Sunday, 7 October 1994
In one of Tokyo's electronics stores, many customers were queueing — but not because they wanted to buy something. Instead, they were there demanding full refunds for the newest console they had just bought: the ZUSUGA Generation 1, also known as ZU Gen 1. The store owner was having a massive headache. It had been just a day since release, yet plenty of customers were already asking for refunds. Most of the consoles and games were still in perfect condition — players hadn't expected the system to be such trash, riddled with bugs despite its high price. Whispers spread through the line, with frustrated customers shaking their heads, some muttering that even budget games from smaller companies had offered better experiences.
Even players too lazy or too rich to bother returning the console were warning their friends to cancel any plans to buy ZU Gen 1, calling it a waste of money. By the second day, ZU Gen 1 sales were plummeting rapidly across Japan, with negative word of mouth spreading like wildfire. So far, Zukechi, the ZUSUGA CEO, remained blissfully unaware. Instead, he was busy celebrating the release of his first console, drinking, laughing, and partying late into the night, convinced he had become a rising star in the gaming world.
Monday, 8 October 1994
Zaboru appeared on a short review segment on TV Tokyo, on a popular Japanese talk show. On air, Zaboru calmly but firmly expressed his disappointment with ZUSUGA. He explained he had genuinely been looking forward to playing some exciting new games, but all ten launch titles turned out unpolished, riddled with bugs, and painfully mediocre. Zaboru didn't just point fingers at the developers — he placed the responsibility squarely on ZUSUGA's management, criticizing their rushed approach and poor leadership.
He explained that ZUSUGA's developers had clearly been forced to push out these games under an impossible timeline, leaving no room for proper polish or testing. The ten launch titles all felt rushed, lacking depth or refinement. He also strongly disapproved of ZUSUGA's approach of prioritizing quantity over quality, warning that if this trend continued, it could risk another video game market crash — much like the infamous Atari crash that once shook the industry.
Zaboru spoke calmly, without mocking or gloating — but his words carried weight. Overall, he was simply deeply protective of the video game industry. This talk show appearance made ZUSUGA's reputation plummet even further. For a figure like the "Savior of Video Games," known for being supportive, encouraging, and generous toward other developers, to criticize a company so bluntly — it hit like poison.
Tuesday, 9 October 1994 — ZUSUGA HQ
Zukechi finally showed up at ZUSUGA HQ for a meeting. The meeting had been scheduled for Monday, but Zukechi had been too drunk, so he postponed it despite the shareholders' urgency. He stumbled into the meeting room, where the shareholders were already gathered — including the current head of game development at ZUSUGA: Shinji Mikami.
Yes, that Shinji Mikami. In this world, he was born in 1967 — two years younger than in Zaboru's previous life. Before joining ZUSUGA, he had worked at Sonaya and another game company as a developer. When the chance came to become a lead developer at ZUSUGA, he jumped at it, eager to prove himself. But it has been a nightmare ever since. His warnings to slow down and focus on quality had been ignored. Every time he raised concerns, Zukechi would just wave him off and push for faster releases. Mikami was under immense stress.
The meeting began.
One shareholder shouted, "Zukechi, we need to take action! ZU Gen 1 isn't selling!" His voice echoed through the tense room, sharp with frustration and urgency.
Another added, "You told us to trust your vision — and here we are. So, what's your take on this mess?"
Zukechi's eyes widened. Wasn't it selling well on launch day? He snatched up the sales report, scanning it in disbelief. The graph showed ZU Gen 1 sales plummeting like a waterfall. His hands trembled slightly. "This must be a mistake! It can't be!"
The meeting continued with tense exchanges as Zukechi tried to calm the shareholders, insisting this was just the early release phase and things would improve. But the shareholders weren't fools. Then one shareholder spoke sharply: "Besides, the talk show with Zaboru made things worse. ZU Gen 1 is now seen as poison in the gaming industry!"
Zukechi's eyes snapped up. "What talk show!? Zaboru? Where? I want to watch!"
His assistant hurriedly replayed the TV Tokyo interview. As he watched, Zukechi's face turned red with rage. He gritted his teeth and slammed his desk with a loud thud. "Damn! Who does he think he is!? How dare he talk about me like that!?"
Meanwhile, Shinji Mikami clenched his fists. Everything Zaboru had said — it was all true. Zukechi turned toward Mikami, and a twisted grin crossed his face. He had found his scapegoat. "This is all your fucking fault, Mikami! You should've done better! Your games are trash!"
Shinji's eyes widened, his heart pounding. He couldn't stay silent anymore. He wanted to be a great developer — not dragged into this chaos. Taking a deep breath, summoning all his courage, he stood up.
