ZAGE Tower Wednesday 1 October 1999.
Today, Zaboru gathered developers from all over the world. As usual, he paid for everyone's lodging and travel to Japan. It wasn't generosity for the sake of appearance—this was an important meeting, a major announcement he wanted to deliver directly, face-to-face, regarding ZAGE's future.
Teams arrived in full force.
From Japan: Team NOVA, IZAN, NIWA, KODO, FUMA, and NEXUS.
From the USA: Team Tempest, Enigma, Blaze, Frost, and NEXUS.
From Korea: Team Dynasty.
From England: Team OMNI.
Even the CTOs were present—Gabe for the USA and Zanichi for Japan—making it clear this wasn't a normal "monthly update."
Each team sent five key representatives—main leaders who could carry decisions back to their people. The meeting would also be recorded and broadcast to all ZAGE offices. The broadcasting technology still wasn't perfect, but it was good enough. Every developer, in every building, would hear Zaboru's words.
And so the meeting began, and Zaboru smiled as he looked across the room. "First of all—thank you for joining me, everyone. I hope those of you who came from overseas are having a pleasant day in Japan."
He paused, letting the quiet settle, then continued with a gentler tone that still carried authority. "I gathered all of you like this because there's an announcement I want to make—something that will shape how we move forward."
Zaboru started walking slowly in front of the screen, hands behind his back like he was pacing through his own thoughts. "Right now, we're focused on three main platforms," he said. "ZEPS 3, PC, and Arcade."
He lifted a finger as if adding a fourth point. "And soon, we'll add our newest handheld as well—ZGBA."
His expression softened for a moment, almost respectful. "At the same time, we're also entering a closing chapter. Our previous console and handheld—ZEPS 2 and ZGB—will be phased out within this year. We're not going to abandon them quietly. We've already prepared a proper farewell for both systems, because they carried us to where we are today."
Zaboru walked and said, "So far, the majority of tasks are coming from here." He pointed to his head with a shameless grin. "Yes—my head. My ideas. And you all make them real. I give you three tasks simultaneously, and so far you've exceeded my expectations. We're releasing plenty of games in a short amount of time… we're really good, right?"
The room responded with light laughter and clapping. Some leaders exchanged amused looks, others nodded with quiet pride, and even a few of the overseas reps looked relieved—like hearing the CEO admit they were doing well made the exhaustion feel worth it.
Zaboru smiled, letting that warmth sit for a second, then he leaned forward slightly, eyes bright.
"Hehehe… but we aren't done yet." His voice carried that familiar excitement—the one people recognized as a warning and a promise at the same time. "Our teams can still be upgraded. More manpower. More resources. Better tools. Better pipelines. Anything we need."
He lifted his hand and drew an invisible line into the future. "Especially starting from 2000, I want us to create more games. Not just more quantity—more variety, more ambition, more experiments. And yes, we're planning to form another new team while also strengthening the teams we already have."
Around the room, people nodded. It sounded doable… but it also sounded insane.
Some leaders were already doing the math in their heads: hiring, training, scheduling, burnout risk, quality control. Others looked fired up, like the challenge itself was the reward.
And in the middle of all those reactions, one thought quietly hung in the air:
Can Zaboru really think of even more games than this?
Zaboru grinned. "But this time, even if I still give you three tasks… I want you all to carry five." He spread his hands wide, as if he was placing weight into everyone's arms on purpose. "And you're probably thinking, 'Boss, where are the other two tasks coming from?'"
He laughed, almost enjoying the tension. "They're coming from you."
The room stirred—small murmurs, a few raised eyebrows, some leaders straightening in their seats.
"All of you have potential," Zaboru continued, voice steady. "Potential to create your own game. Your own concept. Your own weird obsession that only makes sense in your head until it becomes real." He pointed around the room, not accusing, but challenging. "So I've been wondering… why has almost nobody approached me and said, 'Boss, I want to make a game. This is my idea.'"
He tilted his head. "So far, only Yugo Kanai, Hideo Kojima, and my dad—Zanichi Renkonan—have done it naturally. Everyone else… waits."
His grin faded into something more serious. "Most of ZAGE's games still come from me. My ideas. My folders. My memories turned into documents." He tapped his temple again. "And I'm proud of what we've built. But if ZAGE is going to grow beyond one person's imagination, then you all need to start throwing your own fire into the furnace."
