Friday 8 November 1998 USA.
Zaboru let out a long sigh as he looked at the invitation stamped with the familiar logo of The Tonight Late Show with Conan. This particular talk show was incredibly persistent, always reaching out to him again and again, and lately it was not alone. Other live shows and late‑night programs had also been aggressively requesting interviews, clearly sensing the growing public fascination around him. Zaboru had appeared on talk shows before, but never too frequently. It was not that he disliked them—he simply did not care much for publicity, and more importantly, he was constantly buried in work.
"I wonder why they want to talk with so much?" Zaboru muttered to himself before letting out another quiet sigh. "Ah well… let's attend this one." He chuckled softly, already knowing that this would not be a simple interview. He had been inford that he would be sharing the stage with Madonna. In this world, Madonna was born in 1968, making her ten years younger than in his previous life and placing her firmly in her thirties, right at the peak of her popularity and performance. Zaboru did not particularly consider himself a big fan, but he had no issue being interviewed alongside her. Still, as he folded the invitation and set it down, he sighed once more. "I just hope it doesn't get weird… and Ayumi is watching too."
And now it is already night, and the studio lights of Late Night Show with Conan shine brightly as the broadcast goes live. Conan O'Brien, the energetic host of the show, is currently interviewing Madonna. As expected, Madonna speaks casually and confidently, completely owning the stage with her charm and relaxed attitude. The conversation flows naturally, filled with laughter and light jokes, until Conan leans forward with a grin, clearly preparing to steer the discussion in a new direction.
"One more question," Conan says playfully, "what do you think about guys who play video gas as a hobby?" Madonna smiles without hesitation and answers smoothly, "Well, it's not a red flag as long as it's not too much." The audience laughs softly, enjoying the easy exchange. Conan nods exaggeratedly, then grins even wider. "I see… and speaking of that," he continues, raising his voice for dramatic effect, "it's ti to welco our next guest! The CEO of ZAGE, and the man many people are calling the 'God of Video Gas'—Zaboru Renkonan!"
Zaboru then steps onto the stage, waving confidently to the audience, who imdiately go wild at the sight of him. Cheers and applause fill the studio as he smiles warmly, clearly used to this kind of reception but never taking it for granted. He walks toward Conan and Madonna, greeting them with calm composure. When he reaches Madonna, Zaboru offers a polite handshake. Her eyes visibly light up the mont they et. She leans in slightly, clearly intending to hug him, but Zaboru maintains his gentle smile and keeps his hand extended instead. For a brief mont, Madonna looks mildly disappointed, yet she recovers quickly and shakes his hand anyway. Zaboru then turns to Conan and shakes his hand as well—but Conan, already sensing an opportunity, clearly has no intention of letting that mont slide.
Without missing a beat, Conan launches into his first question. "This might be a heavy one for the first question," he says with a mischievous grin, "but why does it look like you're rejecting Madonna's hug?" This kind of question—one that skirts the edge of awkwardness—has always been Conan's specialty, yet he delivers it with such a casual and playful tone that it cos off as endearing rather than confrontational. The audience lets out a ripple of laughter, sensing the tension but enjoying the playful drama of the mont.
Madonna, ever the perforr, grins widely and turns her full attention toward Zaboru. She shifts slightly in her seat, adjusting her posture in a way that radiates confidence and a hint of flirtation. Her eyes narrow just enough to signal amusent and curiosity, and she smiles with unmistakably sultry intent. She cannot deny it—Zaboru Renkonan, in his sleek black suit and composed deanor, is an attractive man, and the mystique surrounding him only adds to the allure.
Tilting her head slightly, she leans in just enough to tease, her voice smooth like silk. "Yes, Zaboru… am I not beautiful enough for you, 'God of Video Gas'?" Her tone is playful, but there's an underlying boldness that captivates both the live audience and viewers at ho. She finishes with a knowing smile, letting her words linger in the air as the studio fills with laughter, whistles, and murmurs. The chemistry, though uninvited, now sparks across the stage, and all eyes are on Zaboru to see how he'll respond.
At Zaboru's one of ho in the U.S., his wife Ayumi, their son Zenshin, and Zaboru's mother Keiko were all gathered together, watching the live broadcast of the talk show. They had accompanied Zaboru on this international trip, both for support and family bonding, but tonight the mood in the living room was anything but relaxed. Ayumi sat stiffly on the sofa, her eyes glued to the television screen as her fingers squeezed the aluminum of her canned juice tighter with every passing mont. Her expression was calm, but her grip and tense posture betrayed a growing irritation.
Zenshin, however, was delighted. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, he watched his father on TV with sparkling eyes and a wide grin. "Papa's cool!" he shouted cheerfully. He clapped his hands, completely unaware of the subtext swirling around the grown-ups.
Keiko, sitting nearby, chuckled as she glanced at Ayumi. Ayumi tilted her head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line as she kept her eyes locked on the screen. That Madonna woman… she really thinks just because she's a global pop star, she can flirt with my Zabo? The thought burned in her chest. Her grip on the juice tightened. He's mine. I don't care how famous or seductive you are. Zaboru is loyal, but that doesn't an you get to test boundaries on national television.
