Wednesday 14 September 1997 ZAGE Campus USA.
Zaboru had just arrived in the United States from Japan. Though excitent stirred in him for the days ahead, a quiet sadness tugged at his heart—he missed his wife Ayumi and their newborn son, Zenshin. Leaving them behind wasn't easy, but he knew it couldn't be helped. Ayumi had reassured him before his departure, telling him it was okay to go. She wasn't alone, after all—his mother and younger sister were staying at the house to support her.
Ayumi understood the importance of Zaboru's work and the dreams he was chasing. She had always supported him, even when it ant being apart for a while. Her trust in him was unshakable, and that gave Zaboru the strength to move forward, even with the ache of missing his family still fresh in his chest.
Zaboru smiled to himself and muttered, "Apparently, I've got the best wife ever." He chuckled softly, the warmth of Ayumi's support still fresh in his heart, then quickly pulled out his phone to call Jas Yoel.
Jas had already taken care of the arrangents. The schedule was tight—three important etings lined up with key figures who could influence the direction of the new ga Zaboru wanted to create. The most exciting part? The first person on that list was none other than Michael Jordan.
Thankfully, all three individuals were located in or around Chicago, which made planning the trip much easier. Zaboru and Jas would take a connecting flight from their current airport, but to save ti and avoid delays, Zaboru had decided to use his private jet. Ti was valuable, and he wanted to hit the ground running.
As he reviewed the itinerary Jas had sent over, Zaboru felt a surge of anticipation. These etings weren't just business—they were the first steps toward building sothing groundbreaking. And with nas like Jordan involved, the stakes were high, but so was the potential. He couldn't wait to get started.
They soon arrived at the Chicago Bulls training facility. The gym was quiet, no ga scheduled for the day, and most of the players were off resting. Yet the sound of bouncing basketballs echoed faintly from the training court. Zaboru, filled with anticipation, followed Jas Yoel through the side entrance and into the practice area.
Despite the empty stands and dimd lights, one figure was still active on the court—Michael Jordan. The legendary number 23 was alone, drenched in sweat, locked into his shooting rhythm. Shot after shot hit the rim, so swishing clean, so rebounding, but every motion was precise, intense. In this version of the world, Jordan was still rising—already a four-ti NBA All-Star in just his fourth season, but not yet crowned as the Greatest of All Ti.
To Zaboru, this was the mont. He wasn't just eting a legend—he was eting a man still on the rise, full of hunger, fire, and drive.
"Michael!" Jas called out, his voice cutting through the echo of bouncing balls.
Jordan paused, lowering the ball and turning toward them. Zaboru smiled wide, his heart racing with excitent. To stand in the sa space as a young, driven Michael Jordan felt surreal. He couldn't believe this was real. In his last life, Jordan had been a myth—now he was about to shake his hand and talk business face-to-face.
Jordan recognized Jas and gave a quick nod, but his eyes shifted to Zaboru with curiosity. The mont was just beginning, but Zaboru knew this would be one of the most morable etings of his life.
Zaboru's main reason for eting with Michael Jordan was clear—he wanted Jordan to be the cover athlete for ZAGE's upcoming NBA video ga set to release next year. This new title was planned to be a major leap from their previous release, NBA Live 1995, which had marked ZAGE's first foray into basketball gas. Unlike that earlier version, this new project aid to bring more realism, better chanics, and deeper career modes—and having Jordan on the cover would give it imdiate credibility and star power.
Jas then approached him, both he and Zaboru already in proper gym shoes, ready for whatever ca next. Jas flashed his signature grin and said, "Here's the guy who wants to talk to you, Mike."
Michael Jordan, wiping sweat from his brow, turned and blinked with mild surprise. His eyes widened slightly when he recognized who Jas was talking about. "Really, Jas? The one who's here to talk is Zaboru Renkonan? I'll be damned."
He walked toward them and extended his hand in greeting. His grip was firm, and the intensity in his eyes was unmistakable even outside a competitive ga.
Zaboru smiled wide as he took Jordan's hand. "I'm a huge fan, Michael. It's an honor to et you in person."
Michael Jordan smiled back, clearly surprised but pleased by the sincerity. "Appreciate it, man. Anyway, let's go sit down over there. Sorry if I'm a bit sweaty—just wrapped up a solo session."
As they made their way to the side of the court to sit and talk, there was an unspoken energy between them—mutual respect, curiosity, and the promise of sothing bigger brewing just beneath the surface.
When the three n sat down courtside, the mood shifted from casual to business. Zaboru leaned forward, confident but respectful, and began, "So, here's the deal, Michael. What I want is to acquire the rights to your image for our next NBA video ga. Not just any ga—we're talking about a whole new era of basketball gaming. And I want you to be the face of it, the cover star."