Zaboru let that sink in, then nodded once. "So starting next year, I want at least two ongoing tasks per team that come from you—your pitches, your prototypes, your concepts. I don't care if it's small at first. I don't care if it's strange. I want to see what happens when ZAGE stops being 'Zaboru's ideas'… and becomes everyone's."
Zaboru smiled and said, "Of course, I'm not going to treat your ideas like my usual assignments—where I say, 'This task must be done in one year,' and then I throw three projects at you at the same time."
He raised a hand to calm the room, like he could already sense the pressure building in their heads. "For this, you'll have proper time. I don't mind if you take your time to plan—concept, gameplay, story, characters, systems, art direction… everything. I want you to think carefully, not panic."
Zaboru's tone stayed friendly, but the meaning was serious. "If you need two years, that's okay. Even if you need three years, it's fine—as long as progress is being made and the project is truly unique. I'd rather see a slow project with a strong soul than a fast project with nothing inside."
He nodded once, decisive. "And to make this fair and clear, there will be two approaches for this."
Zaboru turned slightly and gestured toward the big screen behind him. "First approach," he said, and the projector clicked—displaying a bold header with a few names and familiar franchise logos beneath it.
"In this approach, I will give you the seed." He smiled, almost mischievous. "For example… Shigeru Miyamoto."
The moment the name landed, the room reacted differently than a normal example. A few people chuckled, but more than that, heads turned instinctively toward the NOVA side—toward Miyamoto himself, ZAGE's own super leader of Team NOVA—sitting there as calmly as if this was just another day of work.
"I can point at one of you and say, 'I want you to make the next Super Mario sequel for ZEPS 3.'" Zaboru spread his hands as if he was passing something precious across the room. "Then you start making it. You plan everything—core gameplay, level structure, controls, art direction, music tone, even the little secrets that make players smile. You build a proper proposal and show it to me. I'll review it, give feedback like a gamer and a producer… and then development begins like usual."
He raised a finger, emphasizing the part that mattered. "And it won't be limited to sequels. I might assign you a prequel. I might assign you a spin-off. I might assign you a completely different angle on an existing series—because ZAGE never runs out of great IP, right?"
The room's energy shifted. People started imagining possibilities immediately.
Zaboru's grin widened. "And don't worry—if I assign you something like this, my name will not be in your game credits. I'm not here to steal your spotlight." He leaned in like he was telling a secret. "Instead… I want you to put me as a cameo in your game. Isn't that cooler?"
A ripple of laughter spread.
"No, no—not Zabo-Man," Zaboru added quickly, waving both hands. "It's me. The real me. A little hidden appearance, maybe a weird NPC, maybe a secret boss that's obviously unfair, maybe a statue in the background… hahaha!"
The leaders looked excited. Not only because their boss was letting them take real ownership, but because he was openly saying, I don't want your credit—your team deserves it.
Then Zaboru's tone tightened slightly, and he began to explain the second approach.
Zaboru's grin widened as he lifted his hand again. "The second thing is this."
He turned to the screen, and big letters appeared like a challenge carved into stone.
"ALL YOURS."
"That's right," Zaboru said, pointing at the words. "All yours." His voice carried a strange warmth—like he wasn't giving orders anymore, but passing something important to them.
"In this method, if you're confident enough, you don't need to explain to me what kind of game you want to make. You don't need to bring a full pitch deck. You don't need to beg for permission with perfect numbers." He shook his head. "You only need to tell me one thing."
He took a breath and said it clearly, like he wanted everyone to remember the sentence forever.
"Boss. I want to make a game."
A few people in the room laughed softly, but it wasn't mocking. It was relief—like someone had finally opened a door that had been locked for too long.
"And I will approve it," Zaboru continued, tone firm. "I won't stop you because it sounds risky. I won't stop you because it sounds weird. I won't stop you because it isn't from my folder." He tapped his chest once. "I want you to take ownership."
He looked across the leaders, eyes sharp now. "And don't worry about one thing."
"If the game ends up bad—if the gameplay isn't perfect, if the story doesn't land the way you imagined—but the game still works properly, it's still fine. Because we can learn from it. We can learn what works, and what doesn't. We can learn what players love, what they ignore, and what they hate."
Zaboru's smile returned, bright and honest. "This is not permission to be lazy. This is permission to be brave. If you want to fail, fail by trying something real."
He leaned forward slightly, like a kid about to open a present. "I want to be surprised by you. I'm not waiting for these projects as the CEO or your boss."
