While Zaboru held various meetings in Japan, somewhere across the Pacific in Los Angeles, an elderly man sat comfortably in his modest living room, joyfully immersed in a game of Super Mario World on his ZEPS 2 console. Despite the slight tremble in his hands and the occasional misstep with the controls, his face beamed with genuine delight. He laughed softly every time Mario missed a jump or got hit by a Koopa, not out of frustration but out of the simple joy of play. His pace was slow, measured, and careful—but never without excitement. Though the mechanics occasionally challenged him, his patience never waned, and he seemed to enjoy every pixelated moment on the screen, as if it transported him to a simpler time filled with wonder and imagination.
And the old man's name is Walt Disney. Yes, Walt Disney himself. In this alternate world, even though the calendar marks the year as 1995, the legendary creator of Mickey Mouse and Disneyland is still very much alive. Born in 1911, he is now 84 years old, yet remarkably spry and sharp for his age. His health has held up astonishingly well, allowing him to remain active, mentally agile, and full of life. There's a calm, timeless energy about him, and it genuinely seems as though he might go on for another decade—or perhaps even two.
After one hour of playing, he stopped and sighed, then sipped his water. "Zaboru… ZAGE… This young man created so many characters, and each of them… filled with love and ambition." Walt Disney went to his game library. It was filled with ZAGE games—Sonic, Mega Man, Mario, Donkey Kong, Kirby, and many more. "Can he… really make Disney great again?" Walt Disney sighed.
From a young age, Walt Disney appeared to possess a remarkable and mysterious ability—prophetic dreams. These dreams weren't simply vivid or imaginative; they often guided him to take specific actions in the real world. One notable instance occurred when he dreamt that his mother would slip and fall on the stairs due to wet stains on the stair floor. The dream startled him awake, and upon checking, he found the stairs exactly as his dream had shown—dangerously slick with wet spots. Without hesitation, he grabbed a mop and cleaned them up, potentially preventing a serious accident.
Although he tried to explain this uncanny ability to his family, they dismissed it as childish imagination. But Walt knew better. He grew accustomed to these dreams, which came without warning and offered glimpses into events that hadn't yet occurred. Over time, he stopped trying to convince others and simply followed their guidance when they came. The dreams became a silent companion in his life—strange, sporadic, but often meaningful.
Then Walt Disney rose through the entertainment industry. He created many iconic cartoons and characters that the world loved. From 1940 until the late '70s was the greatest era of Disney. But since the early '80s and into the '90s, Disney had been declining—due to a lack of inspiration.
Walt Disney never had a son. He had one biological daughter and one adopted daughter, both of whom he loved dearly. They inherited his imaginative flair and passion for storytelling, and though they created charming and heartfelt fantasy tales, they struggled when it came to managing the complex machinery of a growing business empire. Walt, ever the pragmatist, retained control by keeping 80% of the shares in the Disney Company for himself, granting his daughters only 20%. He also crafted a special clause in his will: upon his death, 40% of his shares would be transferred to his daughters, while the remaining 40% would automatically trigger Disney to become a publicly traded company. This safeguard, he believed, would ensure that even if his daughters faltered in their business acumen, Disney would still find a path forward through broader public support and accountability.
In this alternate reality, Disney has remained a private company and never transitioned into a publicly traded one. During the late 1950s, Walt Disney faced significant financial challenges as he sought to expand his vision for the company—dreams that included building Disney World and extending the Disney brand globally. Although there was immense pressure on him to take Disney public in 1959 as a means to raise capital, an unexpected turn of events changed everything.
After a long stretch without any dreams, Walt Disney suddenly found himself visited by another vision one quiet night. This time, the dream was crystal clear: it warned him not to move forward with the planned IPO next month. Instead, it suggested that someone would soon arrive and offer a significant investment in Disney. Trusting the wisdom of his dreams, as he had so often done before, Walt decided to postpone the IPO.
Three weeks later, just as the dream had foretold, a mysterious and impeccably dressed man named Klein Moretti arrived at Walt's Los Angeles residence with a proposal that would alter the course of Disney's destiny. Klein, a refined and enigmatic figure, exuded a magnetic presence that was both timeless and commanding. He introduced himself as the founder and proprietor of an exclusive network of high-society card clubs across Europe, known collectively as the Tarot Club. These clubs, he explained, were frequented by aristocrats, artists, and intellectuals who valued imagination and spectacle—ideals that Klein insisted he had learned from watching Disney films as a child.
Clad in a bespoke charcoal suit, a vintage pocket watch glinting from his waistcoat, and carrying an ornate walking cane, Klein radiated old-world elegance and intellect. As he sipped tea with Walt in the sun-drenched parlor, he shared personal stories of how Disney's animated tales had shaped his moral compass and creative vision. His words struck a chord with Walt, who listened intently, moved by the sincerity and depth of Klein's reverence.
Then came the stunning offer—5 billion dollars, an astronomical sum, in exchange for 40% ownership of the Disney Company. The money, Klein assured, came not from corporate investors or banks, but from private wealth accumulated through his own ventures. This was not just a business deal, he insisted—it was an act of faith in Walt's enduring dream and Klein want Disney to grow more.
Walt was taken aback—but also deeply intrigued. The man's sincerity, passion for creativity, and immense financial backing made the decision easier than it might have seemed. The dream had spoken, and now reality was echoing its call.
