Monday 5 August 1998
Triangle Soft Offices.
Right now in Triangle Soft there are discussion meetings for the game developers, and Triangle Soft is known for their love and specialty in making JRPG games. So when one of the best JRPG games just released—Final Fantasy 7 from ZAGE—the whole studio feels like it got punched awake. And now, after more than a week since the release, Hironobu Sakaguchi, the lead developer at Triangle Soft (now also known as Tri Soft), decided to hold a serious meeting, not the casual "talk later" kind, but the kind where everyone brings notes and nobody dares to be late.
The meeting room is packed with designers, planners, writers, battle programmers, artists, and even some QA and producers sitting in the back. It's not only curiosity—it's pressure. Everyone knows that when ZAGE releases something like this, it shifts the entire genre, and if Tri Soft doesn't learn something from it, they will be left behind.
Hironobu Sakaguchi sits in front with an InFocus projector and a ZEPS-3 set up on the table. The projector throws the Final Fantasy 7 menu onto the screen—clean fonts, dramatic background, that feeling of a big world hiding behind one simple interface. The team is quiet, like they're watching a sacred thing, and even the youngest developers look nervous because they know they are about to be judged by reality.
Hironobu smiles and says, "Today is one of the most important things in our work. We will review this game—Final Fantasy 7." His tone isn't jealous. It's excited, almost grateful, like he's happy someone else proved the ceiling can be broken again. "Once again, ZAGE teaches us there is so much potential in the JRPG genre. Ever since their early rise in ZEPS-1, ZAGE always gave soul to JRPG games. Starting from their first JRPG—Dragon Quest—then Final Fantasy, then Megami Tensei, Chrono Trigger, and so on. Even the latest before this, Digimon Adventure, already showed how far they can push character emotion and pacing."
Hironobu pauses, looks around the room, and you can see he is genuinely happy even while praising another company's achievement, because in his heart he isn't competing against ZAGE alone—he's competing against the limits of the genre. And today, he wants everyone in Tri Soft to see those limits have been shattered again.
"ZAGE always pushes the boundaries of what a JRPG is capable of," Hironobu said, folding his arms while the projector light washed over his face. "Their games keep teaching us the same lesson again and again: there are countless variations we can combine to make a JRPG great. The genre doesn't need to be trapped in one design, one formula, or one 'proper' answer." He glanced at the team, making sure everyone was listening. "Look at our recent game, Divine Spears Akuregoz. We chose many pathways and multiple endings, and we honestly believed that was the proper direction for modern JRPGs—more freedom, more player control, more 'your story.' And that is valid. It's a strong approach we based this on Chrono Trigger which is very great game."
He pointed at the Final Fantasy 7 logo on the menu like it was evidence. "But when Final Fantasy 7 released, we realized something uncomfortable: a JRPG doesn't need multiple endings to feel deep. It doesn't need branching routes to feel meaningful. Sometimes, the opposite is true. Sometimes a single, unavoidable ending becomes more powerful—because the game isn't asking the player to pick an outcome. It's asking the player to live through an outcome."
Hironobu continued, voice calmer but sharper. "Final Fantasy 7 only has one ending—an inevitable ending—and that's exactly why it sticks to the player's ribs. The way it tells its story… the way it doesn't promise happiness… the way it lets tragedy exist without rushing to comfort you… that commitment is a kind of brilliance." He paused, then added, "Multiple endings can make players curious. But one ending, done right, can make players haunted. It forces everyone to carry the same emotional weight, and that weight becomes discussion, theory, debate, and memory. It becomes culture."
"That doesn't mean multiple endings are a bad thing—but Final Fantasy 7 proves that whether a game has one ending or many, it can still be great if the ending is written with conviction and purpose."
Hironobu smiled again, and this time it wasn't just admiration—it was the smile of someone already thinking about production schedules and budgets. "ZAGE is also showing that video games can be more than cinema. They already proved that with games like Metal Gear Solid, but Final Fantasy 7 pushes it even further. In this game, the animated cinematics—those important scenes with superior 3D visuals—aren't just a 'cool feature.' They're used like punctuation. They land the moments that must land. They elevate the scale, the emotion, the sense of reality. And yes, we all know what that means." He lifted a finger. "Higher costs. More production time. More specialized talent. Bigger pipelines. Longer QA. More risk."
He looked around the room, still smiling, but now it carried weight. "But it also raises the ceiling of the genre. It proves that if you're willing to pay the price—money, time, discipline—you can make a JRPG feel bigger than any other entertainment medium. That's what we're really reviewing today: not just a game, but a new standard." Hironobu Sakaguchi smiled.
The room stayed quiet for a beat, like everyone needed one second to swallow it. Then the energy started rising—chairs shifting, pens tapping, people leaning forward like they were suddenly hungry. One planner raised a hand and asked about pacing: how ZAGE managed to keep the story heavy without making the game feel slow. A battle programmer asked about the "cinematic feel" inside normal battles—how the camera, timing, and effects could still feel dramatic even without full cutscenes. An artist asked how they kept character expression readable in 3D during important moments, especially when players were already used to sprites.
Hironobu listened, nodded, and let the questions breathe, because the point of this meeting wasn't to worship ZAGE—it was to extract lessons. He started answering in his calm, teacher voice: "Notice how the game is structured. The story is big, but it's divided into emotional chapters. Notice how systems support the tone instead of fighting it. Even the menu feels like it belongs in the world. And notice something else—Final Fantasy 7 doesn't just throw cinematic scenes everywhere. It saves them. It uses them like a knife: only for the moments that must cut."
That made the whole room scribble. Someone muttered, half in awe, "They're using cinematics like punctuation…" and another developer repeated it louder, like it was a new doctrine.