He pointed to himself and laughed. "I'm waiting as a gamer. Honestly… I can't wait."
The excitement in his voice was contagious, and for the first time, the room didn't feel like a boardroom. It felt like a studio full of creators being told, Go.
Zaboru smiled. "All of you have already learned from me—turning my vision into reality," he said. "You've seen the full process with your own eyes. You've experienced what kinds of games ZAGE has made so far, what kinds of games work right now, and what kinds don't."
He looked across the room, letting his gaze rest on different teams—Japan, USA, Korea, England—like he was counting them as one family. "More importantly, you don't just know what works. You know why it works. You know why players stay. Why they recommend it. Why they forgive small flaws in one game but punish another for the same mistake."
His smile softened, but his voice carried weight. "You also know the opposite. You know why something fails—why a mechanic feels boring, why a story feels hollow, why a design looks impressive on paper but collapses when someone actually holds the controller."
Zaboru tapped his chest lightly. "That experience is your weapon now. That's why I'm not afraid to let you drive. That's why I'm asking you to bring me your own ideas."
He nodded once, firm and sincere. "Because I trust you. Not as workers following my orders… but as creators who understand what it means to make a game people truly want to play."
He continued, "And for this, I don't mind if some of you work together—even across different teams—if you want to collaborate. Creativity doesn't care about department walls."
Zaboru glanced across the room, making sure everyone understood what he meant. "This applies to the first approach as well. For example, if I assign Shigeru Miyamoto to make a Super Mario spin-off and he thinks Shinji Mikami can help make the game sharper—maybe with pacing, tension, or boss design—then it's fine for him to ask Mikami to join."
He lifted a finger. "And it goes the other way too. If NIWA wants someone from NOVA for platforming polish, or NOVA wants a writer from NIWA to strengthen character scenes, you can ask. The choice is yours."
Zaboru smiled, voice still firm. "But remember: it's always a request, not an order. If someone wants to join, they join. If they don't, they don't. No pressure, no politics. Just respect—and a shared goal to make something better than what any single team could make alone."
Zaboru continued, "And before we end this meeting… at the end of this month there will be another announcement related to our digital platform."
The room quieted again. Even the people who had been smiling a second ago straightened a little.
"I will announce it to the world as well," Zaboru said, voice teasing but confident. "For now, it's still a secret—but that platform will be related to what I just told you today. So… stay tuned."
He lifted a finger like he was giving a tiny spoiler on purpose. "And a little hint—next year, Digital ZAGE will flourish."
A few leaders exchanged looks, trying to guess what he meant.
"What do I mean by that?" Zaboru grinned. "Hehehe… it's a secret."
Zaboru continued explaining a few details—just enough to keep everyone aligned, not enough to kill the mystery—then the Q&A began.
Some questions were practical: how the two-approach system would be tracked, how much budget freedom teams would have, what level of prototype was required before resources could be expanded. Some questions were personal: whether junior members could pitch too, how to avoid politics when requesting cross-team collaboration, and how to balance long projects with the usual fast release rhythm.
Zaboru answered everything with the same steady tone: serious where it mattered, relaxed where it didn't. He repeated one rule more than once—progress and honesty mattered more than perfect words.
Eventually, the meeting wrapped.
As the leaders stood and began talking among themselves, it was obvious the announcement had landed. Many looked energized, like someone had just given them permission to become creators instead of only executors. A few ambitious leads were already forming ideas in their heads—quietly imagining prototypes, pitching angles, and thinking about what kind of "unique" could only exist inside ZAGE.
Of course, not everyone reacted the same.
There were also some leads who looked tired, who preferred receiving tasks from Zaboru because it was easier and safer. They would rather execute a clear order than expose their own imagination to judgment.
And honestly, Zaboru didn't hate that.
ZAGE needed both types: the ones who push forward with new ideas, and the ones who can reliably build and ship without drama. Either way, next year would be another step up—more global, more confident, and closer to the digital future Zaboru was quietly preparing behind the curtain.
To be continue
Please give me your power stone and if you want to support me and get minimum 35+ advance chapter and additional 1 chapter a week for 4$ considering subscribe to my patreon patreon.com/Zaborn_1997
Or buymecoffee https://buymeacoffee.com/Zaborn_1997 which same with patreon
current Patreon/buymecoffe chap 1043
Also Join my discord if you want https://discord.gg/jB8x6TUByc