Friday Night 25 July 1999 ZAGE Event Building Japan.
Right now, inside the ZAGE Event Building, the lobby is packed with guests—so invited personally, others willing to buy a ticket just to be in the room when history happens. The Tokyo venue feels different tonight. The lighting is cooler, the banners are minimal, and the whole hall has been dressed in a serious, almost corporate the. It's nothing like the ZAGE end-of-year events, where the stage is usually drowned in vibrant colors and playful decorations. Here, even the staff move with that quiet urgency, headsets on, eyes scanning the crowd, making sure every cara angle and every seat looks perfect.
And why is the ZEB like this?
Because tonight isn't just another show. Tonight, AKAI is here to announce its newest product line.
In this world, AKAI is already one of the biggest and most famous phone companies on the planet—so big it's currently beating Nokia and Motorola in attention and sales. Their AKAI Z2-Flip Phone has been selling unbelievably well worldwide, becoming the kind of device people recognize on sight. And since AKAI is owned by ZAGE, everyone understands what that really ans: an AKAI announcent is basically a ZAGE announcent wearing a different suit. When AKAI releases sothing new, the world expects it to carry that sa ZAGE flavor—bold, disruptive, and just arrogant enough to make people curious.
The presentation is also being broadcast live on TV. Not long after the opening lights settle, Zaboru walks onto the stage. He's dressed casually—long pants and clean white shoes—but he pairs it with a red formal shirt that makes him stand out under the spotlights. He rolls his sleeves up to his forearms, and the movent makes his muscular fra even more noticeable, like he's not trying to show off but can't help it.
His hair still hasn't fully returned. It's sprouting back, uneven and short, enough to prove it's coming in—but from a distance he still looks almost bald.
The mont he appears, the room's energy spikes. This is the first ti many people have seen him in public since the accident a couple of weeks ago, and the crowd reacts like he's a celebrity stepping out after a rumor. So guests clap imdiately, others lean forward, and even the press row shifts as caras refocus.
Zaboru, however, doesn't flinch. He keeps smiling, calm and composed, and he waves like nothing about tonight is strange. Then he looks across the hall, spots the foreign dia section, and decides to speak in English—because in this world, Japanese audiences are a bit more comfortable with English than they were in his previous life.
"Hello, everyone!" he says, bright and easy. "Are you having a good day? I hope so!" He laughs, then tilts his head with playful confidence. "And well… do I still look great without my long hair?"
The audience chuckles, and the laughter spreads in waves—warm, relieved, and instantly on his side.
Zaboru then paced a step or two, like he was buying ti on purpose. "Today, it's not a ZAGE announcent," he said, spreading his hands wide, "it's AKAI."
He leaned closer to the microphone, lowering his voice like he was about to confess a scandal. "And yeah… the AKAI CEO is paying to present their products again." He paused, eyes narrowing in exaggerated suspicion, then added, "Wait—did he even pay ?"
He let out a long, dramatic sigh that sounded like a man burdened by fa.
The audience giggled instantly. It wasn't forced laughter either—it was the kind that ca from relief, from realizing he was still himself after the accident. Caras caught faces in the front row smiling, and even the foreign press scribbled notes with amused expressions.
In the spectator seats, Hyoga Akai—the AKAI CEO—was grinning so hard it looked like his cheeks were going to hurt. He lifted one hand in a half-wave, half-surrender, like he'd been exposed on stage and couldn't even deny it.
Nobody could beat Zaboru's charm when he had a crowd in front of him. He could turn a product presentation into a cody set without losing control of the room.
Behind him, the big screen cut to a teaser in bold letters:
"This Will Change Everything."
A beat later, another line appeared beneath it, almost like a wink.
"Spoiler: It's Not a Phone."
Zaboru glanced up at the big screen and smiled. "Yes. This device I'm about to introduce will change everything you know about one specific part of your daily life." He paused for effect, letting the room lean in. "And it's not a phone. It's… how you listen to music."
He looked pleased with himself, like he already knew the headline tomorrow morning. "Think about it. So far, when you want to hear music on the go, you have two choices." He lifted two fingers.
"First, you carry sothing that can only hold one album—maybe two if you're lucky. A cassette, a mini-disc, whatever you prefer. But it still ans you're choosing before you leave the house. You're deciding your mood in advance. And if you get bored?" He shrugged. "Too bad."
"Second, you bring portable CDs." He made a face, like the word itself was heavy. "You carry the player, you carry the discs, you worry about scratches, you worry about skipping when you walk too fast, you worry about the case in your bag. It's not just annoying—it's a hassle you've all accepted because you had no better option."
Zaboru's eyes swept the crowd, and he nodded as if he could already see people rembering their own ssy CD wallets.
