medical doctor—was he also a researcher?
Yachie: Yes, he was.
Kokeguchi: What kind of research did he do?
Yachie: He’s a pediatrician. I’ve heard that he worked on pediatric immunology and hematology.
Kokeguchi: Is he retired now?
Yachie: I think he’s still active. If I’m not mistaken, he’s currently a vice president at Kanazawa University.
Kokeguchi: I see. Did you ever conduct research together?
Yachie: I wanted to, but in the end, we never did.
Kokeguchi: Do you think that might still happen someday?
Yachie: I don’t think so.
Kokeguchi: Do you see any way your own technologies could be used directly for children, for example?
Yachie: Mine?
Kokeguchi: Yes.
Yachie: No.
Kokeguchi: Not at the moment?
Yachie: Not directly. But I often say this—I want to create disruptive technologies and discoveries that make it into textbooks. Then future generations will study from those textbooks and build on them. So in that broader sense, I do think about children and future generations.
Kokeguchi: So in a wider sense.
Did having a father who was a researcher influence you? You must have observed him closely growing up.
Yachie: My father was a very interesting person. There are two things he said that I still remember.
Once, during dinner, we were talking about how babies are cute. And he said, “Why are babies cute?” Puppies, penguin chicks, wolf cubs—no matter the species, we find them cute.
Kokeguchi: That’s true.
Yachie: He asked, “Why do we find babies of completely different species cute?” I recently looked into it, remembering that conversation, and apparently we still don’t fully understand why. There are theories—roundness, large eyes, proportions—but scientifically, it’s not completely clear. That was one memory.
Another memory: when I was a child, I used to copy maps into my notebook. I’m from Ishikawa Prefecture, and I would place a map next to me and carefully redraw it on blank paper. I thought I had done a good job, so I showed it to my father.
Usually he was very kind, but this time he said, “This is terrible.”
Kokeguchi: Why?
Yachie: I thought it looked pretty good. But he said, “First, draw a grid over the map. Then draw the same grid on your blank page. Copy it square by square.”
When I did that, the result looked almost identical to the original. I still remember that.
I also remember when I came home from school and told him that, using only a compass and straightedge, it’s impossible to trisect an angle. That night, he stayed up trying to prove whether it was truly impossible. I was still in elementary school.
Kokeguchi: That must have had an influence on you.
Yachie: Yes, I think so.
People who know both of us often say that my father and I are very different.
Kokeguchi: In what way?
Yachie: Personality. My father is much more reserved.
Kokeguchi: So you’re not?
Yachie: (laughs) Recently, Professor Okano told me, “Your father is more of a gentleman.”
Kokeguchi: That’s funny.
The map example is fascinating. It sounds like he was teaching you not just to copy the whole picture vaguely, but to break it down into smaller parts to reproduce it accurately.
Yachie: Exactly. It’s basically an engineering technique.
Kokeguchi: To increase precision.
Yachie: Yes. When I look back, I realize I was very fortunate to be surrounded by remarkable adults.
To Go Beyond Labels: Respect Others and Learn to Love Them
Kokeguchi: Thank you. From what you’ve shared, it seems that since entering university, you’ve been surrounded by people who created breakthroughs and crossed disciplinary boundaries. Perhaps being around those kinds of adults gradually shaped who you are today.
At the same time, our world does run efficiently because of labels. Yet many people want to break free from outdated systems. Do you have any thoughts on how someone can survive—or even thrive—after stepping outside those labels?
Yachie: In research, especially when you’re young, you almost inevitably start within a label. Breaking out of that takes courage.
People might say, “Who are you to say this?” But I think what matters most is respecting others.
It’s hard to explain well. We all care about ourselves. I care about myself too. But if you can set that aside a little—if you can genuinely think, “That person is amazing”—and if everyone can see the greatness in others, putting aside their own pride… I think that’s a beautiful kind of society.
And in technology development, it’s absolutely essential.
Kokeguchi: How does that connect to people who can’t seem to break out? What’s different about them? How does respecting others help?
Yachie: If you believe you’re amazing, you build a world around that idea. And once you have that world, you may stop trying to connect with amazing people outside it—because, well, you’re already amazing.
That mindset constrains your movement.
I’m quite strict about this with my students. In my lab, since we focus on technology development, we sometimes have truly brilliant people. But strong talent often comes with strong personalities. Some of them project, “I’m great, right?” or “Praise me more.”
