After the intense and productive etings concluded, Zaboru wasted no ti and made his way back to his office floor. He was absolutely starving. The mont he stepped inside, the aroma of warm, ho-cooked food filled the room—his wife had lovingly prepared a full spread for him, knowing how demanding the day had been. Without hesitation, he sat down and began devouring the al, savoring every bite with the hunger of soone who had spent hours talking, pacing, and strategizing. "Ah, nothing beats this," he muttered in satisfaction between mouthfuls, grateful for both the food and the quiet mont.
Once he finished the hearty feast, Zaboru leaned back in his chair and stretched briefly, his thoughts already shifting gears. There was one more matter he wanted to check on before ending the day. He stood up, grabbed his coat, and headed toward the elevator. His destination: the office of Shinsuke Yamaguchi, the head of ZAGE Japan's Marketing division. There was a new initiative under Shinsuke's supervision that Zaboru was especially eager to hear more about—ZAGE's newly established E-Sports division, which had only recently launched as one of their boldest experintal moves.
Arriving on Shinsuke's floor in the ZAGE Tower, Zaboru walked through the corridor and into the marketing wing. The mont he stepped into the office, Shinsuke looked up and chuckled in mild surprise. "Boss, you didn't need to co all the way here, you know?" he said with an easy grin. "I could've been the one to head up to your office."
Zaboru waved off the notion with a relaxed laugh. "It's alright, Shin-san. I've been aning to visit this side of the building anyway. Besides, sotis it's nice to co see things from a different perspective," he said, settling into the chair across from Shinsuke, ready to dive into their next conversation.
"So, how's the E-Sport team creation going?" Zaboru asked with curiosity.
Shinsuke chuckled, clearly excited to share the progress. "Well, for the record, things have been going quite smoothly, boss. We're basically the first ones to formally extend this kind of offer to gars—to beco professional E-Sport 'athletes,' if that's even the right term," he said, grinning. "To be honest, most of the players still aren't sure whether calling themselves 'athletes' is accurate. So of them even laugh awkwardly when we use that term. But one thing's for sure—they're all incredibly surprised. Many of them were completely flabbergasted when we approached them with an official offer to join ZAGE's team. I think the idea that a company like ours sees value in what they do really shook them—in a good way."
He leaned back slightly, warming to the topic. "Since the start of 1998, we've already secured a solid group of talent. We've got a full Counter-Strike team roster locked in. For our fighting ga division, we've recruited two to three highly skilled players per title—so of them already have local tournant wins under their belt. We even managed to bring in a couple of standout players for RTS gas like StarCraft, which honestly surprised . I didn't think we'd find that level of strategy-focused talent this early, but we did."
Shinsuke continued with pride, "The dedicated training and work facilities we built for them are already functional and quite decent, providing everything they need to practice, scrim, and even stream if they want to. But, as you predicted, Boss, other companies have started catching on. They caught wind of what we're doing and are now trying to replicate our initiative. There's already chatter about two or three smaller tech companies trying to form their own 'E-Sport teams,' though so far they seem a step or two behind us. Still, it's clear we've sparked sothing. We're not just building a team—we've started a wave.".
Zaboru chuckled, resting his hands behind his head. "Well, that's good to hear. After all, the more, the rrier—right, Shinsuke-san?" he said with a grin before leaning back further in his chair. "Right now, the only major E-Sports or competitive gaming event we host is during the ZAGE End-of-Year event. The prizes we're offering are decent, sure, but that's just the beginning."
His expression turned more animated, voice growing in intensity as he continued. "But looking ahead, I believe we'll see many more tournants from other organizations—both in Japan and globally—with even better prize pools. Competition is going to grow fast, and we need to be at the forefront of it. And when that ti cos, I want ZAGE to step up our ga. Our prize support for E-Sports champions will need to scale, because I believe E-Sports is going to beco one of the pillars of the future video ga industry, Shinsuke-san. Not just a side event. A core part of our culture and our brand."
Shinsuke nodded slowly, then chuckled with a sheepish smile. "I understand your vision, Boss. I really do. But to be honest, right now this E-Sports team is still a major expense. It's not breaking our budget, thankfully—not enough to make Sayuri fly into a full-on rage," he added with a sly grin. "But it's definitely not pocket change either."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, eyes twinkling as he added with a laugh, "Though honestly… she's kind of cute when she's angry. You should've seen her last week when I submitted the budget request for the E-Sport equipnt."
Shinsuke paused for a mont, briefly lost in the thought of his wife Sayuri, who also happened to be the formidable head of ZAGE's Finance Division. Despite the tough conversations, her dedication to the company—and to him—never wavered.
Zaboru laughed, shaking his head lightly. "Hehe, Sayuri-san really is scary when she gets serious—but that's just proof of how much she cares about ZAGE's future. She's not just crunching numbers, she's guarding the heart of this company."