"Zagashira-san, it's you who's always been stubborn! I always said ten games for launch didn't fit our timeline! I proposed releasing four games at launch and rolling out the rest gradually, like Sonaya does — but you didn't believe me! You forced me and my team to push out unfinished games just to hit ten titles! And whenever I raised concerns, you shrugged it off and told me to just 'do better!' And now you're blaming me!?" Mikami's voice trembled slightly but carried a sharp edge, his frustration finally breaking through after months of silence.
Zukechi's face twisted with rage, veins bulging in his forehead. "You dare blame ME!?" He grabbed a coffee mug and hurled it at Mikami's head. Mikami dodged slightly, but it still grazed him, the mug shattering on impact and leaving a sharp cut that bled down his temple. "Agh!" Mikami winced, pressing a hand to the cut, his heart racing with shock and anger.
The other shareholders recoiled in shock. "What is the meaning of this, Zukechi!? You barbaric brute! How dare you resort to violence!?" They snorted in disgust, shaking their heads in disbelief, and began leaving. "Your father will hear about this — you'll regret it!"
But Zukechi just grinned. "You think I'm afraid of all of you!? And Mikami! You're fired! Get out of this building — and I don't care about your bleeding head!"
As the others left, Zukechi stormed back to his office, slamming his desk. "Such incompetent fools! I'll replace Mikami! I'll hire more people! I can fix this! I just need more money — and Father will help me!" He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "They don't understand vision! They don't understand genius!" he muttered to himself, eyes darting between scattered documents on his desk. His phone buzzed with missed calls and messages, reporters already asking for statements. For a moment, doubt flickered in his eyes — but he quickly shoved it away, gripping the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white. "No… no. I can't fail now. I'll show them all. I'll show the whole damn industry but first I need to meet with my father about this."
Meanwhile, Shinji Mikami, after getting his head treated, was officially fired. He couldn't work at ZUSUGA anymore. Mikami sighed, feeling the weight of everything crash onto his shoulders. It was already night — around 21:00. His clothes were rumpled, his temple ached, and his thoughts were a storm of frustration and exhaustion. He decided to take a cab. His destination? Tokyo, near the ZAGE offices, though he wasn't sure why — maybe for a walk, maybe just to clear his head, maybe to see what could have been. As the cab drove through the neon-lit streets, Mikami leaned his head against the window, watching the city blur past, wondering what his next step would be.
In the cab, Mikami sighed to himself. "I should've joined ZAGE back then…" Back when ZAGE was openly hiring, he had had the chance, but he'd chosen ZUSUGA, wanting to be a lead developer. Now, everything has backfired. "Hah… now I'm jobless, huh?"
He sat at a nearby park for a while, drinking canned coffee, watching the occasional passerby and the quiet rustle of leaves. The cool night air helped him clear his mind, though the ache in his head lingered. After a while, he wandered into an alleyway where a small ramen stall was open, its warm light spilling onto the pavement. He just wanted something to eat before heading home, hoping the hot broth might soothe both his body and his troubled thoughts.
Inside, there was only one customer — Mikami could only see his back, but the table was piled with bowls. Mikami thought, Wow, sure, that guy can eat…
He went up to the owner. "Boss, one miso ramen." The owner grinned. "One miso ramen, coming right up!" Meanwhile, the other customer finally pushed back, satisfied after ten bowls, and let out a big burp. "Delicious as always, boss. Thanks a lot." Shinji Mikami's eyes widened as he finally caught sight of the other customer's face. The guy who had just eaten like a barbarian was none other than… Zaboru Renkonan! For a moment, Mikami froze, gripping the edge of the counter, heart pounding. Of all people, why him? He watched as Zaboru wiped his mouth with a napkin, stretched his arms, and smiled in contentment, completely relaxed. The noise of the sizzling broth, the faint music from a small radio, and the quiet bustle of the alley faded into the background as Mikami's mind raced. Fate had thrown him into the same ramen stall as the very figure reshaping the gaming world — and maybe, just maybe, this was the break he didn't know he needed.
Mikami thought, N-no way, right!? Sure, the ZAGE offices were nearby, but why was Zaboru eating at a cheap ramen stall? Mikami's hands felt clammy as he debated whether to say anything, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't help himself. He spoke up, his voice slightly shaky. "Z… Zaboru?" Zaboru turned to him with a calm, curious look. "Yes?" And then Zaboru thought, Isn't that Shinji Mikami? Recognition flickered in his eyes, and a small, friendly smile tugged at his lips. He stood up and approached, brushing off his jacket casually, as if running into Mikami here was just another moment in his night, unaware of how much it meant to Mikami.
To be continued.
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