I don’t reward that. I tell them, “That’s not enough.” Sometimes it turns into a debate. I’m sure many students wonder why I don’t evaluate them more highly.
But the most important thing is to genuinely recognize that others are incredible—and to become a follower of someone great. That’s what expands your world the most.
Kokeguchi: So humility—and respect for others’ work.
Yachie: We all die eventually.
Kokeguchi: Yes.
Yachie: So within the limits of maintaining your health, maybe you don’t need to protect yourself so much.
Kokeguchi: That’s interesting. At first I thought the opposite—that people who value themselves highly are the ones who break out. In business, for example, disruptors often seem like rebellious individuals who care more about their own vision than respecting others.
But what you’re saying suggests the opposite could also be true.
Yachie: Take your leader, Professor Takebe. I think he’s extraordinary.
In Japanese culture—especially in a society that structures hierarchy around age—it’s not easy to genuinely admire someone younger than you. But he’s much younger than I am, and yet he’s one of Japan’s top scientists and a remarkable leader.
I sincerely admire him. I listen carefully to what he says.
Of course, I have pride in my own work, and I believe I have my own strengths. But believing in yourself while also loving and respecting others—that’s important.
Liking people matters.
Kokeguchi: Perhaps Japan’s seniority system sometimes gets in the way.
Yachie: Yes.
Kokeguchi: Overseas, for example, résumés often don’t even include age. Asking someone’s age in an interview can be inappropriate. In Japan, age and graduation year often define relationships from the start. It feels quite different.
Do you think overseas cultures are more inclined toward this respect-based mindset?
Yachie: In some ways, yes. Although people abroad can seem self-centered, they also show tremendous mutual respect.
Kokeguchi: Earlier, you mentioned how much respect students show for knowledge and technical skill. Is that your own way of building culture? Or something else?
Yachie: I’m not sure. Maybe it’s simply that my own abilities are limited—I have no choice but to rely on others.
Kokeguchi: That’s powerful. I personally tend to try to handle everything myself. Asking for help is difficult. Maybe I’m not good at recognizing my limits.
Yachie: I might not be good at it either. But when I say “rely on others,” I mean something simple. If you want to go skydiving, you hire an instructor. You can’t jump alone.
That’s the level I’m talking about.
Kokeguchi: When you put it that way, it sounds very simple.
Yachie: Reflect on that(laughs).
Kokeguchi: (laughs) I will. Thank you.
Loyalty to Where You Belong
Kokeguchi: We’ve talked about different types of researchers. Are there any shared traits among people who will truly survive—and especially among the kind of “stellar” individuals we value—those who will lead the next era?
Yachie: Do you mean researchers within the Stellar Science Foundation?
Kokeguchi: Not limited to that. More broadly, people who will thrive and lead in the future.
Yachie: Let me ask you instead, what do you think those traits are?
Kokeguchi: Based on what you’ve said so far, perhaps respecting others. But before that, maybe something about oneself…
Yachie: That’s still a bit abstract, isn’t it?
Kokeguchi: It is. I’m trying to break it down further.
Yachie: What do you think it comes down to?
This is actually my strategy—when I’m stuck with a question, I ask one back.
Kokeguchi: (laughs) I see.
Reflecting on my own experience: I moved from a large corporation to progressively smaller organizations, and eventually had the opportunity to help launch SS-F. Throughout that journey, I kept asking myself, “What is it that only I can do?” There was security in the large company, but I felt increasing discomfort. I realized it wasn’t a place where I could express what only I could contribute.
So perhaps two things guided me: believing that there must be something only I can do, and wanting to be useful. I kept searching for a place where I could live out those values.
Yachie: Wanting to be useful—that I completely agree with. But I’ve never thought, “I want to do something only I can do.”
I do aim to work on things that others aren’t yet doing. But I don’t believe in my own individual power at all.
What I value most is loyalty. Loyalty to the organization I belong to.
There are two reasons.
First, when you’re loyal to your organization, people like you—because you’re working for something larger than yourself.
Second, on a practical level, loyalty brings trust. Superiors support you. Opportunities come your way. I’ve been loyal to many people, and in return, many senior figures have helped me tremendously.
And there’s another reason: when you gather loyal colleagues, you can change the organization together.
For example, when I was at the University of Tokyo, I had a colleague, Sadao Ohta. Even now, when we have drinks together, we talk about what will happen to Japanese universities, how mindsets need to change. But changing everything at once is difficult.
I wish there were more people like that around us.