"And yes," he continued, "you can use your AKAI Z2-Flip to listen to music too." He pointed toward Hyoga Akai's section with a grin that earned another ripple of laughter. "But it's still limited, right? It's convenient, but it's not designed to be your music world. Because even if it cos with my songs"—he tapped his chest lightly—"you can't truly add your own library easily."
He leaned closer to the microphone, voice lowering like he was sharing a secret. "Technically, you can… but it's too hard. Too many steps. Too many restrictions. Too much friction. Most people won't bother. And if most people won't bother, then it's not freedom—it's just a feature on paper."
He straightened again, smile widening. "So tonight, I'm here to fix that."
Zaboru smiled, then said, "Well, say goodbye to those days—because this device will revolutionize everything you know about portable music."
He slipped a hand into his pocket as if he was about to pull out a joke, then calmly brought sothing out and held it up between two fingers. The caras imdiately zood in, and the big screen magnified it for the entire hall: a sleek white device with a small screen, clean buttons, and a shape so simple it looked like it belonged in the future.
For a mont, the room went strangely quiet—not because people weren't excited, but because they were trying to understand what they were looking at. It didn't look like a phone. It didn't look like a CD player. It looked… new.
Zaboru's grin widened as he watched the reaction. "Ladies and gentlen," he said, letting the words land one by one, "allow to introduce a small device we call the Z-POD."
He turned it slightly so the light caught the edges, then lifted his chin with mock seriousness. "And before I tell you what it can do, let ask you sothing."
He pointed out into the crowd. "How many songs do you think this can hold?"
Murmurs rolled through the hall. People threw out guesses—ten, twenty, maybe a hundred if they were feeling bold. Soone laughed and shouted sothing impossible. Zaboru nodded along like a host enjoying the chaos.
"And another question," he continued, tapping the device lightly with his thumb. "How many hours do you think this can keep playing music… in your pocket?"
More murmurs. More guesses. The foreign press leaned forward. Even Hyoga Akai's row looked sharper, like they were waiting for the punchline.
Zaboru's eyes sparkled. "Hehehe." He drew out the sound, letting the suspense stretch just a little longer. Then he dropped it.
"This small device can store up to one thousand songs."
The room reacted instantly—gasps, surprised laughter, people blinking like they misheard.
"And," he added, raising a finger, "it can keep playing for ten hours. Ten."
For a heartbeat, everyone just stared. Then the hall erupted. Applause slamd into the room like a wave, loud enough that the microphones caught the roar. Caras flashed. People clapped so hard it sounded like rain.
Zaboru held the Z-POD up higher, enjoying the mont like he'd just won a match, and the grin on his face said it all: he knew he'd just changed the conversation forever.
Zaboru smiled and waited for the clapping to subside. He didn't rush the mont—he let it breathe, like he was giving everyone ti to accept what they'd just heard. Behind him, the big screen switched to a clean, detailed product shot of the Z-POD, rotating slowly as if it were floating.
"This Z-POD," he said, tapping the device lightly, "has a six-gigabyte hard drive—enough for one thousand songs or more." He lifted his eyebrows, letting the number hit again. "And it can play continuously for ten hours."
He raised a finger, grin returning. "And not just that."
The screen shifted, flipping through feature cards like a slick magazine spread.
"Look," Zaboru continued, voice warm and confident, "this isn't just a box that holds music. This is how you organize your life."
A new slide appeared: Playlists.
"In the Z-POD, you can build your own playlists. You want specific songs for running?" He mid jogging in place for half a second, making the audience chuckle. "Create a playlist folder, drag the songs you want into it, and that's it. Your music matches your mood, not the other way around."
The next slide: Shuffle.
"And if you don't want to hear your songs in the sa order—one, two, three, like a boring line at the bank—then we have Shuffle." He flicked his wrist like he was tossing cards into the air. "It shuffles everything inside the playlist, so every ti you press play, it feels fresh. No more skipping tracks just to find the 'good part' of your own library."
The screen changed again: Repeat, Search, and Quick Skip.
"And yes, we have repeat. We have quick-skip. And we have search with on screen keyboard—because if you have one thousand songs, you don't want to scroll like you're reading an endless newspaper."
The audience watched in awe, so nodding, so whispering to each other, because the features sounded simple—but nobody had ever seen them presented like this, as if portable music could be organized instead of endured.
Zaboru took a few steps across the stage again, letting the excitent settle before he continued. "Now the next question," he said, pointing at the Z-POD in his hand. "How do you get your music in here?" He smiled, like he was about to reveal the real magic trick. "This is where it gets interesting. Let introduce you to our website and desktop application called Z-Tunes."
The big screen behind him switched instantly, showing the Z-Tunes interface: clean nus, a library list, and a simple connection screen that made even the non-technical guests feel like they could do it.
Zaboru's grin turned playful. "When you start Z-Tunes for the first ti, you'll see sothing very important." He tapped his chest with mock pride. "All my songs are already here. And hey—it's not bad, right?"
