Since last month, ever since Zaboru decided to establish the ZAGE Foundation for cancer patients, everything had already begun moving forward at a steady pace. What started as a personal conviction quickly transformed into a concrete initiative, supported by planning documents, early coordination, and long-term roadmaps.
When Zaboru first brought the idea to ZAGE's top leadership—most notably his father Zanichi, the CTO of Japan; Gabe Newell, the CTO of ZAGE USA; Sayuri, the head of finance; and several other department leaders—the response was overwhelmingly positive. There was no hesitation, no prolonged debate. Everyone present immediately understood Zaboru's vision and the sincerity behind it. Sayuri, in particular, reassured the group with confidence, stating that ZAGE's financial health was not just stable but exceptionally strong. With current profits, reserves, and assets, the company could more than afford to support a foundation of this scale without risking its operations or future growth.
Sayuri's husband, Shinsuke Yamaguchi, who also served as ZAGE's marketing lead, shared his perspective as well. He acknowledged that the foundation would naturally elevate ZAGE's brand image and strengthen the company's reputation on a global scale. However, he was careful to emphasize that this reputational benefit was never the core motivation behind the decision. From a marketing standpoint, goodwill would come organically as a byproduct of doing the right thing, not as a calculated objective. In his view, the moment charity became a branding stunt, its value was lost—and ZAGE had no intention of crossing that line.
And so, ZAGE's legal teams from both Japan and the United States moved quickly to formally approach their respective governments and present the proposal. What surprised many inside the company was how smoothly the process went. Both governments agreed without prolonged resistance or bureaucratic delay. The Japanese and U.S. administrations were already well aware of ZAGE's exceptional reputation, its transparency, and its long track record of responsible corporate conduct. In fact, several officials openly admitted that they had hoped a private organization like ZAGE would step forward to lead an initiative of this scale.
Compared to Zaboru's previous world, the governments in this reality were far less entangled in corruption and political obstruction. Rather than slowing the project down, they actively supported it. To accelerate the foundation's launch, both governments even offered to provide office buildings free of charge for ZAGE Foundation operations. ZAGE, in turn, would handle everything else—staffing, equipment, medical partnerships, logistics, and long-term funding. This cooperation eliminated months, if not years, of administrative delay. As a result, by early December, the ZAGE Foundation was already firmly on the path toward full establishment, laying the groundwork for a future dedicated to supporting cancer patients on a global scale.
Both governments agreed not only to lend ZAGE office spaces for the foundation's operations, but also to assist with recruitment by connecting ZAGE with local healthcare professionals, administrators, and logistical staff. This cooperation was unprecedented—proof of how much trust the public sector placed in ZAGE's ability to handle sensitive, large-scale humanitarian projects with care and efficiency.
However, Zaboru knew that trust alone was not enough. No matter how honest or well-funded a project was, the risk of corruption always lingered in the background. That's why, in a decisive move, he authorized the involvement of Akechi—his brother-in law of the elite private security and intelligence firm which former Yakuza of Hamazou, The Aoshidan. Zaboru personally requested that members of Aoshidan be planted discreetly within the ZAGE Foundation as internal security auditors. Their mission wasn't to interfere but to monitor quietly, ensuring that no one attempted to exploit the foundation's funds or manipulate the system for personal gain.
Zaboru was unflinching in his stance: if anyone tried to steal from a project meant to save lives, especially vulnerable cancer patients, then that person was worse than the devil himself. No mercy would be shown. Even though this world's governments were far less corrupt than in his past life, he wasn't willing to take any chances. The stakes were too high, and the mission too sacred.
Looking ahead, Zaboru envisioned the ZAGE Foundation growing into something far greater than what it was at its inception. His dream wasn't just limited to supporting cancer patients—he wanted the foundation to expand its reach to those suffering from all forms of terminal illnesses. Whether it was rare diseases, untreatable genetic conditions, or end-stage chronic ailments, Zaboru wanted ZAGE to be at the forefront of research, support, and care.
But that was only part of his long-term ambition. Zaboru also planned to develop and distribute affordable medicine on a global scale, especially for developing nations where access to life-saving drugs was either limited or financially out of reach. He believed that life-saving treatments should not be a luxury but a basic right. And beyond health care, Zaboru had already instructed a separate division within the foundation to begin planning a disaster response program. Natural disasters—earthquakes, floods, typhoons—had always left communities in chaos, and he wanted the ZAGE Foundation to be capable of responding swiftly with supplies, shelter, medical support, and rebuilding efforts.
All of this stemmed from one simple truth: Zaboru was incredibly wealthy in this world, more than he had ever imagined possible. And with that wealth came a responsibility he refused to ignore. He didn't want to be remembered only as a genius businessman or a gaming mogul. He wanted to be remembered as a proper human being.
And Aldrich Kirk—the young boy currently undergoing treatment—was already showing encouraging signs of improvement. While not all of the progress was drastic or immediately life-changing, it was clear to everyone that his condition had stabilized and certain symptoms had started to ease. Considering this was only his very first round of treatment, the results were hopeful. Doctors noted better responsiveness, improved appetite, and higher energy levels. He wasn't fully healed, of course, but there was momentum, and in cases like this, momentum meant everything.