Zaboru smiled, letting the offer land, then added, "Of course, it's not going to be cheap. We'll sign a yearly contract, one that respects your image, your values, and your legacy. This isn't just a sponsorship—it's a partnership. We'll treat your brand with the sa intensity you bring to the court."
Michael Jordan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. He paused for a mont before responding. "First off… I'm honored. Really. But I've gotta ask—why ? I an, I know I'm good, but there are other guys in the league right now with more fa, more attention."
Zaboru leaned back with a smirk. "Yeah, there are. But let's be honest…" He grinned, tilting his head. "They're not as good as you, right?"
Jordan laughed, that competitive fire in his eyes lighting up instantly. "Now that's the language I speak. And yeah… I am the best."
That spark—Jordan's unshakable confidence, his hunger to win—is exactly what Zaboru had bet on. It was that mindset, that ntality, that would one day make him the GOAT. And Zaboru knew he had just struck gold.
Jordan then smiled, "Fine, I'll agree to that."
Zaboru nodded in appreciation and leaned in slightly. "For now, we're offering you a total of 2.5 million dollars per year after the first ga is launched. In addition to using your image and likeness on the cover, we'd ask for your involvent in a few marketing campaigns—so ad shoots, promotional events, and maybe a comrcial or two. We want this ga to be sothing fans will rember, and your presence is a huge part of that."
Michael nodded slowly, taking it all in. "That's not a bad offer at all," he said thoughtfully. "You'll need to talk to my agent, of course—he handles the numbers and legal side. But from personally? It's a yes."
Zaboru smiled, visibly relieved. "Perfect. As long as I have your word, I know the rest will fall into place. I really appreciate it, Michael."
This verbal agreent alone was a massive win. Securing Michael Jordan's face and na for the cover of ZAGE's upcoming basketball ga would send shockwaves through the industry, and Zaboru already knew this mont would beco a cornerstone in the history of ZAGE Gas.
Zaboru then grinned, eyes gleaming with playful excitent. "Well, Michael, since we're already here… how about we play a little basketball? I've always dread of going one-on-one with you. Though I'll be honest—I'm probably gonna get crushed, hahaha."
Michael Jordan raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and gave a relaxed smile. "Sure, let's go," he said with a chuckle, expecting it to be a lighthearted, casual ga—just a bit of fun.
But then, to Jordan's surprise, Zaboru suddenly pulled off his button-up shirt and stepped out of his pants, revealing that underneath, he was already wearing a complete Chicago Bulls jersey. It wasn't just any jersey—it was a classic red ho kit with the number 23 and Jordan emblazoned across the back.
Jordan let out a short laugh and grinned wide. "Nice outfit," he said, clearly amused. "You really ca prepared."
Zaboru smiled back with a glint in his eye. "Of course. You don't get many chances to hoop with NBA Star. I had to do it right."
Then Zaboru stepped onto the court, ready for a one-on-one with Michael Jordan. Jordan casually passed him the ball, treating it like a lighthearted exhibition. But for Zaboru, this was far more than a pickup ga—it was the fulfillnt of a dream.
"Heh! I'm really about to 1v1 Michael Jordan?!" he thought, heart pounding. He was beyond excited. Winning didn't matter. He didn't even plan to go all out—not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to raise suspicion. After all, Zaboru had a secret advantage.
His so-called 'cheat'—the Enlightennt Body—gave him extraordinary control over his physical condition. His stamina barely diminished, and his coordination was nearly flawless. He could move with purpose and precision far beyond normal human limits. On top of that, his Deep mory Dive ability allowed him to perfectly recall movents and plays from countless basketball videos he'd studied in his previous life.
So while he wouldn't unleash his full potential, he did intend to give Michael sothing he wouldn't forget—a taste of skill honed through another lifeti, built from countless mories and flawless muscle control. Zaboru was about to make this mont as unforgettable for Jordan as it was for himself.
Michael smiled and passed the ball to Zaboru, taking a relaxed stance just inside the three-point line, arms down, expecting a simple warm-up play. But to his surprise, the mont Zaboru caught the ball, he pulled up without hesitation and launched a three-pointer with confident form. The ball swished clean through the net.
Jordan blinked, eyebrows raised. "I'll be damned!" he muttered, caught off guard by the precision. Maybe it was just luck, he thought. He tossed the ball back to Zaboru, ready to test if this guy could really ball or if it was just beginner's luck.
This ti, Zaboru caught the pass and went into a classic shooting stance again. Michael, now on alert, jumped up to block the shot—but it was a feint. With lightning speed, Zaboru lowered his body and drove past Jordan, cutting through the lane like a knife. Before anyone could react, he exploded into a powerful two-handed hamr dunk that rattled the rim.
