Monday 1 July 1998 - ZUSUGA Tower Japan.
Zanki Zagashira was enjoying his leisure time in his office, calm and unbothered, as if the outside world couldn't reach him. He had heard the usual buzz—ZAGE games making waves every month, magazines screaming new releases, players lining up, the industry constantly chasing Zaboru's shadow—but Zanki didn't feel the need to react. Why? Because it was mostly unrelated to his audience. Reborn 16 was the current strongest handheld in the market, and his customers weren't buying consoles for big living-room blockbusters. They wanted something they could carry, something they could play anywhere, and Zanki knew that world belonged to him.
Since its release in mid 1996, the Reborn 16 handheld had become the modern choice for many gamers. It wasn't just the power advantage—it was the feeling of owning something premium, something ahead of the curve. ZAGE did have their own handheld, the ZGB, and it offered solid gameplay, but it was still 8-bit. For players who wanted bigger sprites, smoother animation, richer sound, and that "next step" feeling in their hands, Reborn 16 was the obvious answer. Over time, it built a loyal fanbase that stood on its own, not as an alternative to ZAGE, but as its own lane.
And Reborn 16 wasn't surviving on hardware alone. It had identity. It had signature games that kept people coming back. Reborn-Kun and Skyblade Saga were already on their second sequels, proving they weren't one-hit wonders. Shops were still selling the first entries alongside the new ones, and kids argued about which sequel had the better bosses, better music, better secrets. Even more importantly, the sequel to their most popular IP, ZUMON, was set to release next week. Zanki didn't need to chase every ZAGE headline when his own market was about to explode again.
Zanki grinned, because ZUMON was—if he was being honest—mostly a copycat of ZAGE's Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh. But he also believed it was a smart copy, the kind that took a familiar foundation and then twisted it into something that felt distinct enough to stand on its own.
Instead of a trainer, the player was a Wizard. And that Wizard wasn't just a "person who throws commands." The Wizard actually mattered in battle. Your Wizard class affected how you fought, what support spells you could cast, and how reliable your ZUMON would be under pressure. ZUMON themselves were magical creatures that could be captured, but not with a Pokeball. In ZUMON world, you used a ZU-Card—a rune-printed magical card used to bind the creature through a short ritual. Some ZUMON were easy to bind. Others resisted, forcing players to weaken them, calm them, or use specific spell elements before the ZU-Card would succeed.
At first, players hated it. They called it a blatant clone of Pokemon and Yu-Gi-OH of ZAGE , and the early reviews were harsh. But Zanki didn't panic, because he knew the hook wasn't the "collecting." The hook was the Wizard system layered on top. Wizards had mana, cooldowns, and spell schools. A fire Wizard could boost a ZUMON's attack at the cost of stamina. A healing Wizard could stabilize a fragile glass-cannon build. A control Wizard could temporarily seal an enemy ZUMON's ability, creating openings that didn't exist in Pokemon. Suddenly, battles weren't only about the creatures—you were building a duo, a partnership with roles.
And as more people actually played it, the perception shifted. The mechanics made the game feel different enough that the clone accusations started turning into, "Okay… this is kind of addictive." By mid 1997, ZUMON had its own fanbase, especially among handheld lovers who wanted something stronger than ZAGE's 8-bit ZGB. With no clear rumors that ZAGE would release a new handheld soon, Reborn 16 and its games became the obvious alternative, proudly showing what 16-bit handheld hardware could do when paired with a hungry company willing to chase that gap.
And now, ZUMON 2 was almost ready to release, and the marketing team had already started teasing its biggest new mechanic: ZUMON Fusion. Two ZUMON could fuse into each other and generate an entirely new form—new type, new stats, sometimes even a new ability behavior that didn't exist in either base creature. The idea instantly grabbed attention because it wasn't just "evolution again." It felt like discovery, like players were about to chase rare combinations and secret outcomes for months.