He leaned forward slightly, tone turning a little more serious. "And yeah, I get it. For now, this E-Sports initiative is still in its infancy, and the return might not be visible yet. But the revenue will co. Sooner than most expect. We're already laying the groundwork: we'll earn from TV broadcast rights, from audience tickets sold at live tournants, and from sponsorships. Not to ntion—we're also boosting our brand awareness in a major way. That alone has imnse long-term value."
He smiled with renewed energy. "This year's ZAGE End-of-Year Tournant is going to be a ga changer. Unlike anything we've done before. Bigger production, more viewers, and a global reach. We're not just doing this for fun—we want to show the world what's coming. This ti, we're not just playing. We're building the foundation of sothing much, much bigger."
Shinsuke nodded firmly, clearly moved by the passion in Zaboru's voice. "Yes, I understand completely, Boss. This is an investnt for the future. Just leave it to —I'll make sure everything falls into place."
Zaboru grinned and gave an approving nod. He didn't say another word—but in that gesture, his trust in Shinsuke was crystal clear.
After spending a good while catching up with Shinsuke and feeling confident about the direction of ZAGE's E-Sports initiative, Zaboru finally excused himself and returned to his personal office on the 51st floor. The sun had started to dip beyond the city skyline, casting a soft orange hue across the ZAGE Tower windows. He leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. "Finally, the E-Sports scene can start truly taking shape," he muttered with a quiet chuckle, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and excitent.
He turned to glance at his developnt roadmap—an internal digital tiline tracking the progress of ZAGE's upcoming titles. His gaze landed on a particularly important project: "Warcraft 3 - Reign of Chaos," currently in active developnt by Team Tempest USA. It wasn't just another RTS title. In Zaboru's mind, it was a critical keystone for sothing far larger.
"MOBAs… they definitely need to erge as a main E-Sports attraction," he said aloud to himself, his tone more thoughtful now. He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. In his previous life, so of the most compelling and thrilling E-Sports events to watch were always centered around MOBAs. Gas like Dota and League of Legends hadn't just dominated viewership—they had built entire competitive ecosystems and cultures around them.
Now, as Warcraft 3 neared release, he saw an opportunity too good to pass up. Just like in his past life, the original Dota had started as a mod—a community-driven map that grew into a cultural phenonon. Zaboru knew he would recreate that magic again. He would guide his developers to craft a similar mod—ZAGE's own pioneering MOBA project—as a custom map within Warcraft 3's robust editor tools. The blueprint was already in his mind: lanes, towers, heroes, teamfights, and the strategic depth that could hook players for years to co. It was ti to plant the seed for sothing legendary.
Zaboru chuckled to himself, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "But this ti," he mused, "ZAGE's version of DoTa won't be like the IceFrog one from my previous life. No ssy licensing issues here. We can use the full Warcraft lore for all our heroes without worrying about legal hurdles."
He leaned back in his chair, allowing himself to drift into mory. In his past life, the original Dota had been entangled in countless complications. IceFrog, the mysterious developer behind its rise, had struggled greatly when he attempted to go independent. Blizzard, the creators of Warcraft, were not exactly thrilled that soone was using their intellectual property so freely. Zaboru vividly rembered the friction—particularly when iconic heroes like Invoker ca under scrutiny. Originally nad Kael, a clear reference to the Warcraft character Kael'Thas Sunstrider, Invoker had to undergo a bizarre identity change due to mounting pressure from Blizzard's legal departnt. The new na? Carl.
Zaboru laughed out loud at the thought—an elegant, elven mage with cosmic-level magic powers… nad Carl. "It was like giving Gandalf the na 'George,'" he joked to himself. The dissonance had always been a running joke in the community.
But here, in this world, things were different. ZAGE owned the Warcraft IP outright. Every character, every piece of lore, every na, every asset—fully within his control. There would be no cease-and-desist letters, no rebranding to avoid lawsuits. He could build his own DoTa with the original integrity intact. No awkward compromises. No watered-down nas.
"This ti," he thought, a spark of ambition in his eyes, "we're doing it right. And no elf will be forced to go by the na Carl."
Zaboru sat back in his chair, deep in contemplation. "Maybe... maybe I should also have ZAGE develop an early version of that other giant—an LoL-style map too? Hahaha! Why not? If we're going to birth a new MOBA genre, then ZAGE should do both. Dota and LoL equivalents," he said to himself with a chuckle. "But I wonder... even if both gas are ZAGE properties in this world, will fans still end up clashing like before? That rivalry ran deep. Well, I suppose I'll just have to wait and see how it unfolds this ti."
In his previous life, the divide between Dota and LoL fans was legendary. The Dota community often looked down on LoL players, branding them as 'braindead' or 'casuals,' claiming that League was chanically shallow compared to the depth of Dota. From denied creeps to jungle stacking to the lack of instant recall without a teleportation scroll—Dota had systems that required more precision and planning. Zaboru rembered how often frustrated teammates would lash out with the ultimate insult: "Go play LoL," as if it were a mark of disgrace.
