Monday 3 July 1997 ZAGE Tower Japan.
Zaboru was once again in a eting—this ti a tense one—with Sayuri Yamaguchi, ZAGE's head of finance. Her expression was sharp, clearly irritated, and beside her sat Zanichi, observing quietly.
"Boss," Sayuri began, adjusting her glasses with a sigh, "I know this is technically your personal money. But you hired to manage it responsibly and ensure our company doesn't walk itself into bankruptcy. So I need you to actually listen to what I'm saying, because I'm the one tracking every digit of ZAGE's financial health. I know when we're thriving, and I know when we're skating on thin ice."
Her tone was firm but not disrespectful—she wasn't just venting. She was doing her job, and doing it well. Her loyalty had always co from protecting the company, not pleasing the boss. The fact that she looked this upset ant sothing serious was on the line.
Sayuri then said, "Not only that, Boss—this isn't just a one-ti investnt, is it? As far as I understand, the contract includes a clause that commits ZAGE to providing additional financial support if the project stalls due to rising costs. That ans if the initiative runs into delays or overruns, we're legally bound to step in. And realistically, 10 billion yen is nowhere near enough to fully cover the rollout across all of Japan, let alone even partially into Korea and China. Although the governnt is handling a significant portion of the effort—including land acquisition, governnt approvals, cross-border logistics, and technology licensing—the infrastructure demands are still massive.
We're looking at a project with layers of complexity that stretch far beyond the initial phase. So tell , Boss, are we truly prepared for the second and possibly third wave of major expenditures? Because from where I sit, it's not just about committing 10 billion yen—it's about committing to a financial black hole that could easily swallow twice that in the next 12 to 24 months."
Zaboru, who respected her imnsely, felt a bead of sweat form at his temple. He knew full well that without Sayuri's tight control over the company's books, he would have burned through their capital years ago on wild ideas. And now, it was clear she thought he was about to do exactly that again.
Zaboru wiped the sweat from his brow, visibly uneasy. He deeply appreciated Sayuri—he knew better than anyone that without her strict financial oversight, he would've already sunk the company into a dozen reckless ventures. In fact, he was the one who had personally appointed her to lead ZAGE's finance division. That trust wasn't handed out lightly. Even his father, Zanichi Renkonan, ZAGE's CTO, respected Sayuri's authority when it ca to company finances.
And yet, here they were again—another major investnt, another disagreent. This ti, it was over sothing close to Zaboru's heart.
"But Sayuri-san," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "this move will be a huge step for our future. We're talking about a company with a deep library of beloved manga IP. If we acquire it, we can finally leverage those titles properly, especially through our network of platforms and studios. It'll also give a huge boost to our publishing subsidiary, Hakushensha."
Then Sayuri said, "That could be true, Boss, but we don't know what we might face in the future. After you spent around 11 billion yen to invest in Sendou Fiber Optics, our finances are still healthy—but the margins have dropped significantly. We're not in crisis yet, but we're definitely closer to the edge than I'm comfortable with. And now, if you're considering spending another 20 billion yen to fully acquire Shonen Jump, that could push our financial health dangerously close to unstable territory. It's not just the amount—it's the timing. If anything unexpected happens—an economic downturn, a legal dispute, or even a delay in revenue—we might not recover. One wrong move, and we could be forced into austerity. Not to ntion the additional costs that will inevitably arise as the Sendou project progresses—new phases of infrastructure, system upgrades, unexpected regulatory fees, or even logistical setbacks. These are not one-ti expenses; they will compound over ti. And once we're locked into that commitnt, pulling back will be nearly impossible without damaging our reputation or halting montum."
She leaned forward, eyes sharp behind her glasses. "You need to ask yourself, Boss—are you really ready to risk the entire stability of ZAGE for this?"
Zaboru thought for a mont, arms crossed, pacing slowly across the eting room. He could feel the pressure weighing on him, the tension clinging to every corner of the room. Sayuri's words weren't just financial warnings—they were personal. She'd seen what could happen when ambition outpaced strategy. But deep down, he also knew this was a once-in-a-generation opportunity.
