Saturday 7 December 1998.
ZAGE Tower Japan.
A week had passed since Zaboru's unforgettable appearance on the Sasuke live show, and the impact was still being felt across the country. Invitations from Japanese television networks poured in relentlessly—variety shows, talk shows, sports programs, even late‑night specials all wanted a piece of him. Producers called, managers sent formal letters, and some networks even tried personal connections just to get his attention. But Zaboru? He rejected them all, or simply ignored them without hesitation.
It wasn't arrogance, nor was it disdain for television. Zaboru was simply busy—genuinely busy. His days were filled with work at ZAGE, overseeing projects, reviewing builds, and steering the industry forward. When he wasn't working, he chose to spend his time with his family, enjoying the quiet moments that fame could never replace. And in the small pockets of free time he carved out for himself, he did what he loved most: playing video games.
Right now, Zaboru was deeply invested in playing and experiencing games submitted by third‑party developers for ZEPS 3. There were many of them—far more than he had anticipated—and he took personal enjoyment in seeing how developers were pushing the platform in new directions. For him, that was far more satisfying than sitting under studio lights answering the same questions again and again.
Zaboru leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin forming on his face. He was currently on the 51st floor of ZAGE Tower—his personal workspace and sanctuary. This floor housed his private gaming room, a space few people were ever allowed to enter. The room was filled wall‑to‑wall with consoles and shelves of video games, spanning every generation inside or outside ZAGE. This wasn't just a collection—it was a living archive of the industry he helped build, and Zaboru genuinely loved spending time here
Just moments ago, he had finished playing a game that had released only last week: Kurok: Morpher, developed by a small studio in the United States. It was the developer's very first title, and their name—BEAST—had been unfamiliar to him before. Yet to his pleasant surprise, the game was genuinely good. Not just "good for a first attempt," but solid in design, ambition, and execution.
Zaboru immediately recognized the inspirations behind it. The core transformation mechanics clearly drew from ZAGE's Bloody Roar power system and the ZOAN Devil Fruit concepts from ZAGE's One Piece. The protagonist, Kurok, was a soldier subjected to extreme experimentation, injected with the DNA of various animals. This allowed him to partially transform into hybrid forms—Lion‑Human, Rhino‑Human, Ape‑Human—each with distinct combat styles and abilities.
What impressed Zaboru most was how well these transformations were integrated into gameplay. Kurok: Morpher wasn't just a 3D action game; it blended combat, light puzzles, and environmental interaction smoothly, while also presenting a darker, more brutal narrative tone filled with violence and gore. Despite the grim atmosphere, the game never felt edgy for the sake of it—it felt intentional. Zaboru couldn't help but think that the concept shared similarities with Ben 10, in his previous life because it need to morph to specific form to solve the Puzzle.
Games like this were becoming increasingly common. Many developers were now gravitating toward 3D action titles as they explored the full capabilities of ZEPS 3. The platform made experimentation easier than ever, largely thanks to ZAGE's decision to openly provide powerful tools and a robust engine to third‑party developers. Watching studios like BEAST take those tools and turn them into something genuinely creative filled Zaboru with quiet pride.
ZAGE was well known across the industry, and Zaboru himself was especially famous for never being stingy with ideas or inspiration. He openly stated—again and again—that it was perfectly fine for developers to reference ZAGE games, borrow concepts, or build upon familiar mechanics, as long as they brought something interesting to the table. What mattered most to him was whether a game could genuinely excite him enough to want to play it. This mindset delighted third‑party developers, many of whom felt encouraged rather than restricted when developing for ZEPS platforms.
From a business standpoint, ZAGE's policies were equally developer‑friendly. The company charged only a low registration fee to third‑party studios, followed by a modest revenue cut of around five percent per game sold. For many developers, this made them want to experiment more and release more games which are good things.
However, this openness did not mean ZAGE was lenient in all areas. On the contrary, ZAGE's Quality Control team was infamous for its strictness. They didn't care about gameplay style, art direction, genre, or story choices—ZAGE understood that creativity was subjective and varied wildly from player to player. What they cared about, without compromise, was technical stability. Bugs were intolerable. If critical issues were found, the game was immediately rejected and sent back to the developer for fixes before resubmission. To ZAGE, a game had to be polished and functional above all else. Creativity was free—but quality was non‑negotiable.
Zaboru chuckled softly as he scrolled through and sampled the video game titles released from last month up until today. He could immediately tell the differences in ambition—some games were genuinely great, some were clearly trying to be unique and experimental, while others chose to play it safe, following proven formulas without taking too many risks. None of this surprised him. This kind of variety was a natural sign of a healthy and growing industry.