When I talk about loyalty, though, I worry it might sound like I’m telling my juniors, “Be loyal to me.” That’s not what I mean. I don’t want it to sound hierarchical. I simply try to practice loyalty myself.
Kokeguchi: What resonated with me just now is this: you’re conscious that you’re trying to do something no one else is doing—but you don’t see it as something you do alone.
Yachie: Exactly. Society is complex. Everyone has their own agendas. No matter how hard you fight like Don Quixote on your own, nothing moves.
So you need allies. You need dialogue.
But scientists and professors are incredibly busy. They rarely have the time to fully engage in those discussions.
And that’s something I often struggle with.
What Should Japan Do About Science Policy?
Kokeguchi: We’ve been working together since the launch of SS-F, and you’ve always had strong views about research communities and policy. When we first shared our vision for the organization, you were one of the first to give us feedback.
Science policy in Japan keeps evolving, but if you had to choose—what should the country change first?
Yachie: This may sound unrelated to what we were discussing, but first of all, Japan should abolish mandatory retirement for researchers.
And researchers’ salaries should probably be tripled.
Kokeguchi: Abolish retirement—and triple salaries?
Yachie: Yes.
Kokeguchi: Is that more of a North American model?
Yachie: In Canada, where I am now, there’s no mandatory retirement. As long as you’re healthy and continue to win grants, you can stay at the university.
Of course, that system has downsides. It can slow generational turnover and reduce available positions for younger scholars.
But in Japan, we’re facing a declining birthrate. The number of people entering academia is shrinking. Meanwhile, healthy life expectancy is increasing. And just when some researchers are reaching the peak of their intellectual maturity—when their life’s work is about to culminate—we abruptly force them to retire.
It doesn’t make sense to me.
Kokeguchi: So instead, we should allow people to continue as long as they’re capable.
Yachie: Some argue that if senior researchers stay longer, young people won’t have opportunities.
But I don’t think that’s true.
Yes, someone in their 60s may have less physical stamina. But they also carry accumulated knowledge and political capital. And they don’t necessarily have the same fresh brainpower or raw energy as younger researchers.
So I don’t think it’s unfair for younger scholars to compete with seasoned ones. If young researchers can’t compete just because older professors remain active, perhaps they need to reconsider their approach.
I want senior scholars to say, “I won’t lose to the younger generation.” And I want young scholars to genuinely try to surpass giants like Professor Honjo.
That kind of intensity is healthy.
Kokeguchi: And about tripling salaries—do you see a practical path to making that happen?
Yachie: Before ideas, there’s a mindset issue. In Japan, university professors are seen almost like quasi-civil servants. There’s this social expectation of seihin—to be “pure and poor.”
But Japan is a resource-poor country. Our strength is science and technology. New knowledge and innovation are economic drivers. So why don’t we pay these people properly?
University faculty sustain higher education. If universities collapse, so does the economy.
And I also want young people to see professors earning like professional athletes—and think, “That’s a profession I aspire to.”
From the scale of Japan’s science and technology budget, it should be possible. Reduce research funds slightly and allocate more to personnel costs. Improve professors’ living standards so they can think more flexibly and creatively.
Kokeguchi: Is that actually feasible?
Yachie: Technically, yes. I’ve heard that even now, national universities could legally triple salaries. It’s not that the Ministry of Education mandates fixed pay. But if only some professors received triple salaries, people would complain. So socially, it’s complicated.
One idea is this: imagine SS-F becomes very wealthy and announces that it will heavily fund a specific department within a university. “We’ve invested billions.” That gives a rationale for significantly elevating compensation within that unit—creating a branded center of excellence.
That benefits the university. It benefits the researchers. And it benefits children who see those researchers thriving.
There must be ways to pilot this.
Kokeguchi: So perhaps the obstacle is the idea that everyone must be treated identically.
Yachie: Eventually, yes—everyone’s salary should rise. But someone has to act as a primer. Someone has to start the process so others can follow.
I’m not advocating concentrating resources permanently in one place. I’m saying someone must demonstrate that it works.
Kokeguchi: Do you feel that society values researchers differently in Japan compared to overseas?
Yachie: Not really. If you tell a taxi driver in Japan or Canada that you’re a professor, they’ll say, “Wow, you must be smart.” That’s about the extent of it.
Kokeguchi: So no major difference in appreciation?
Yachie: Not significantly.
Kokeguchi: From SS-F’s position as a private foundation, what can we uniquely contribute?
