Saturday 7 December 1998.
ZAGE Tower Japan.
A week had passed since Zaboru's unforgettable appearance on the Sasuke live show, and the impact was still being felt across the country. Invitations from Japanese television networks poured in relentlessly—variety shows, talk shows, sports programs, even late‑night specials all wanted a piece of him. Producers called, managers sent formal letters, and so networks even tried personal connections just to get his attention. But Zaboru? He rejected them all, or simply ignored them without hesitation.
It wasn't arrogance, nor was it disdain for television. Zaboru was simply busy—genuinely busy. His days were filled with work at ZAGE, overseeing projects, reviewing builds, and steering the industry forward. When he wasn't working, he chose to spend his ti with his family, enjoying the quiet monts that fa could never replace. And in the small pockets of free ti he carved out for himself, he did what he loved most: playing video gas.
Right now, Zaboru was deeply invested in playing and experiencing gas submitted by third‑party developers for ZEPS 3. There were many of them—far more than he had anticipated—and he took personal enjoynt in seeing how developers were pushing the platform in new directions. For him, that was far more satisfying than sitting under studio lights answering the sa questions again and again.
Zaboru leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin forming on his face. He was currently on the 51st floor of ZAGE Tower—his personal workspace and sanctuary. This floor housed his private gaming room, a space few people were ever allowed to enter. The room was filled wall‑to‑wall with consoles and shelves of video gas, spanning every generation inside or outside ZAGE. This wasn't just a collection—it was a living archive of the industry he helped build, and Zaboru genuinely loved spending ti here
Just monts ago, he had finished playing a ga that had released only last week: Kurok: Morpher, developed by a small studio in the United States. It was the developer's very first title, and their na—BEAST—had been unfamiliar to him before. Yet to his pleasant surprise, the ga was genuinely good. Not just "good for a first attempt," but solid in design, ambition, and execution.
Zaboru imdiately recognized the inspirations behind it. The core transformation chanics clearly drew from ZAGE's Bloody Roar power system and the ZOAN Devil Fruit concepts from ZAGE's One Piece. The protagonist, Kurok, was a soldier subjected to extre experintation, injected with the DNA of various animals. This allowed him to partially transform into hybrid forms—Lion‑Human, Rhino‑Human, Ape‑Human—each with distinct combat styles and abilities.
What impressed Zaboru most was how well these transformations were integrated into gaplay. Kurok: Morpher wasn't just a 3D action ga; it blended combat, light puzzles, and environntal interaction smoothly, while also presenting a darker, more brutal narrative tone filled with violence and gore. Despite the grim atmosphere, the ga never felt edgy for the sake of it—it felt intentional. Zaboru couldn't help but think that the concept shared similarities with Ben 10, in his previous life because it need to morph to specific form to solve the Puzzle.
Gas like this were becoming increasingly common. Many developers were now gravitating toward 3D action titles as they explored the full capabilities of ZEPS 3. The platform made experintation easier than ever, largely thanks to ZAGE's decision to openly provide powerful tools and a robust engine to third‑party developers. Watching studios like BEAST take those tools and turn them into sothing genuinely creative filled Zaboru with quiet pride.
ZAGE was well known across the industry, and Zaboru himself was especially famous for never being stingy with ideas or inspiration. He openly stated—again and again—that it was perfectly fine for developers to reference ZAGE gas, borrow concepts, or build upon familiar chanics, as long as they brought sothing interesting to the table. What mattered most to him was whether a ga could genuinely excite him enough to want to play it. This mindset delighted third‑party developers, many of whom felt encouraged rather than restricted when developing for ZEPS platforms.
From a business standpoint, ZAGE's policies were equally developer‑friendly. The company charged only a low registration fee to third‑party studios, followed by a modest revenue cut of around five percent per ga sold. For many developers, this made them want to experint more and release more gas which are good things.
However, this openness did not an ZAGE was lenient in all areas. On the contrary, ZAGE's Quality Control team was infamous for its strictness. They didn't care about gaplay style, art direction, genre, or story choices—ZAGE understood that creativity was subjective and varied wildly from player to player. What they cared about, without compromise, was technical stability. Bugs were intolerable. If critical issues were found, the ga was imdiately rejected and sent back to the developer for fixes before resubmission. To ZAGE, a ga had to be polished and functional above all else. Creativity was free—but quality was non‑negotiable.
Zaboru chuckled softly as he scrolled through and sampled the video ga titles released from last month up until today. He could imdiately tell the differences in ambition—so gas were genuinely great, so were clearly trying to be unique and experintal, while others chose to play it safe, following proven formulas without taking too many risks. None of this surprised him. This kind of variety was a natural sign of a healthy and growing industry.
