In September 1999, three teams completed their tasks. First was Team NEXUS USA, finishing their latest cabinet—ZAGE Fishing Bass Arcade. Then Team NOVA wrapped up Sonic Racing. And lastly, Team NIWA completed Persona 2 Innocent Sin. With those releases delivered, all three teams were ready to receive their next assignments from Zaboru.
There was a certain rhythm to it now: finish one wave, ship it clean, then immediately catch the next one before momentum dies. Zaboru liked that rhythm. He believed it kept teams sharp and kept the company feeling alive.
First of all, Team NEXUS USA was ready to follow in the footsteps of their Japan counterpart. Their transition period was fully over; the team was comfortable, their workflow was stable, and their confidence had grown after the fishing cabinet proved they could build something unique that people actually lined up to play.
So Zaboru assigned them two new tasks—not three.
Why only two? Because these projects were heavy. Zaboru didn't want NEXUS USA making "normal" arcade cabinets. He wanted them to chase the same kind of uniqueness they had just proven with ZAGE Fishing Bass—machines that felt like attractions, not just games. That kind of cabinet needs more time, more testing, and more iteration. If they rushed it, it would look flashy but feel cheap, and Zaboru refused to let that happen.
First, he assigned them a new game—an arcade-style wheel racer. The cabinet would be called Fast and Furious. Yes, it was inspired by a movie concept from Zaboru's previous life, but in this world it would debut as an arcade game first, built to create instant hype from the moment people saw it glowing in a mall.
And unlike the later installments from his previous world—where things spiraled into "save the world" nonsense—this version would stay closer to the spirit of the original trilogy: street racing, rival crews, high-risk nights, and the addictive rush of speed. Zaboru wanted to introduce the thrill of underground racing to gamers who had never tasted it before, and he wanted the cabinet to feel like an event.
That meant the presentation had to be elevated. The graphics needed to pop hard on a big arcade screen, with bright reflections, sharper sense of motion, and that "too fast" feeling even when you were standing still. The wheel controller couldn't be a cheap plastic toy either—it had to feel heavy, responsive, and satisfying, with strong force feedback that made players fight the car through corners.
The cabinet itself would be a centerpiece machine. At minimum it would support two screens and two controls, but the real plan was to scale it up to four—four players, four wheels, four screens, and full join-play. Not just competing against AI, but racing your friends right beside you, hearing them shout when they got pushed wide or lost control at the finish line.
Zaboru knew a project like this couldn't be rushed. It would take time to tune the handling, calibrate the hardware, and make sure the multiplayer stayed stable even when the cabinet took real-world abuse. So he set a realistic expectation: a September next year release—about a full year of development. And if the team needed more time to make it feel truly premium, he allowed the timeline to extend. Better late than cheap.
Next, Zaboru assigned Team NEXUS USA a second task: Time Crisis. It would be the first Time Crisis game in this world.
ZAGE already had gun-arcade experiences that people recognized—like Virtual Cop and House of the Dead—but this project was meant to feel different. Time Crisis wasn't only about aiming and shooting. It was about pressure. It was about rhythm. It was about the co-op feeling of two players trusting each other, reloading, covering, pushing forward, then getting forced back again when the timer squeezed their throats.
Zaboru wanted Time Crisis to elevate the entire light-gun co-op experience. That meant tighter pacing, more cinematic set pieces, and more reactive enemy behavior—so it felt less like a shooting gallery and more like surviving an action movie scene together. He also wanted the cabinet presentation to match the "event machine" vibe of Fast and Furious: big, loud, and impossible to ignore from across the arcade.
For that reason, he set the target quality close to the graphics and gameplay style of Time Crisis 3 from his previous life. Cleaner models, better lighting, stronger muzzle flashes, heavier sound design—everything that would make the gunplay feel crisp and modern even in 1999.
Because the project required not only software polish but also stable cabinet hardware calibration—guns, sensors, timing, reliability—Zaboru expected it to take a full year. The goal was a September next year release, with enough time to test it until it felt perfect under real arcade abuse.
Next, we move to Team NOVA. They're ready to take on another project, and Zaboru already has their next task prepared—Ape Escape.
In Zaboru's previous life, Ape Escape was one of those PS1 games that surprised people with how clever it was. The premise sounded silly on paper—catching naughty apes with a big net—but the execution was pure fun. It wasn't just "run and grab." The apes were fast, sneaky, and full of personality, and the game's whole rhythm was built around chasing, outsmarting, cornering them, and finally snapping them into the net at the perfect moment.