Walt agreed, and thus 40% of the Disney Company came under the ownership of Klein Moretti. With this massive injection of capital and creative belief, Walt was empowered to propel Disney to unprecedented heights. The company expanded rapidly—new parks were planned, animation studios were upgraded, and international branches began to flourish. Walt had never felt more capable of fulfilling his grand vision.
However, just three years after the partnership began, news emerged that Klein Moretti had passed away under mysterious circumstances. The announcement came as a shock to Walt. Even more surprising was the content of Klein's will. In a final act that deepened the mystery surrounding him, Klein had stipulated that his entire 40% stake in Disney would revert to Walt Disney himself, accompanied by a handwritten letter delivered in a black velvet envelope.
With the return of the shares, Walt became the 100% owner of Disney once more, backed by the immense financing that had enabled its explosive growth throughout the 1960s. And as he unfolded the curious letter, it simply read:
"You are very cool, Walt Disney. —From the fool that doesn't belong to this era."
Walt Disney didn't know what to say. The man remained a complete enigma. Driven by curiosity, Walt tried to trace Klein's origins—he ventured across Europe, searching for any record or clue about the so-called "Tarot Club." But to his surprise, he found absolutely nothing. No such organization seemed to exist. Even inquiries into Klein Moretti himself turned up empty, as if the man had been erased from history. It was as though Klein had appeared solely for Walt, and only Walt had ever known him.
Walt sighed deeply and finally accepted the mystery for what it was. After all, he had encountered enough strange occurrences in his life to know that not everything could—or should—be explained. With a soft chuckle, he muttered to himself, "Maybe some demon or god is a fan of mine." Shaking his head with a smile, he chuckled once more and simply carried on with his life.
And now, in his later years, Walt Disney finds himself grappling with the very force that once defined him—creativity. His once boundless imagination now feels strained, as if the spark that once lit entire worlds on screen is beginning to dim. Modern audiences elude his grasp, their tastes shifting in ways that feel foreign and disconnected from his sensibilities. He longs for retirement, to step away from the spotlight and rest. Yet, a quiet dread lingers in his heart. He fears for his legacy—not just its preservation, but its direction. He doesn't want Disney to become a soulless machine, churning out content solely for profit. He wants to ensure the company's future remains rooted in joy, wonder, and heartfelt storytelling. Above all, he yearns for a successor—not a mere businessperson, but a kindred spirit, someone who truly understands the soul of Disney and can carry its torch into the unknown future.
Then, in early 1994, he had a vivid dream about the future. In the dream, he found himself already deceased, and the calendar clearly displayed the year 2024. The world had changed, but the spirit of Disney endured. The dream world was alive with Disney characters—some instantly recognizable, like Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, and Goofy; others were new, mysterious creations he couldn't name but instinctively felt connected to.
He saw an elaborate theme park—ZAGE & DISNEY PARK—a magical fusion of both brands. There, Mickey Mouse was giving a cheerful high-five to Mario, a powerful symbol of collaboration. The dream played out like a montage of films—audiences in theaters wept, laughed, and cheered as new Disney movies unfolded on the screen. These weren't just commercial hits; they were heartfelt stories with soul. It was unmistakable: Disney hadn't faded into obscurity—it had found new life.
Then, at the climax of the dream, he saw a photo hanging on a wall. It was aged and slightly faded, but clear enough to make out the image. It was of himself—his old self smiling warmly as he shook hands with a young Asian man. Walt instantly recognized the man from newspapers and news. It was Zaboru.
When Walt awoke from the dream, a deep stillness settled over him. He sat quietly on the edge of his bed, the final image of the dream—the handshake with Zaboru—etched firmly in his mind. For the first time in years, he felt that unmistakable sensation, the rare conviction of a prophetic vision. It wasn't just nostalgia or imagination—it was a calling. And Walt knew, with a calm certainty that had guided him since childhood, that this dream was different. It was real, and it was likely the last of its kind he would ever receive.
The message pulsed in his chest like a drumbeat, undeniable and urgent: If he wanted Disney to thrive beyond his lifetime—if he wanted it to grow, evolve, and touch the hearts of future generations while still being Disney—he had to entrust it to ZAGE.
Since then, he had devoted time to carefully studying ZAGE—how they operated, what they stood for, and what made them resonate with people. And it delighted him. ZAGE wasn't driven by greed or market domination; they sold their products at modest, accessible prices, and their practices showed a deep respect for their players. Unlike many large corporations, ZAGE never exploited its audience. Instead, they cultivated imagination and sincerity. ZAGE—and Zaboru—consistently introduced fresh, compelling characters, each bursting with personality and charm. Walt Disney, a master of character creation himself, couldn't help but feel genuinely impressed by the thoughtful creativity behind it all.
Now, in the present moment, Walt exhaled slowly, a blend of satisfaction and resolve etched across his weathered face. "I don't know how many more years I've got left… but let's take a chance and go meet this Zaboru boy, hehehe." With a faint chuckle, he reached for the cell phone on his side table and instructed his assistant to get in touch with ZAGE.
To be continued
AN : LoL yeah this is what it is i'm actually don't know what to do to prevent Disney going Public but then i remember that this story has some mystical stuff in it hahaha. I hope you all don't dislike it so much.
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