The audience chuckled, because it was true. Zaboru's music had been everywhere lately, and even people who didn't want to admit it knew at least one chorus.
"But seriously," he continued, raising a finger, "Z-Tunes isn't just for my music. It's for your collection." He looked around the room, scanning faces like he wanted everyone to understand. "If you have albums at ho—CDs you bought with your own money—you can bring them into Z-Tunes, convert them into a format the Z-POD understands, and then copy them onto your device."
He spread his hands wide. "No complicated tricks. No weird restrictions. Just: copy, convert, and transfer. Viola."
To prove it, Zaboru walked to the demo computer and held the Z-POD up so the caras could catch it. He plugged it in with one smooth motion. A connection sound played, and the Z-Tunes screen popped up with a ssage confirming the device.
Then he pulled out a CD case like he'd been waiting for this mont all night.
"Iron Maiden, ACES HIGH" he said casually, like he was choosing the most obvious test possible.
A few guests laughed, and a few more nodded with approval.
He slipped the disc into the computer. On the big screen, Z-Tunes imdiately recognized the album and displayed the track list. With a couple of clicks, Zaboru started the import.
A progress bar appeared.
Then the conversion began. The interface showed a simple animation—tracks turning into neat digital files—while Zaboru kept talking, keeping the crowd engaged.
"Z-Tunes does the hard part for you," he explained. "It converts your music so the Z-POD can read it properly. You don't need to understand the technical details. You just press the button."
The conversion completed. Zaboru selected the tracks, clicked transfer, and the Z-Tunes screen showed the Z-POD filling up—song count rising, storage updating, everything clear and easy.
He unplugged the device and held it up again, then navigated the Z-POD nu so the caras could see. The new tracks appeared instantly in the library, sitting beside the default songs like they belonged there.
The room erupted in fresh excitent—not just clapping this ti, but that louder sound of people murmuring and whispering to each other, imagining their own collections inside the device. For a lot of them, the revelation wasn't just "one thousand songs." It was: my songs. In my pocket.
Zaboru smiled. "This is what the Z-Tunes website can do for now," he said, nodding toward the screen. "But Z-Tunes will keep improving over ti." He let the sentence hang for a beat, then lifted his eyebrows like he was about to share a secret.
"And in the future…" he added, voice turning playful, "there's a chance you'll be able to buy songs directly from here."
That single idea hit the room like a spark. People murmured again—louder this ti—because the thought was almost unbelievable. No more hunting for discs. No more waiting. Just choosing a song and getting it instantly. Even the foreign dia looked up from their notes, and a few photographers adjusted their lenses like they could capture the mont the industry shifted.
Zaboru raised a hand, calming the excitent before it could swallow the rest of the presentation. "Not today," he said with a grin. "But soon. And when it happens, it'll be simple."
He continued presenting for a little longer, running through the final details with that smooth confidence he always had on stage. Then, at last, he reached the part everyone was waiting for.
"The price," he said, straight to the point.
He held the Z-POD up again, letting the caras catch it one more ti. "This device will cost thirty-five thousand yen… or three hundred and fifty US dollars."
For a second, the hall went silent—people doing quick ntal math, checking if they'd heard correctly. Then the reaction exploded into cheers and applause. Not because it was cheap in an absolute sense, but because for what it promised—one thousand songs, ten hours, playlists, Z-Tunes—it felt shockingly attainable.
"And yes," Zaboru added over the noise, smiling wider, "it goes on sale starting tomorrow." He pointed toward the side screens where the details appeared in clean text. "You can buy it at the ZAGE official store or the AKAI official store. First co, first served."
The crowd cheered even harder, and the buzz in the room turned into the kind of excitent that didn't sound like a presentation anymore—it sounded like the beginning of a rush.
Zaboru continued, letting his gaze sweep across the hall one more ti. "So… that's it," he said, lifting the device slightly. "The Z-POD."
He paused, like he was letting the na settle into everyone's head, then his grin returned—wide, confident, and almost mischievous. He knew he had them.
"And now," Zaboru added, leaning a little closer to the microphone, "I'll end this the way you all expect to."
He took a beat—just enough for the crowd to start murmuring again—then delivered his iconic line with perfect timing.
"Just buy it, okay?"
The hall exploded into cheers. People clapped, laughed, and shouted like they'd just watched a winning goal in extra ti. A few guests even stood up, waving their hands as if they wanted to be the first in line tomorrow. In the press row, caras flashed again, and reporters scribbled faster, already imagining headlines about one thousand songs, ten hours, and a device that could fit in your pocket.
Zaboru held the Z-POD up like a trophy and gave a casual little wave, smiling as the noise rolled over him. It was obvious—this wasn't just an announcent anymore. It was a spark.
By the ti the applause finally started to fade, everyone in the room already wanted one. And by the end of the night, the Z-POD wasn't just a new product.
It was a hot sensation.
To be continue
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