What made it unique—what made it good—was that it treated "catching" like an actual game system, not a gimmick. The stages weren't just straight paths; they were playgrounds built for pursuit. Apes would taunt, hide behind corners, flee up ledges, or sit on rooftops like little kings daring you to come close. You weren't only fighting enemies—you were hunting targets that behaved like tiny troublemakers with brains.
And the gadgets were the real magic. Ape Escape wasn't content with one net. It gave you tools that changed how you moved and how you solved problems: a stun gadget for quick openings, a slingshot-type option for long-range tags, mobility tools that turned vertical spaces into your advantage, and silly utility gadgets that somehow still felt satisfying to use. Each new tool wasn't just "more power," it was a new way to approach the chase, which made the game feel fresh even as you kept doing the same core mission.
In Zaboru's previous life, there was another reason it stood out: it was one of the games that truly made use of dual analog control in a way that felt natural and exciting. Movement stayed smooth, the camera didn't fight you, and the controls felt like they were helping the fun instead of limiting it. That kind of responsiveness mattered, because in Ape Escape, one small mistake—one wrong jump, one mistimed net swing—could let an ape escape again and force you to adapt.
Zaboru likes this assignment for NOVA because it fits their strengths: bright stage design, playful mechanics, and the kind of tight controls that make a simple concept feel addictive. He also knows NOVA can nail the tone—comedy without being stupid. Ape Escape works because it's cheerful, but still skillful. The humor comes from the apes' behavior, the little animations, and the chaos of the chase—not from the game treating the player like a joke.
So he expects NOVA to push variety even further: more stage gimmicks that make each area feel different, more clever hiding spots, more "aha" moments where you realize a gadget solves a problem in a surprising way, and more tiny details that make the world feel alive. The goal is a game players can enjoy casually, but also master—one where collecting the last few apes becomes the kind of obsession people talk about at school the next day.
Because the core concept is clear and NOVA already has strong momentum after Sonic Racing, Zaboru gives them ten months. The target is a July 2000 release—demanding, but reasonable for a team that's already proven they can ship polished games on schedule.
Next is Team NIWA. As usual, Zaboru assigns them another RPG—because NIWA is the team that understands long-form emotion, party balance, and the slow burn of a world that feels lived-in. This time, he gives them one of the most goated PS1 RPGs from his previous life: Suikoden 2.
In this world, Suikoden 1 is already famous as one of the early ZEPS 3 release titles. Fans love the "gather everyone" feeling, the base-building, and the sense that the story is bigger than just a hero with a sword. So of course people want more, and Zaboru is going to give it to them.
And honestly… Suikoden 2 deserves it.
In Zaboru's previous life, people called Suikoden 2 goated because it wasn't only a good RPG. It was the kind of RPG that felt like a whole country collapsing and rebuilding in your hands. The story wasn't about saving the world from an abstract evil—it was about politics, war, friendship, betrayal, and how a single decision can ruin thousands of lives. It also had one of the strongest rival dynamics in the genre: the protagonist and the person on the other side weren't strangers. The tragedy hit harder because it was personal.
Then there's the scale. The 108 Stars of Destiny didn't feel like "collectibles." They felt like a society. Merchants, soldiers, teachers, cooks, healers, weird geniuses, annoying kids, quiet veterans—each one pulling your headquarters closer to becoming a real home. And when the war battles happened, the game didn't pretend your small party was enough; it showed armies, morale, strategy, and consequences. It made the world feel big without losing the human details.
Even the presentation mattered. The pixel art had warmth. The music was unforgettable—melancholic when it needed to be, heroic when it had to be, and quietly devastating in the scenes that deserved silence more than explosions. The pacing was tight too: it respected your time while still making every chapter feel important.
So for Suikoden 2 on ZEPS 3, Zaboru isn't demanding a massive graphics jump. There will be a small upgrade—cleaner effects, better UI clarity, and more expressive animation where it counts—but the real expansion is in what NIWA does best: deeper story presentation, stronger character moments, more meaningful choices, and gameplay refinements that make recruiting, building, and battle flow smoother without losing what fans already love.
Zaboru gives Team NIWA eleven months for it, targeting an August next year release. It's a heavy project, but it's also the kind of RPG that can define an era—and NIWA is the team he trusts to carry that weight.
And that's the set of tasks Zaboru assigned for September. Now it's already the end of September—the release window for ZAGE's September lineup: Sonic Racing, ZAGE Fishing Bass, and Persona 2 Innocent Sin. The launches are stable, the early sales numbers are promising, and the teams have earned a rare moment where the pressure eases just a little.
But Zaboru doesn't let the company drift.
As September ends and early October begins, he prepares a message for his developers in both Japan and the USA. Not a casual congratulations, but a clear direction for next year's plan and the plan is...
To be continue
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