Zaboru sighed deeply after returning from Aldrich's house. The emotional weight of the visit was still heavy on his shoulders. Today, he decided not to go back to his office—he needed time, not for work, but for peace. More than anything, he needed comfort. He needed to be surrounded by the people who mattered most in his life. And so, instead of heading to the ZAGE Campus, Zaboru returned to his private residence in the United States, where his mother, his wife Ayumi, and his young son Zenshin were waiting for him—his heart, his anchor, and his reason for moving forward.
Zaboru came home quietly, his footsteps heavy and his expression distant. As he stepped into the house, Ayumi greeted him with her usual warmth, but she immediately sensed something was off.
"Zabo... what's wrong?" she asked gently, her eyes filled with concern.
Zaboru forced an awkward smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well... something happened, Ayumi," he said, his voice low and tired.
She nodded and guided him to the living room where they could talk in peace. Zenshin, their young son, was in another room playing with Zaboru's mother. The quiet gave them space to speak face-to-face, heart-to-heart.
Zaboru began to recount the day. He told her everything: the meeting with Aldrich, the joy on the boy's face, the crushing sadness he felt watching such a bright, innocent soul suffer from cancer. His voice shook as he repeated Aldrich's words—how the boy had pleaded to keep living, to play more games, to experience ZAGE's future.
"I want to ask your brother," Zaboru said, looking down. "Akechi-san might know. There's this rumor I've heard… that governments or corporations might be delaying or suppressing cures. I need to know if there's any truth to it."
Ayumi squeezed his hand gently. "I don't know anything about that, but if anyone does, it's Nii-sama. You should ask him directly," she said. Then her voice softened. "But Zabo... I want you to know you already gave Aldrich something precious. You gave him happiness, a memory he'll hold onto for however long he has. That matters. That's something no medicine could've done."
Hearing those words, Zaboru broke down. He leaned into Ayumi's arms and cried—truly cried. The weight of it all was too much. Not just Aldrich's plea, but everything he'd been holding in.
And the worst part? With his Deep Memory Dive ability, he would never forget it. The scene would replay in his mind forever, just like the memory of the Kobe earthquake. He had been there, too—he had seen a young boy crushed beneath the rubble, lifeless, still holding a ZAGE Game Boy in his hands. That image had stayed with him ever since. Now, it was joined by Aldrich's voice and tearful eyes.
Ayumi held him without saying a word, letting him release the sorrow. In her embrace, Zaboru found just enough strength to keep going—and the determination to take action.
Then today, Zaboru made the decision to come home early to Japan, even though he had originally planned to return the following day. Something inside him refused to wait—an ache, a mental weight, a question that wouldn't stop echoing. It pressed against him with every breath, and he knew that he needed to speak with Akechi as soon as possible to calm his spiraling thoughts. So he quickly arranged for an earlier flight and brought his family along with him, wanting to stay close to them but also needing clarity only Akechi could offer.
The plane touched down in Tokyo just after dusk. The wind was cold, a crisp November chill hanging in the air. As they reached the family home, Zaboru briefly checked in on Ayumi and Zenshin before slipping away for a late-night meeting. He didn't tell them much—just that he needed a walk, a quiet place to think, and a friend to talk to.
That Monday night, November 10th, 1998, Zaboru waited in a quiet neighborhood park, not far from their house. The park was nearly empty, lit only by dim street lamps and surrounded by gently swaying trees. He sat alone on a bench under one of those trees, watching the leaves scatter in the wind. His mind was heavy with memory, with guilt, with that familiar ache of powerlessness.
Before long, Akechi arrived. He wore a long coat and scarf, his steps silent as he approached. Zaboru didn't turn at first. He stayed seated, staring up at the tree branches above, lost in thought.
Akechi eventually spoke, his voice calm but carrying that directness Zaboru always respected. "So… Zaboru. What happened?"
Zaboru jolted slightly, as though pulled from a dream. He turned toward his old friend and saw that familiar poker face—stoic, unreadable. But it grounded him, gave him the space he needed.
And finally, Zaboru began to talk.
"Sorry to bother you, Akechi-san, but there's something I really need to ask you."
Akechi raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised by Zaboru's tone, but he gave a small nod and calmly lit a cigar. The orange glow briefly illuminated his expressionless face.
"Alright. I'm listening," he said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
Zaboru took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Well... first of all, I met someone recently. Someone who left a deep mark on me. It was a child—a young boy—diagnosed with terminal cancer. And not just any child. He was a huge fan of ZAGE. A huge fan of mine."