And yes, Zanki shamelessly borrowed the core concept from ZAGE's own Yu-Gi-Oh anime and games, then mixed it with the creature-battle foundation of Pokemon and the wizard partnership identity of ZUMON. In his mind, it was genius—not because it was pure originality, but because it was a perfect hook for handheld players. Fusion promised endless conversation: "Have you tried this pair?" "What does that fuse into?" "Is it stronger?" "Does it change the element?" That kind of talk sells games.
"Hehehe… don't be mad, Zaboru," Zanki murmured with a smug smile, almost speaking to an invisible rival sitting across the desk. "You're the one who said you don't mind your mechanics being used by others."
There was a strange satisfaction in his chest. Not the old kind—the bitter kind that came from cheap tricks and dirty games. This was different. Ever since he decided to focus on development, on actually understanding what makes players love a game, Zanki had started to change. He was becoming intrigued with gaming in a real way. He noticed the details now. He respected the work behind balance, progression, and systems. And even as he stole ideas, he was learning how to turn them into something that could stand on its own.
For the first time, Zanki didn't feel like he was simply chasing Zaboru or want to made Zaboru fall. He felt like he was building his own momentum.
He was doing his research properly now. Not by spying or playing dirty, but by observing real players, gathering data, and playing games himself. He visited arcades quietly, watched how long people stayed on one machine, and noted what made them quit. He read magazines, looked at review scores, and even asked his staff to collect simple surveys from Reborn 16 owners. To his surprise, the act of playing games did not feel "childish" the way he once mocked it. It felt like studying people, like studying desire.
And then he found himself enjoying it.
He loved playing Harvest Moon: Back to Nature on ZEPS 3 when he wanted something calm, something that made time disappear. He also played Robo-Cop 2 when he wanted something loud and direct, the kind of game that rewarded focus and reflex. But the one he enjoyed the most was still Tetris. He had loved it since the ZGB days, the clean rules, the perfect pacing, the way it made you chase one more round even when you promised to stop.
Yet Tetris was owned by ZAGE, and Zanki knew better than to replicate it. If ZUSUGA made a blatant copy, it would not look clever, it would look desperate. The backlash would be brutal, because ZAGE fans were everywhere. Referencing ZAGE titles was one thing, borrowing ideas and twisting them into something new was acceptable. But a direct copy was exactly what Zaboru hated, and it was the easiest way to paint ZUSUGA as a shameless parasite.
Because he understood the gaming scene more, Zanki became a better leader to his development team. He started speaking their language. He learned technical terms, things like frame rate, load time, sprite scaling, memory limits, input latency, and how small delays could kill the feel of a handheld game. He even began asking smarter questions in meetings, not just "Is it fun?" but "Why is it fun?" and "What is the player learning in the first five minutes?"
And deep inside, he started hoping that one day he could help design a game himself. Not by coding, he had no intention of becoming an engineer, but by design. Systems, progression, balance, the hook that makes players talk. The more he learned, the more it fascinated him, because he realized games were not toys. They were machines built to capture attention and emotion, and now he wanted to build one that belonged to ZUSUGA.
Zanki chuckled as he sipped his wine. "I can't believe I'm getting into something as 'childish' as video games now," he muttered, half mocking himself, half amused by how natural it felt.
He took another slow sip, then laughed again. "But it's literally a gold mine, so I can't let ZAGE hoard it all." His tone sounded casual, but the numbers in his head were anything but. The revenue Reborn 16 brought in wasn't small—far from it. It was big enough to reshape budgets, expand teams, and turn a handheld division into a pillar of the entire company. And that meant he couldn't treat this like a side hobby anymore.
Zanki knew he had to be serious. He had to do better. He had to stop relying on cheap tricks and start relying on results. Fortunately, there was already a proven formula that worked on gamers—ZAGE's formula. Zanki hated admitting it, but Zaboru's instincts for what players wanted were terrifyingly accurate. That was why Zanki kept studying ZAGE's footsteps, not to worship them, but to understand them.
And still, even now, he couldn't help feeling amused by Zaboru's antics. That man could be a genius and a clown in the same breath—and somehow, the world loved him for it.