Perhaps it was the quality of care, or perhaps it was the emotional lift of being in Japan—surrounded by supportive people, state-of-the-art medical technology, and a new sense of purpose—but Aldrich's spirit had visibly risen. He smiled more, talked more, and even asked the nurses questions about the machines around him. It wasn't just the medicine working; it was the environment, the hope, the belief that he was finally in a place where healing was possible. That spark of hope alone had already begun to change his life and both his parents are insanely happy.
Now it was already December 21st, 1998. The year was winding down, and anticipation was building as both the ZAGE End-of-Year Event and the FamiCom Game of the Year Awards rapidly approached. The entire company was buzzing with activity, preparing for celebrations, announcements, and upcoming launches. Yet, despite the looming events and the growing global spotlight on ZAGE, Zaboru was nowhere near the company's headquarters.
Instead, he chose to spend this peaceful afternoon at home, sitting quietly in the backyard of the Renkonan family residence. The winter air was crisp but not too cold, and the golden light of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the garden. Beside him sat his father, Zanichi, calm as ever, sipping on a steaming cup of coffee. Zaboru, mirroring him, held his own cup gently between his hands, savoring both the warmth and the rare moment of calm. It was a moment of reflection—one he had learned to treasure amid the whirlwind of success.
"Dad… do you think the ZAGE Foundation will succeed? Do you think it'll really help a lot of people?" Zaboru asked quietly, his eyes gazing down at the steaming cup of coffee in his hands.
Zanichi took a slow sip of his own coffee, then chuckled with the calm of a man who had watched his son grow into something far greater than he ever imagined. "Son… you've already done more than most people ever will. You've poured nearly all your money into this project, haven't you? At this point, I'm not even sure if you technically qualify as a billionaire anymore," he added with another laugh. "At least not if we don't count the assets."
Zanichi's voice was filled with admiration, tinged with a father's quiet concern. He knew very well that Zaboru had never drawn a high salary from ZAGE, despite being its founder and heart. Most of his wealth was tied up in investments or funneled back into the company. He rarely spent anything on himself. His generosity wasn't for show—it was simply who he was.
"Relax," Zanichi continued, his voice reassuring. "It's going to work. Absolutely. You've built something real, something meaningful. And you know what? You can always ask your celebrity friends to get involved in the foundation. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to help. They all seem like good people, and from what I've seen, they genuinely respect you—not just for your success, but for the kind of man you are."
Zanichi chuckled again, but this time with a little more emotion behind it. "You've always been too humble to see it, but you've already done more than enough. And you're not done yet."
Zaboru smiled faintly, though his gaze remained lowered, his expression clouded with the weight of memory. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the lingering image of Aldrich Kirk's desperate, hopeful plea. It wasn't just something he recalled—it was something he relived. His reincarnation came with many gifts, but among them was the gift or curse of absolute memory, a deep-dive cognitive ability that allowed him to recall any memories and so the emotions, voices, and expressions he can still remember it all with painful clarity. Every tear, every whispered fear, every flicker of hope etched itself permanently into his mind, looping over and over like an unskippable film reel. And since Zanichi could see that his son was overthinking again he didn't have to ask.
"You don't need to carry that blame, Son," Zanichi said gently, his voice breaking the silence. "Cancer isn't your fault. Misfortune in this world isn't something you created. What you did create is something to be proud of. You've risen to become one of the world's youngest billionaires, but even with all that success, you never changed—not where it mattered."
He placed his coffee cup down and looked at his son more directly. "You didn't put on a mask. You stayed humble. You stayed real. You love only your wives, even though you've got the attention of women all around the world who'd throw themselves at you without hesitation. You don't chase fame, you don't crave attention. You love helping people. That's who you are."
Zanichi smiled, pride glowing behind his eyes. "You've already become a great human being, Son. And I know you're just getting started."
Then someone came—Ayumi, gracefully stepping into the backyard, gently cradling little Zenshin in her arms. Her presence alone brought a soothing warmth to the moment, like sunlight breaking through the quiet air. She approached them with a soft smile on her lips and a gentle sparkle in her eyes. "Dad is right, Zabo… you're already the best husband I could ever ask for," she said tenderly, her voice filled with unwavering affection and pride.
At that exact moment, Zenshin reached out one of his tiny hands with bright, playful energy. "Papa! Let's go play!" he called with pure joy. The sound of his innocent voice lit up the space like music. Zaboru couldn't help but laugh—an honest, heartfelt laugh—and bent down to lift his son into his arms. Holding Zenshin close, he felt the warmth of his family radiating through him. That simple gesture—the arms of his child, the smile of his wife, the steady support of his father—reminded him that no matter the burdens he carried, he was never alone.
He was surrounded by people who truly cared. Who saw not the wealth or the title, but the man who gave everything for others.
And so, as the sun began to dip behind the trees, casting golden hues across the sky, the ZAGE Foundation quietly continued to develop to its rise.
To be continue
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