Then one of the younger Tri Soft developers—still excited, still nervous—spoke up with the kind of passion that sounded almost childish but honest. "This shows us video games—especially JRPG—are unlimited! In the future we need to explore more! To make the best JRPG we can offer to players!" The room murmured in agreement, a few people laughing softly because it was dramatic, but nobody mocked him, because everyone felt the same thing.
The meeting continued for a while after that, turning from "review" into "planning." They started throwing ideas on the whiteboard: how to improve their cutscene pipeline, how to design a more cinematic camera system without destroying development time, how to create stronger emotional beats without relying on branching endings, how to make a single ending hit like a hammer.
Eventually, the meeting wrapped up with action items and a list of experiments to try. The team slowly filed out, still talking in clusters, still buzzing like they had just watched the future.
After that, Hironobu Sakaguchi returned to his office—tired, satisfied, and still thinking—along with one of his best assistants, Tetsuya Takahashi.
Tetsuya grinned and said, "Boss… it seems you're very fond of Final Fantasy 7, huh?" His tone was half teasing, half genuinely curious, because he rarely saw Sakaguchi praise something this openly, this warmly.
Hironobu chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "Well… I always feel something with Final Fantasy," he said. He clasped his hands together, fingers tightening like he was holding a thought that kept slipping away. "Sometimes the name resonates really well within me, and I don't even know why." He smiled faintly, almost embarrassed by how personal it sounded.
Tetsuya grinned wider. "That's because you love RPG so much, maybe, boss?"
Hironobu chuckled again. "Maybe." But his eyes drifted for a second, unfocused, like he was looking at something behind the wall. When he heard the words "Final Fantasy," or when he played any Final Fantasy game, he always felt this strange warmth—like nostalgia for something he couldn't properly remember, like a memory that belonged to someone else but still lived in his chest. He didn't know why the name attached to him so strongly. He just knew it felt… familiar.
And the irony was cruel in a quiet way, because in Zaboru's previous life, Hironobu Sakaguchi was the creator of Final Fantasy after all.
Hironobu exhaled and returned to the present, shaking his head like he was trying to laugh it off. "But still… Final Fantasy 7 is a masterpiece," he said, voice turning serious again. "I don't know how you can make this level of cinematic inside a game. Those scenes… it's like you're watching a movie, but you're also living inside it. And the fact it only has one ending… it enhances the impact so much."
He frowned slightly, not from dislike, but from disbelief. "If you give players many endings, sometimes they debate which one is 'real.' But with one ending, everyone carries the same wound. Everyone leaves the same way. It becomes shared trauma. Shared memory."
He glanced at the ZEPS-3 still sitting there like a quiet monster of power. "And those cinematics are insane. The direction, the timing, the way they save the big 3D scenes for moments that must land… it's not just 'graphics,' it's storytelling technique."
Tetsuya chuckled, but even he couldn't hide the awe in his voice. "ZAGE really… they make it look easy, huh."
Tetsu said, "I wonder how much something like that costs? Seriously… those cinematics, the animation team, the 3D pipeline, the voice direction, the storage, the rendering… that's not cheap. But well, that's the best video game studio in the world for you—this might be something only ZAGE is capable of right now. And for us… it might be impossible, because we have to ask investors for that kind of funding." He let out a tired laugh. "And investors don't understand why a scene needs to be perfect. They only understand numbers. They'll ask, 'Can't you do it cheaper?' They'll ask, 'Can't you cut it?' They'll ask, 'Why not just make another safe RPG like before?'"
Hironobu sighed and nodded. "Yup. It must be nice having the one in charge actually understand games… and love them," he said, eyes drifting toward the ZEPS-3 like it was proof of a different world. "Zaboru has 100% control over ZAGE. Nobody can force him to water it down. Nobody can tell him to stop chasing the dream. That kind of freedom isn't normal."
Tetsuya suddenly thought of something. "Boss… what if we ask Zaboru to invest in us? Or… to buy us?"
Hironobu sighed, already seeing the headache. "Well, that's basically what it feels like when we work with ZAGE anyway, right?"
Tetsuya grinned and shook his head. "No, no—listen. Not 'we disappear into ZAGE.' Just asking him as an investor. We can still be us, boss! Tri Soft keeps our name, our culture, our team. But we get breathing room. We get time. We get tools. We stop choking on 'safe' budgets."
Hironobu Sakaguchi frowned. "That ain't possible, Tetsu. There's no way ZAGE agrees with that."
But Tetsu grinned, stubborn as always. "It might not work with a normal billionaire. But maybe it works with Zaboru!" He leaned forward, voice lowering like he was sharing a dangerous secret. "Zaboru is well known to be a bad businessman, right? Not bad because he's stupid—bad because he doesn't act like the 'template' businessman. He does unexpected things. He funds ideas because he loves them. He buys projects because he believes in them. If he likes the people, he'll take risks just to see what happens. It doesn't hurt to try, boss."
He tapped the desk lightly. "And honestly? The industry already treats him like some kind of patron anyway. If we're going to chase a new standard, we need a new kind of support. Not a banker. Not a suit. Someone who understands the emotional value of making something great."
Hironobu thought about it, quiet for a moment, because part of him hated the idea—and part of him hated the idea of slowly falling behind even more. "Well… maybe I can ask him in the future," he admitted. "When we go to ZAGE anyway, I can bring it up casually. Just a conversation." He waved his hand like he wanted to end the topic before it grew teeth. "Now back to work, you damn it."
Tetsu grinned like he just won a small war, then quickly left the office before Hironobu could change his mind.
Not just Tri Soft is being affected—many video game studios are studying Final Fantasy 7 like a textbook, breaking down its pacing, cinematics, and storytelling choices, and asking themselves how a single ending can shake the whole industry.\
To be continue
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