Her gaze sharpened, a dangerous glint flickering in her eyes. She's lucky I'm watching from this couch and not in that studio right now… Ayumi caught herself mid-thought, exhaling slowly. Her inner monologue softened but remained sharp. No, I shouldn't be like that. I'm better than that… but maybe just a little lesson in manners wouldn't hurt. A very polite, very respectful reminder—with a rolling pin to the head, perhaps. She smirked to herself, amused and fuming all at once.
Back in the studio, Zaboru remained the picture of composure. Not a bead of sweat appeared on his brow, and not a flicker of awkwardness crossed his face. Calm and self-assured, he looked toward the audience and said smoothly, "Well, I have my boundaries. And I'm married now. I have a very beautiful wife waiting at ho… who happens to be a little jealous—and a little scary. But that's exactly what I love about her."
He turned toward Madonna with a respectful nod and added with a kind smile, "It's not that I don't respect you, Miss Madonna. On the contrary. But I know who I belong to."
The crowd burst into cheers and laughter, appreciating both the humor and the honesty in his words. Even Conan grinned and clapped, while Madonna raised her eyebrows in amused defeat. Ayumi, still holding her juice, couldn't help but let the tension in her shoulders ease—just a little.
And Conan burst out laughing, slapping his desk. "Hahaha! In the end, every man is the sa. Even Zaboru Renkonan—the youngest billionaire in the world—is afraid of his wife! Just like the rest of us!" The audience erupted in louder laughter and applause, thoroughly enjoying the mont. Zaboru gave a sheepish grin and shrugged, clearly comfortable playing along with the joke.
Madonna, anwhile, continued to stare at him with interest. She chuckled under her breath and subtly bit her lower lip, a gesture the studio caras absolutely did not miss. The image was quickly captured on the monitors and broadcast to millions, but Zaboru, unfazed, didn't acknowledge it at all. He remained calm, composed, and unmoved by the flirty tension.
Conan leaned forward again, clearly shifting into a more serious tone. "Now, here's sothing I've been really curious about," he said, raising a finger thoughtfully. "There's been a growing debate lately—especially with how big the video ga industry's beco—on whether or not video gas are art. So people say it's obviously yes, while others argue that because it's interactive, it doesn't qualify. That it shouldn't be included among the seven classic forms of art like music, film, painting, and so on."
He paused for emphasis, then gestured toward Zaboru. "So what's your take on this, Zaboru? You're basically the pinnacle of the video ga industry right now. If anyone has the answer, it's you."
The room quieted slightly in anticipation, the audience leaning in. It was clear that this wasn't just entertainnt anymore—people were genuinely interested in hearing what Zaboru had to say.
Zaboru leaned back in his seat, folding his hands comfortably as he smiled. "Hmm, interesting question," he said, his tone thoughtful. "But before answering whether video gas are art, let's take a mont to assess—what is art, really?" He paused briefly, letting the question linger in the air. "There are countless definitions out there, depending on who you ask—academics, critics, artists themselves—but one of my favorite definitions cos from Leo Tolstoy: 'Art is the transmission of emotion from the creator to the audience.' Simple, broad, but profoundly true."
He gestured slightly with his hand, warming into the topic. "And if we take that definition seriously, then video gas don't just qualify as art—they embody a fusion of multiple art forms. In video gas, creators build environnts like architects, compose soundtracks like musicians, write dialogue and stories like novelists and screenwriters, and design visual aesthetics like painters and filmmakers. All of this is layered together into a single experience."
"But the key difference," Zaboru continued, "is that video gas add one powerful elent no other dium can truly replicate: interactivity. Music wants you to listen. Film wants you to watch. Paintings want you to observe. But video gas? They invite you to play. To touch. To explore. To engage directly. And that interactivity ans that the emotional exchange isn't just one-way—it becos a dialogue between creator and player."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady and confident. "That's what elevates video gas into sothing unique. They are the sum of all the traditional art forms, enhanced by participation. The player becos part of the canvas, part of the story. And because of that, I can proudly say—with no hesitation—that video gas are not only art… they are the eighth form of art."
The crowd remained quiet for a heartbeat, soaking in the weight of his words—then erupted into applause..
Conan clearly didn't expect such a well‑structured and thoughtful answer from Zaboru. For a brief mont, he looked genuinely impressed, eyebrows raised as he processed what had just been said. Madonna, too, appeared surprised, blinking once before nodding slowly, her expression shifting from playful curiosity to sincere respect. Conan then broke into applause, quickly joined by the audience. "What a great answer!" he said enthusiastically. "Seriously, that's one of the best explanations I've heard on this show."
He leaned back in his chair, still smiling, before continuing. "Alright, next question. I hear about this a lot, and honestly, people keep asking to ask you this," Conan added with a grin. "You're famous for praising your competitors' gas—sotis even more than your own. Because of that, so people say you've earned a reputation as a so‑called 'bad businessman.'" He made air quotes with his fingers for emphasis. "So what's your take on that? Why do you do it?"