One title in particular caught his attention: Break‑Out, developed by J‑Group in the United States. Zaboru couldn't help but laugh as he played it. The game was, without question, heavily inspired—almost cloned—from Resident Evil. The camera angles, the atmosphere, even the pacing were unmistakable. However, J‑Group had added a noticeably stronger focus on action, pushing combat forward more aggressively than survival horror tension.
The result wasn't bad at all. In fact, the game was fairly solid in execution. Still, the references to Resident Evil were so strong that anyone familiar with the genre would notice immediately. Zaboru merely chuckled at the resemblance and shrugged it off. He didn't mind. Things like this were common in every creative industry. Inspiration, imitation, and iteration were all part of the process—as long as developers kept learning and improving.
Then there was another title that caught Zaboru's attention, this time from Fuji‑Dan, a veteran developer that had been around since the ZEPS 1 era. Fuji‑Dan had long specialized in car games, with most of their catalog focused on racing titles, and over the years they had built a quiet but loyal fanbase. This time, however, they had truly stepped up their game.
Their latest release, NASCAR – Japan, was a full‑fledged stock‑car racing experience inspired heavily by real NASCAR rules and presentation. Unlike some of their earlier efforts, this one felt polished, confident, and technically impressive. Zaboru was particularly struck by the visuals—the car models, lighting, and track detail were genuinely impressive, in some areas even rivaling ZAGE's own racing titles.
That said, the game was clearly chasing a very different philosophy compared to ZAGE's NASCAR Rumble. While NASCAR – Japan aimed for authenticity, realism, and a proper NASCAR atmosphere, NASCAR Rumble leaned heavily into chaos, exaggerated speed, and arcade‑style mayhem. Both games served different audiences, and Zaboru appreciated that distinction. Rather than competing directly, Fuji‑Dan had chosen to coexist by offering players a more serious, grounded racing experience—and in doing so, they had delivered something genuinely cool while still staying to their identity.
Even so, Zaboru felt genuinely good. With ZAGE leading the industry, he could clearly see that the video game world as a whole was growing steadily and healthily. It wasn't just ZEPS that was thriving—other platforms were still alive and active as well. Sonaya's 32‑bit console, the Game Station, had undeniably lost the market war against ZAGE, yet Sonaya refused to give up. Third‑party developers continued to release games on their platform, keeping the ecosystem alive, and rumors were already circulating that Sonaya themselves were quietly working on something big behind the scenes. Whatever it was, Zaboru found himself oddly excited. Competition, after all, was what kept the industry sharp.
Zaboru leaned back in his chair and took a slow sip of his coffee. "The video game era has really grown," he murmured with a soft chuckle. It still amazed him. Seven years ago, when he had first reincarnated into this world, none of the giants he once knew—Nintendo, Capcom, Namco—had existed. Back then, the industry was fragile, uncertain, and full of gaps waiting to be filled. And now, looking around at the vibrant ecosystem of developers, platforms, and ideas, Zaboru couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of pride. From nothing, he had built ZAGE—and in doing so, had helped push the entire industry forward.
""I'm glad I can lead the industry forward," Zaboru said quietly, letting out a long sigh, "and I also need to prevent the same kind of ugly practices that ruined things back in my previous world." Now that he held real power within the video game industry, he felt a responsibility that went beyond profit or market dominance. He was determined not to let history repeat itself.
Zaboru had already made up his mind. He would never allow predatory loot box systems to poison games. He would never tolerate absurd three‑hundred‑dollar 'Ultimate Editions' that locked content behind outrageous prices, or pay‑to‑win mechanics that turned skill into a transaction. Even games creeping toward eighty dollars for the base version left a bad taste in his mouth. To him, those practices were nothing but shortcuts that betrayed players' trust.
What angered him most, however, were patented gameplay mechanics—ideas locked away so other developers couldn't innovate or build upon them—and the growing expectation that players should pay just to access online services on consoles. That, above all else, felt completely absurd to Zaboru. As long as he stood at the center of ZAGE, he intended to protect that philosophy and steer the industry toward something fairer, healthier, and worthy of the players who loved it.
"But still," Zaboru admitted with a faint smile, "sometimes I miss the modern world. I can't help but wonder what kinds of games have already been released over there, what ideas people are playing with now." He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "It's a shame I can't really experience it anymore, no matter how curious I get."
He paused for a moment, staring at the rows of game cases and consoles around him, then laughed more openly. "But even so, if I had to choose again, I'd still choose this world without hesitation. I think it's obvious why, isn't it?" Zaboru said, his laughter carrying a quiet sense of satisfaction—content with the path he had taken and the world he had helped shape.
After this, Zaboru would need to travel to Korea. Team Dynasty was nearly finished with their current assignment, and it was time for him to follow up with them and introduce their true mission—the development of a full-scale online game.
To be continue
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