The gym echoed with the sound, and even the coaches watching from the sideline did a double take. Jas Yoel stood frozen for a second before exclaiming, "DAMN!" loud enough to turn heads.
It wasn't just a fluke. Zaboru had made his entrance—loud and clear.
anwhile, Michael was visibly surprised and thought to himself, "This guy… he can really play. I need to take this seriously." His pride kicked in—there was no way he could allow himself to lose, even in a casual ga. No matter who the opponent was, Michael Jordan didn't do half-effort.
He passed the ball back to Zaboru, this ti stepping into a proper defensive stance. His eyes locked in, his knees slightly bent, and his hands active. Zaboru imdiately felt the shift. "He's getting serious now," he thought, the thrill surging through him.
Without wasting ti, Zaboru began to dribble back, controlling the ball with crisp movents. Jordan narrowed his eyes as he tracked Zaboru's footwork, impressed by how tight and precise the dribbling was. It wasn't flashy—but it was sharp, clean, and unpredictable.
Zaboru attempted to shake Jordan with a quick crossover and a hesitation step, then exploded into a drive toward the basket. Jordan stayed close, shadowing his movents with elite defensive instincts. Zaboru pushed harder, taking two swift steps inside the paint and lifted for a layup. But he didn't go straight in—he double-clutched in the air, switching the ball between hands mid-flight.
Even with the adjustnt, Jordan's timing was perfect. He soared up and t the shot at its peak, swatting it off the backboard with a clean, authoritative block.
The ball bounced away, and just like that, it was Jordan's turn to take possession. The crowd in the gym—even the few coaches watching from the sidelines—nodded in silent respect. This was no longer a friendly matchup. It was a duel.
Zaboru chuckled, catching his breath. "Damn!" he muttered with a grin.
The ga continued, and Michael Jordan stepped up the intensity. With his 198cm height, he had a clear physical advantage over Zaboru, who stood at 185cm. The size difference was significant—especially in one-on-one. Zaboru struggled to contest Jordan's shots and had a hard ti keeping up when Jordan backed him down or exploded toward the rim with his trademark athleticism. Jordan was clearly treating this less like a friendly scrimmage and more like a challenge now, and it showed.
Zaboru gave it everything, but the scoreboard began to reflect the gap. Jordan pushed ahead with strong mid-range shots and quick drives, eventually building a lead of 5–3. Despite the pressure, Zaboru kept his composure and looked for an opening.
Then ca the next possession. As Jordan made a move to shoot—a quick step-back Zaboru had seen countless tis on tape—Zaboru read it perfectly. He tid it just right, darted in, and cleanly stole the ball. Jordan's eyes widened. "What the—?!" He was genuinely surprised.
Wasting no ti, Zaboru snatched the ball and turned on the jets. He darted down the court with explosive speed, cutting around the lane. Jordan chased close behind, but Zaboru had montum on his side. He gathered under the basket and, in a smooth motion, flipped the ball up with a reverse layup, banking it in just out of Jordan's reach.
The ball dropped clean through the net.
Even Jordan had to pause and nod. That wasn't luck—that was skill.
The match began, and Zaboru was clearly having the ti of his life. Every possession he battled with Michael Jordan, but it was exactly what he wanted—a true battle on the court with one of the greatest athletes alive. Back and forth they went, trading buckets, testing each other's skill, grit, and stamina. The ga was no joke now; it had turned into a full-on competitive showdown.
Eventually, the score reached 10–7, with Jordan narrowly leading. Both players were visibly exhausted, but it was Michael who was sweating heavily, catching his breath between plays. He looked over at Zaboru with an impressed smirk and said, "I'll be damned. You are so good, man."
Zaboru grinned back, his hands resting on his knees as he exhaled. "Thanks. I've always loved playing basketball. It's more than just a ga for —it's part of who I am."
Jordan nodded slowly, clearly taken aback. He hadn't expected this level of play, especially from soone he thought was just another business guy. But Zaboru Renkonan wasn't just so billionaire—he could hoop, and that ant sothing. Michael respected skill above all, and Zaboru had earned that respect today, one possession at a ti.
For Jordan, this wasn't just a morable eting—it was a reminder that greatness cos in many forms.
Then Jordan and Zaboru exchanged phone numbers, with Jordan saying he wanted to stay in touch. It wasn't just politeness—he genuinely appreciated the connection and wanted to keep the door open for future conversations. Then Jas Yoel who bring Cara snap a picture that Zaboru and Jordan together.
Not long after, Zaboru left the gym, still buzzing from the experience. But there was no ti to slow down. His next visit was already on the schedule—and it was to et none other than Jackie Chan.
To be continue
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