He paused, his voice cracking slightly. "It broke my heart, Akechi. I keep thinking... why? Why do innocent souls like that have to suffer? Why does something as cruel as cancer have to take people who barely had a chance to live?"
He ran a hand down his face, trying to compose himself. "I've seen a lot of things, but that hit me harder than I expected. That boy told me he wanted to keep living just to play our games. Can you imagine that? His biggest wish wasn't money or fame—it was just to have more time, to keep doing what he loved."
Akechi remained quiet, offering no verbal reaction. The only sound was the soft sizzle of the burning cigar. But even in his silence, Zaboru could tell he was paying close attention.
"And so," Zaboru continued, "it made me think. I've heard rumors—whispers in certain circles—that cancer might already be curable, but the cures are being suppressed or deliberately delayed. That somewhere, somehow, governments or pharmaceutical giants are deciding who gets to live and who doesn't. I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory—something people say when they feel powerless—but after what I saw with that child… I couldn't just brush it off. I had to ask. I need to know: could there be any truth to it?"
His eyes locked on Akechi with unwavering seriousness.
"You've worked in high and dark places, Akechi-san. As one of Hamazou's Family Yakuza top operatives, you've stood closer to government offices, underground syndicates, and private medical circles than most people ever will. So I'm asking you honestly—man to man. Is there any truth to those rumors? Or is it just a myth people tell themselves to justify how cruel this world can be?"
Akechi inhaled his cigar slowly, the tip glowing faintly in the dim light as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "Cancer, huh? Heavy stuff," he said after a moment. "Well, Zaboru, cancer is a specific and complex field. It's something Japanese medical research has been actively investigating for decades. As far as I know, here in Japan, there's no way the government would hold back a cure—if one truly existed."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "And I'll tell you why. The wife of a former Japanese minister—someone with enormous political power—died from cancer. If even someone in that position couldn't be saved, then you can bet every resource available has been going into research, not cover-ups."
Akechi leaned forward a bit, his voice firm. "So at least here in Japan, the research is not stagnant. It's not being blocked. I've seen with my own eyes how much effort is poured into cancer treatment and study. There are entire labs and hospitals dedicated to nothing else. As for the rumors you've heard… I don't know where they came from, and I can't speak for what other countries might be doing, but here? Those conspiracies don't hold water—not from what I've seen."
He flicked some ash off his cigar. "I understand why you'd ask, especially after what you just experienced. But rest assured, at least in this country, cancer research is moving forward as best it can."
Zaboru felt a small weight lift from his chest upon hearing Akechi's reassurance, and after a moment of silence, he asked, "Do you know if Japan has the best tools or facilities to treat cancer, Akechi-san?"
Akechi shook his head slowly, puffing gently on his cigar. "Sorry, I can't say for sure. I don't know the exact technical details or rankings, but honestly, in terms of medical infrastructure and research, Japan is definitely among the world leaders. Our hospitals are top-tier, and our doctors are well-trained. So, logically, our cancer treatment options must be excellent. But to what extent compared to countries like the U.S., Germany, or Switzerland—I can't say definitively."
Zaboru nodded thoughtfully, appreciating the honesty. There was still some uncertainty, but hearing that Japan was advanced in this area gave him hope. Then Akechi let out a low chuckle, breaking the tension.
"Maybe it's fate, Zaboru," Akechi said with a faint smile. "That boy crossing paths with you. Maybe it wasn't just coincidence. How about this—why not bring him to Japan for treatment? It couldn't hurt, right? And besides, I'm sure the boy would love to visit Japan. He's a ZAGE fan after all. It might be like a dream come true for him, even beyond the medical treatment."
Zaboru's eyes lit up at the suggestion. The idea had clearly struck a chord with him. "I… I'll try to ask his parents when I go back to the U.S. I think… he'd be so happy to see ZAGE Tower, to walk around Tokyo. Maybe it'll lift his spirits too. And if he can get better treatment here, then… then I'll do everything I can to make it happen."
Akechi smiled faintly, his gaze softening. "You're such a good guy, Zaboru… You get restless because of someone else's pain," he said quietly, taking a long drag from his cigar. The smoke curled up into the night air. "That's something I'll probably never experience myself. I guess that's the difference between people like you and people like me."