One title in particular caught his attention: Break‑Out, developed by J‑Group in the United States. Zaboru couldn't help but laugh as he played it. The ga was, without question, heavily inspired—almost cloned—from Resident Evil. The cara angles, the atmosphere, even the pacing were unmistakable. However, J‑Group had added a noticeably stronger focus on action, pushing combat forward more aggressively than survival horror tension.
The result wasn't bad at all. In fact, the ga was fairly solid in execution. Still, the references to Resident Evil were so strong that anyone familiar with the genre would notice imdiately. Zaboru rely chuckled at the resemblance and shrugged it off. He didn't mind. Things like this were common in every creative industry. Inspiration, imitation, and iteration were all part of the process—as long as developers kept learning and improving.
Then there was another title that caught Zaboru's attention, this ti from Fuji‑Dan, a veteran developer that had been around since the ZEPS 1 era. Fuji‑Dan had long specialized in car gas, with most of their catalog focused on racing titles, and over the years they had built a quiet but loyal fanbase. This ti, however, they had truly stepped up their ga.
Their latest release, NASCAR – Japan, was a full‑fledged stock‑car racing experience inspired heavily by real NASCAR rules and presentation. Unlike so of their earlier efforts, this one felt polished, confident, and technically impressive. Zaboru was particularly struck by the visuals—the car models, lighting, and track detail were genuinely impressive, in so areas even rivaling ZAGE's own racing titles.
That said, the ga was clearly chasing a very different philosophy compared to ZAGE's NASCAR Rumble. While NASCAR – Japan aid for authenticity, realism, and a proper NASCAR atmosphere, NASCAR Rumble leaned heavily into chaos, exaggerated speed, and arcade‑style mayhem. Both gas served different audiences, and Zaboru appreciated that distinction. Rather than competing directly, Fuji‑Dan had chosen to coexist by offering players a more serious, grounded racing experience—and in doing so, they had delivered sothing genuinely cool while still staying to their identity.
Even so, Zaboru felt genuinely good. With ZAGE leading the industry, he could clearly see that the video ga world as a whole was growing steadily and healthily. It wasn't just ZEPS that was thriving—other platforms were still alive and active as well. Sonaya's 32‑bit console, the Ga Station, had undeniably lost the market war against ZAGE, yet Sonaya refused to give up. Third‑party developers continued to release gas on their platform, keeping the ecosystem alive, and rumors were already circulating that Sonaya themselves were quietly working on sothing big behind the scenes. Whatever it was, Zaboru found himself oddly excited. Competition, after all, was what kept the industry sharp.
Zaboru leaned back in his chair and took a slow sip of his coffee. "The video ga era has really grown," he murmured with a soft chuckle. It still amazed him. Seven years ago, when he had first reincarnated into this world, none of the giants he once knew—Nintendo, Capcom, Namco—had existed. Back then, the industry was fragile, uncertain, and full of gaps waiting to be filled. And now, looking around at the vibrant ecosystem of developers, platforms, and ideas, Zaboru couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of pride. From nothing, he had built ZAGE—and in doing so, had helped push the entire industry forward.
""I'm glad I can lead the industry forward," Zaboru said quietly, letting out a long sigh, "and I also need to prevent the sa kind of ugly practices that ruined things back in my previous world." Now that he held real power within the video ga industry, he felt a responsibility that went beyond profit or market dominance. He was determined not to let history repeat itself.
Zaboru had already made up his mind. He would never allow predatory loot box systems to poison gas. He would never tolerate absurd three‑hundred‑dollar 'Ultimate Editions' that locked content behind outrageous prices, or pay‑to‑win chanics that turned skill into a transaction. Even gas creeping toward eighty dollars for the base version left a bad taste in his mouth. To him, those practices were nothing but shortcuts that betrayed players' trust.
What angered him most, however, were patented gaplay chanics—ideas locked away so other developers couldn't innovate or build upon them—and the growing expectation that players should pay just to access online services on consoles. That, above all else, felt completely absurd to Zaboru. As long as he stood at the center of ZAGE, he intended to protect that philosophy and steer the industry toward sothing fairer, healthier, and worthy of the players who loved it.
"But still," Zaboru admitted with a faint smile, "sotis I miss the modern world. I can't help but wonder what kinds of gas have already been released over there, what ideas people are playing with now." He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "It's a sha I can't really experience it anymore, no matter how curious I get."
He paused for a mont, staring at the rows of ga cases and consoles around him, then laughed more openly. "But even so, if I had to choose again, I'd still choose this world without hesitation. I think it's obvious why, isn't it?" Zaboru said, his laughter carrying a quiet sense of satisfaction—content with the path he had taken and the world he had helped shape.
After this, Zaboru would need to travel to Korea. Team Dynasty was nearly finished with their current assignnt, and it was ti for him to follow up with them and introduce their true mission—the developnt of a full-scale online ga.
To be continue
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