Zaboru chuckled softly before answering, clearly amused by the label. "Well, if being a 'bad businessman' ans I'm a fairly decent person," he said with a grin, "then I'll gladly accept that title." Conan imdiately laughed, leaning back in his chair, while Madonna also laughed along, nodding as if she perfectly understood what Zaboru was implying. The audience joined in, appreciating the self-aware humor.
Zaboru then continued, his tone gradually shifting from playful to sincere. "Jokes aside, I've actually answered this question many tis before, but my stance has never changed," he said calmly. "What I truly want is not just for ZAGE to beco the greatest video ga empire in the world." He paused briefly, choosing his words carefully. "What I want is to elevate the entire video ga industry to a much higher place—creatively, culturally, and emotionally—while ZAGE grows alongside it."
He smiled again, this ti more relaxed. "Because in the end, it's simple. I want to play good gas. Gas that inspire , surprise , and make feel sothing. And if praising competitors helps push everyone to make better gas, then I see that as a win for players, creators, and the industry as a whole."
Conan laughed and nodded, clearly enjoying the flow of the conversation. "Alright," he said, leaning slightly closer, "here's another question—maybe not a pleasant one." The tone shifted just a little. "There are a lot of experts out there saying that video gas are a waste of 'ti,' sothing young people should avoid at all costs. So even go as far as calling them poison. So what's your take on that?"
Zaboru laughed openly at that, shaking his head. "Honestly, I'm tired of these kinds of questions," he replied without hesitation. "If video gas are considered a waste of ti, then by that logic, minding soone else's happiness and how they choose to spend their free ti is an even bigger waste." Conan burst into laughter again, clearly amused by the blunt response.
Zaboru didn't bother cutting the chase and continued more seriously. "The truth is, no matter how good sothing is, if you do it too much, it becos bad. Exercise is good. Sugar can be good. Vegetables are good. Studying is good. But if you overdo any of those, they can harm you." He spread his hands calmly. "Video gas are no different."
He went on, his voice asured and thoughtful. "And especially for children, the effects can vary. Many kids dislike studying—most of them, honestly. They study because they want to be better, or because their parents tell them it's important for their future, and that is a good thing." He nodded once. "But when a child plays video gas because they genuinely love it, they're choosing to engage. They're happy. They're motivated."
Zaboru smiled lightly. "And in that state, they're actually learning a lot—problem‑solving, creativity, cooperation, decision‑making. Video gas are a great way to build soft skills when used properly. Like everything else, it's about balance, not fear."
Conan nodded enthusiastically, clearly satisfied with the answer. He continued the interview for a while longer, tossing in lighter questions and occasionally pulling Madonna back into the conversation, keeping the mood relaxed and entertaining. The exchange flowed naturally, filled with jokes, laughter, and small monts that made the audience feel like they were watching a genuine conversation rather than a scripted show.
Then, with a dramatic grin, Conan clapped his hands together. "Alright, before we wrap things up," he said, "there's one more thing I've been dying to do." The stage crew suddenly rolled out a large table, and sitting proudly on top of it was an entire whole baked turkey, golden brown, steaming slightly under the studio lights. The audience imdiately burst into laughter and cheers.
"Everyone knows this guy," Conan continued, pointing at Zaboru, "is famous not just for making gas… but for his appetite. So here's the challenge." He leaned closer. "Can you eat this turkey? Right here. Right now."
Without hesitation, Zaboru laughed and rolled up his sleeves. "Why not?" he said casually, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. He took his seat, picked up the turkey with both hands, and began eating it directly, confidently and unapologetically. The crowd went wild, clapping and cheering as he tore into it with enthusiasm, clearly enjoying himself.
Conan doubled over in laughter, barely able to speak, while Madonna covered her mouth, eyes wide in disbelief before laughing along with the rest of the audience. Zaboru showed no concern for appearances, no hesitation, and no embarrassnt. He ate heartily, cleanly, and efficiently, finishing the challenge to roaring applause.
The mont made him feel incredibly relatable—not a distant CEO or an untouchable billionaire, but soone completely comfortable being himself on live television, unafraid to look silly or imperfect.
And so the interview ca to an end, broadcast live and watched by millions across the country. By the ti the credits rolled, it was clear that public affection for Zaboru had only grown stronger. People admired how grounded and genuine he felt despite his imnse wealth and influence, how openly and proudly he showed his love for his wife even in the face of Madonna's unmistakable flirting, and how he handled everything with calm confidence. His sharp yet warm sarcasm, combined with his honesty and humility, made him feel less like an untouchable billionaire CEO and more like soone audiences could genuinely relate to and root for.
To be continue
Please give your power stone and if you want to support and get minimum 35 advance chapter and additional 1 chapter a week for 4$ considering subscribe to my patreon patreon/Zaborn_1997
Or buycoffee sbuyacoffee/Zaborn_1997 which sa with patreon
current Patreon/buycoffe chap 947
User Comments
0 comments from readers