After a long pause, he finally spoke, voice steady but quiet.
"I am, Sayuri-san. This will definitely be my last major investnt for the year—unless additional costs for the Sendou project arise, in which case we'll reassess with caution. I promise. I won't move forward blindly. I'll keep the company's stability front and center."
Sayuri sighed and glanced at Zanichi, who rely shrugged and said, "Fine, Boss. You can invest."
Zaboru pumped his fist. "Woho!" he shouted, practically glowing with excitent. The reason was simple—if the deal went through, he would gain full rights to the vast and legendary Shonen Jump IP catalog. Though many of the most iconic series from his previous life hadn't been released yet in this tiline, there were still powerhouse titles already in circulation, including Captain Tsubasa and Kinnikuman.
He knew just how much potential those properties had—especially when it ca to ga adaptations. With the right developnt teams, they could be transford into high-energy sports titles and action-packed brawlers, tapping into both nostalgia and a new generation of fans. Not only would these IPs feed into ZAGE's gaming branch, but they'd also beco central pillars in its growing manga publishing subsidiary.
Zanichi, however, wasn't entirely convinced. "Be careful, Boss," he warned, his tone serious now. "Shonen Jump is owned by a complicated mix of stakeholders. Their value has probably dipped a lot recently, and many of their investors have already pulled out. That ans negotiations could be ssy, even desperate. Make sure Kudou—our head of the legal departnt—goes with you. You'll need soone sharp at the table."
Zaboru nodded firmly. He fully understood the weight of his father's words and knew this wouldn't be a simple transaction. But that didn't matter. The prize was worth it.
Shonen Jump, once the unshakable titan of Japan's manga industry, was now teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. Ironically, its downfall stemd from its refusal to evolve. When ZAGE's publishing subsidiary, Hakushensha, began revolutionizing the industry by offering mangaka better pay, creative freedom, and stronger royalty agreents, it set off a chain reaction. Talented artists, both new and veteran, began flocking to Hakushensha, eager to escape the rigid, outdated structures that defined Shonen Jump's editorial policies.
As the creative exodus gained montum, other publishing houses took notice and started following Hakushensha's example. The industry was shifting rapidly. Yet, Shonen Jump, the dominant force in manga publishing for the last decade, remained obstinate. They refused to adjust their paynt structures. They kept their antiquated contracts. They clung to their legacy practices with an arrogance born of past success. As a result, resentnt from creators festered, and their pipeline of fresh, high-quality content began to dry up.
Investors took notice. Over the past year, confidence plumted. Many began pulling their capital out, seeing no clear plan for recovery. Revenues dropped. Morale inside the company collapsed. Shonen Jump, once the heart of Japanese pop culture, was now limping, unable to keep pace with a changing world.
Then, just days ago, ZAGE received a surprising call from Shonen Jump's majority owner and acting CEO. They were ready to talk. Not about a partnership, not about a bailout—but about a complete sale. For 20 billion yen, ZAGE could acquire 100% ownership of Shonen Jump. It was a monuntal offer, one that triggered the fierce debate between Zaboru and Sayuri.
But for Zaboru, the decision was clear. He understood the value of intellectual properties like Captain Tsubasa, Kinnikuman, and the dozens more still buried in Shonen Jump's vault. With the right leadership, those IPs could be reborn—through gas, ani, rchandise, and more. He saw potential where others saw risk. Despite the warnings, despite the costs, Zaboru knew he had to secure the deal. For ZAGE, for Hakushensha, and for the future of entertainnt, it was worth it.
Then, after a series of closed-door negotiations between Zaboru and the major shareholders of Shonen Jump, the acquisition was finalized in complete secrecy. The discussions had been delicate—each party wary of dia leaks and corporate sabotage—but the effort paid off. ZAGE successfully acquired 100% ownership of Shonen Jump for a total of 20 billion yen, marking another massive investnt in what had already been a high-stakes year. The deal would not only reshape the future of ZAGE's dia empire but also send shockwaves through the entire manga and entertainnt industry.
To be continue
AN "This might be rush but i really need to able create that Ps1 captain Tsubasa ga i really loved it"
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