He chuckled, flicking ash from the tip of his cigar, then leaned slightly toward Zaboru. "Let me throw you an idea. How about you create a charity—something global, something real—for cancer patients around the world? You've got influence, power, money. Work together with the Japanese government, maybe even other governments if you can, and help fund it properly. Use your name, your company—call it something like the ZAGE Foundation. Make it so that cancer patients, especially children, get easier access to treatment and more affordable care."
He looked Zaboru in the eyes. "I can help you connect with the right people. Politicians, donors, doctors. We'll set it up right. That way, even if you can't fix everything, you'll still have done something. You'll be easing the weight in your heart. You'll be helping the world, even if the guilt you carry wasn't your fault to begin with."
Akechi chuckled again and gently patted Zaboru on the shoulder. "You might be called the God of Video Games, Zaboru—but you're still human. You can't control everything. No matter how smart you are, how rich you become, how visionary your ideas get… some things are just beyond our reach. Cancer is one of those things. No one person can control it. But even so, if it helps ease your pain, then do it. Make the foundation. Give it everything you've got."
Zaboru's eyes lit up with a spark of renewed purpose. "I… I want that, Akechi-san," he said with quiet determination. "I want to create a charity foundation for cancer patients. No—more than that. I want to work toward making a wide range of essential medicines affordable for everyone, regardless of where they live or how much money they have. It's not just about cancer. It's about access, dignity, hope."
Akechi sighed, folding his arms as he leaned back slightly. "That's a noble goal, Zaboru," he said with a mix of admiration and caution. "But it's not going to be easy. Cancer alone is already a monumental challenge. If you start adding other medications into the mix, you'll be dealing with layers of complexity—regulations, pharmaceutical lobbies, funding, logistics. The medical world needs money to operate, too. That's why the prices are high—not because people are heartless, but because it's a system that feeds itself. I know it sounds cruel, but it's the reality we live in."
He paused and added more gently, "Besides, here in Japan, the government already offers free healthcare to a certain degree. Universal access is in place. So if you want to make a real impact, at least for now, focus your energy on one target. Focus on cancer first. Start there, build credibility, gather support, and then expand when the time is right."
Zaboru nodded slowly, taking in every word. He understood the wisdom in Akechi's advice, even if his heart wanted to do more right away. Still, he had to be realistic—building something meaningful required a foundation, not just passion. He stood up, his expression more centered than it had been all night.
"Thank you, Akechi-san," he said sincerely.
Akechi chuckled, standing as well. "Anytime. Just don't forget to sleep once in a while."
Then Akechi suddenly grabbed Zaboru's shoulder firmly—harder than usual, his grip filled with the weight of both frustration and concern. His voice, usually calm and measured, rose with intensity.
"Listen closely, Zaboru. You're not just some guy anymore. You're my sister's husband. You're the father of my nephew. That means something. That carries weight. Don't you dare neglect them—not emotionally, not mentally. I don't care how heavy your heart feels. You don't get to sink into sadness around them. They need you to be present. They need your strength."
Zaboru blinked, taken aback by the sudden seriousness in Akechi's voice. Akechi wasn't one for open sentiment, and when he did speak like this, it meant something.
Akechi continued, his grip not letting go. "You want to help the world? Fine. You want to build foundations and save lives? Great. But don't forget what's right in front of you. Prioritize what's closest to you first—your wife, your son , your family. Before you take care of the world, take care of them. You hear me? They're your world too."
Zaboru's heart pounded. The words hit deep, not as scolding, but as truth. He met Akechi's gaze and nodded, this time with genuine resolve burning in his eyes.
"I will, Akechi-san," he said with determination. "I promise."
They parted ways under the cold November sky, the park now silent but for the rustling of dry leaves tumbling across the path. As Zaboru walked away, hands tucked into his coat pockets, the weight in his chest eased—not entirely, but enough. For the first time in days, the fog in his mind began to lift. He had a path now, a vision forged not just from sorrow, but from purpose.
The ZAGE Foundation would happen—he would make it real. With the backing of the government, Akechi's connections, and the power of ZAGE's global presence, he would push forward to help those in need. It wouldn't be easy. It wouldn't be fast. But it would be built to last. For Aldrich. For the countless other children like him. For the future.
It would take time. Careful planning. Smart partnerships. Strategic patience. And a heart strong enough to carry others when they couldn't walk on their own.
And Zaboru—flawed, brilliant, relentless—had learned through failure and fire that the right moment to strike wasn't when emotion ran high, but when vision met readiness. And this time, he would be ready.
To be continue
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