Yachie: What’s powerful about SS-F is the network you’ve built. It’s not just financial support—you’re building a horizontal community among researchers. The foundation and the researchers are connected laterally.
That’s largely because of Takebe—and all of you. Many people initially gathered because Takebe was involved, myself included.
That’s valuable.
If motivated, SS-F could mobilize this network. Of course, funding is essential—you’ll need money. But when the time comes, you already have the platform to create leverage.
Is AI an Enemy That Will Take Human Jobs?
Kokeguchi: It sounds like research networks and communities are a major key. Thank you.
As a final question—assuming you’ll continue researching without retirement for quite some time—
Yachie: That’s not necessarily true. I don’t have that long left.
Kokeguchi: Oh? Well, as long as possible, then.
As AI continues to evolve—and robots may even begin conducting research—what do you think will remain uniquely human? What kind of work will only humans be able to do?
Yachie: What do you mean? That AI will take our jobs?
Kokeguchi: There’s speculation that it might.
Yachie: I’m not so sure. I wonder.
Kokeguchi: For example, AI-driven research itself is accelerating. You shared a paper recently—it feels like momentum is building.
Yachie: If that happens, wouldn’t it simply expand what humans can do?
Kokeguchi: Expand?
Yachie: Think about bookkeeping certifications in the past. Or the abacus. Once calculators appeared—and later the internet—people like me, who don’t have strong long-term memory, could rely on external systems like Google.
That’s human capability being extended.
When Excel emerged, maybe people who had built careers around abacus skills lost certain roles. But today’s young people don’t think, “I need to master the abacus to get a job.” They move in different directions.
I’d like to believe that no matter how intelligent AI becomes, humans retain that flexibility. And honestly, no one can prove that we don’t.
Kokeguchi: So it’s not a zero-sum game. As AI gains capabilities, humans will discover new ones.
Yachie: Exactly.
And about humanoid robots—those AI-powered machines with large language models as their “brains”—I don’t think they’ll replace primary industries at scale.
Kokeguchi: Why not?
Yachie: Because Earth has limited resources.
I may be oversimplifying here—if someone listening thinks I’m wrong, feel free to email me—but rare metals are finite. Iron is finite. Energy is finite.
We can’t realistically build billions of powerful robots equivalent to the human population. The materials and energy required would be enormous.
Kokeguchi: So there’s a physical limit.
Yachie: Exactly. Everything happens within the closed system of Earth.
Unless, perhaps, we invent bio-hybrid systems—like organoid-based structures. Feed them, and they operate. Like the later Terminator films where machines become partially biological.
Maybe something like that is possible. But we don’t know yet.
Kokeguchi: That raises another question. In biological terms, are we also in a zero-sum system? If the atoms that compose our cells are limited, does that mean there’s a ceiling to how much life can exist?
Yachie: Absolutely.
I actually talk about this in my molecular biology lectures at UBC. Under ideal nutrient-rich conditions, E. coli can double every 30 minutes. If it kept doubling, theoretically, after a certain number of hours, its mass would equal the mass of the Earth.
Kokeguchi: Really?
Yachie: Yes. But of course it doesn’t happen—because nutrients are limited. Just like food resources limit human populations.
So yes, there are limits.
Kokeguchi: So robots, too, would eventually hit constraints.
Yachie: Everything does. Nothing escapes the boundaries of this closed system.
Kokeguchi: That’s fascinating.
And yet, even as technology advances—smartphones, TikTok—rather than becoming idle, we seem busier than ever.
Yachie: Exactly. Even if AI replaces certain tasks, the number of things we can do will probably increase.
The Landscape Yachie Hopes to See
Kokeguchi: Thank you. For my final question—looking ahead to the rest of your research life, is there a particular vision, a landscape you hope to see before the end? Something that doesn’t yet exist?
Yachie: I want to see DNA event recording completed before I die.
Kokeguchi: A fully realized platform?
Yachie: Yes. I want to see it packaged properly—and actually being used all over the world. I’d like to witness researchers everywhere applying it in their labs.
Only then would I feel ready.
Kokeguchi: So seeing it adopted globally—across laboratories—leading to entirely new insights. Perhaps even enabling us to trace back the origins of diseases or genetic conditions, and eventually treat them.
Yachie: Exactly.
Kokeguchi: We would love to see that future with you.
Yachie: Let’s see it together. Let’s keep working.
Kokeguchi: Thank you very much.
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