"Zaboru… Zaboru, you're so smart, yet so naive. First of all, you actually praise your competitors' games and devices," Zanki muttered, then chuckled into his glass.
It wasn't even an exaggeration. In the ZAGE forums, there were always a few big threads discussing Sonaya titles or ZUSUGA handheld releases. And somehow, Zaboru would show up in the comments with that infamous official account of his, casually dropping opinions like he was just another fan.
Zanki still remembered the shock on people's faces the first time it happened. In a ZUMON thread, Zaboru had typed, "I enjoy this game. Actually, I approve!" like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was surreal. To Zaboru, it was proof he was a real gamer first and not CEO. To Zanki, it was insanity.
"It's stupid in a business sense," Zanki continued, voice low and amused. "I guess that's why you're infamous for being a 'stupid businessman.'" He let the words hang, savoring the irony. "And then there's the patent thing. You patent your gameplay ideas so nobody else can lock them up… but you do it in a way that lets anyone use them for free."
Zanki shook his head, almost offended on principle. "If that isn't insane, then you really are stupid. If it were me, I'd patent it so only I could use it. Or if anyone wanted to use it, they'd have to pay."
He chuckled again, then a thought crept into his mind, sharp and tempting. "Hmm… what if we patent a mechanic that hasn't been patented yet? What if we monopolize it?"
For a brief second, the idea tasted sweet.
Then Zanki exhaled and shook his head, dismissing it like a cigarette he almost lit. "Nah. Better not. Doing that would make ZAGE mad, and Zaboru mad. And it wouldn't be wise." His smile returned, thinner now. "There's already a good example of what happens when you try to play that kind of game. I'm not eager to become the next public enemy."
He finished the thought with one more quiet chuckle, more careful than before.
"Despite being labeled a bad businessman, his company still generates billions… and he gathers fans worldwide like moths to a flame," Zanki thought, the contradiction still irritating him.
"I guess that's his charm," he admitted, reluctantly. "He really isn't like a usual CEO."
Zanki's eyes drifted to the city lights again, and for a moment he found himself listing Zaboru's ridiculous talents like a checklist of unfair advantages. "Aside from making games, he can sing and play music. He can draw. He even has comics and manga published under his own banner."
Zanki clicked his tongue softly, half annoyed, half impressed. "Damn… the guy is talented. Almost unfair."
He exhaled and shook his head, refusing to let admiration linger too long. "Whatever. Thinking about him won't make ZUMON 2 sell faster." With that, Zanki forced his mind back onto his own plans and stopped dwelling on Zaboru.
He leaned back and popped a few grapes into his mouth, chewing slowly like a king who had already counted the coins in his vault. "And Well… hopefully ZUMON 2's release goes well next week," Zanki said lazily, his voice smooth with confidence. His eyes drifted toward the city skyline outside the window, where the lights of ZUSUGA Tower reflected like glitter on glass. "But still… is ZAGE really not interested in making a new handheld?"
He paused, then smiled wider, amusement bubbling up again. "If that's true, then it's a blessing in disguise."
Zanki laughed, the sound soft but sharp, as if he was laughing at the future itself. "Because if ZAGE stays asleep in the handheld market, then ZUSUGA becomes the major ace player. No one will approach us. And even if there is one," he added, lifting the wine glass slightly as if to toast his own logic, "I bet we already have the reputation to crush them. We've got the hardware, we've got momentum, and now we've got ZUMON 2 ready to hook the crowd again."
He stood up, still smiling, straightening his suit with practiced ease. The mood in his office felt comfortable—too comfortable. Like a chess player who believed the game was already won because the opponent had stepped back for one turn.
Zanki chuckled once more as he walked toward the door. He didn't even bother hiding where he was going next. A fancy restaurant, expensive wine, expensive food, and a beautiful woman to keep him entertained while the market did what he expected it to do. In his mind, everything was lined up perfectly.
What he didn't know—what he couldn't imagine—was that handheld gaming was about to be re-defined by none other than ZAGE itself.
To be continue
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