And that rivalry wasn't just casual banter—it was tribal. For so, it defined their identity in the competitive gaming scene. He couldn't help but smile, amused and nostalgic at how fiercely loyal—and toxic—those communities had beco over ti. But here, he had a chance to rewrite that narrative. Or maybe... let history repeat itself, just with both gas under one roof this ti.
While LoL players often saw Dota players as overly serious or even delusional, they believed Dota fans suffered from a 'Pro Complex'—constantly thinking they were superior to everyone else simply because their ga demanded more technical skill. For LoL players, the core of gaming was fun, accessibility, and playability, not endless micromanagent and complexity. This ideological divide created an inevitable clash between the two communities, sparking heated debates and online fla wars that raged for years.
When new players decide to dive into the world of MOBAs, DoTa can be an incredibly overwhelming experience. It often requires at least two full weeks of dedicated and consistent playing just to reach a decent level of understanding. Mastery takes even longer, and the learning curve is notoriously steep. One of the main hurdles is the support role, which, while absolutely crucial to team success, is often considered the least fun to play. Support players in DoTa are frequently expected to sacrifice their gold, experience, and kills for the sake of their teammates, and much of their job revolves around warding, babysitting, and controlling the map without the gratification of flashy plays or big numbers.
In contrast, LoL presents itself as far more accessible to newcors. Within just three to four days of regular gaplay, players can usually grasp the fundantals and start enjoying the ga. The chanics are more streamlined, the objectives are presented more clearly, and the overall pace is a bit more forgiving. Most notably, the support role in LoL is significantly more varied and engaging. Players can choose from a wide range of champions with unique abilities that allow them to influence fights, roam the map, and even carry gas in certain situations. Unlike DoTa, where support often feels like a burden, LoL manages to make the role not only tolerable—but in many cases, enjoyable. This key difference in onboarding and gaplay design is a major reason why LoL succeeded in attracting such a massive player base, especially among casual gars.
Adding to the friction, LoL players frequently mocked Dota's lore. They saw it as shallow or disjointed, especially when compared to the expansive, ticulously crafted universe Riot Gas had built for League of Legends. LoL's champions each had rich backstories, interconnected relationships, and evolving narratives that players genuinely cared about. In contrast, Dota was plagued by licensing issues. Because the original ga couldn't use Warcraft IP legally, many of its characters—originally based on Warcraft heroes—had to be renad or reimagined, stripping them of their narrative cohesion. That lack of consistent lore made Dota feel like a patchwork of half-rembered identities, whereas LoL had the polish of a professionally authored fantasy world. This difference only fueled more mockery from the LoL side, as they claid not only was their ga more fun—it also had better storytelling.
In the end, though, both DoTa and LoL were undeniably great gas in their own right. Each stayed true to its identity—DoTa remained DoTa, with all its complex chanics and unforgiving depth, while LoL continued to be LoL, focused on accessibility, polish, and narrative richness. That much Zaboru knew for certain. After all, he had played both extensively in his previous life until he stopped around 2018.
And when it ca to their fanbases, well… they were more alike than either side would ever admit. Both communities had gained notoriety for their toxicity, with infamous behavior ranging from rage quitting to trolling and harassnt. There was no escaping it—every ga had its fair share of disruptive players. It was frustrating, sure, but in a strange way, it also contributed to each ga's unique charm. The passion, the rivalries, the emotional highs and lows—all of it ca together to form a culture that, for better or worse, defined the MOBAs as much as the gaplay itself.
Because nothing beats the feeling of sweet revenge in a MOBA match—when your opponents are trash-talking you, mocking your every move, and you're on the verge of defeat... only to turn the tide. You claw your way back, outplay them in team fights, reclaim control of the map, and ultimately snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. And then, the silence turns into excuses. Suddenly, it's lag, bad teammates, or anything but their own mistakes. That mont—when the coback becos undeniable and their bravado crumbles—is the absolute peak of the MOBA experience. The intensity, the adrenaline, the triumph over arrogance—there's simply nothing like it.
Zaboru was determined to bring both of those groundbreaking titles to life in this world—the Dota-style and LoL-style MOBAs—each with its own identity and design philosophy. He wasn't entirely sure how they would perform in this tiline, or how players would receive them. Would they compete? Coexist? Would rival communities form again, even though both gas would bear the ZAGE na? The uncertainty only made him more curious. But one thing was undeniable—it thrilled him. The challenge, the creative potential, the prospect of shaping a competitive legacy from scratch—it all sent a surge of adrenaline through him.
With those thoughts still swirling in his mind, Zaboru realized he had spent the entire day imrsed in etings, strategy, and long-term planning. He smiled to himself and stood up from his desk. "Enough work for today," he muttered, stretching. It was ti to take care of his body too. He grabbed his gym bag and made his way to the ZAGE GYM for a much-needed workout session.
To be continue
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