Tuesday 6 August 1998 ZAGE Tower Japan - Night 52 Floor.
Zaboru leaned back into his chair, finally allowing his body to relax after a long and mentally exhausting day. Having just finished assigning Team Nexus their major tasks for Tekken and ZAGE Bass Fishing, his mind felt lighter, free from schedules, milestones, and strategic calculations. Now, for the first time that night, it was time to do something purely for himself—to play.
On his desk sat one of the newest releases of the month, a game developed by a rising ZAGE third-party studio called "WILD SPARKS." The title printed boldly across the case read Tanaka : Neo SalaryMan!, made specifically for the ZAGE ZEPS 3. Zaboru picked it up, turning the case slowly in his hands, already intrigued. New developers always caught his attention, especially those brave enough to present something unconventional.
He let out a quiet chuckle as he examined the cover art more closely. The illustration depicted a middle-aged man wearing a casual office suit, sleeves slightly rolled up. In one hand, the man clenched a tie tightly around his fist, while in the other, he held a battered briefcase crackling with visible electricity. The contrast between mundane office life and exaggerated action immediately struck Zaboru as absurd—and brilliant.
The game had already piqued his interest back when it was still passing through the Quality Control phase. Even then, just from brief footage and design documents, Zaboru remembered feeling an unexpected spark of excitement. It was the kind of game that didn't try to be safe or polished to perfection—it dared to be strange.
Suddenly, a small, cheerful voice broke his concentration. "Papa… papap." The sound was soft and uneven, but unmistakably joyful. Tiny footsteps followed soon after as Zenshin, now able to walk on his own, toddled toward him with slightly wobbly yet determined steps, arms stretched forward for balance. Each step carried a mix of effort and confidence, as if the child was proudly proving something only he could understand.
Before Zaboru could even react, Zenshin reached him and climbed onto his lap with clumsy determination, gripping his shirt and pulling himself upward. Zaboru instinctively shifted, setting the game case aside as he wrapped one arm securely around his son, gently steadying him. A warm grin spread across his face, unforced and genuine. In that quiet, fleeting moment, the weight of work, deadlines, and corporate ambition faded into the background, replaced by something far more grounding—something real.
"Ohh, Zenshin, you want to play together with Papa?" Zaboru asked with a warm smile. Zenshin chuckled and nodded eagerly, his tiny finger pointing toward the CRT television where the ZEPS 3 console rested beneath it. His eyes sparkled with anticipation. Zaboru chuckled as well, unable to hide the admiration and love he felt. Zenshin had just turned eleven months old today, and even at such a young age, he was astonishingly smart. He walked with smooth steps that no longer wobbled like before, and though his vocabulary was limited, he could speak a few words and understand far more than most children his age. His ability to respond to instructions, follow conversations, and express his wants was truly remarkable.
The sight of Zenshin wanting to share a moment like this filled Zaboru's heart. These were the moments he cherished—simple, quiet connections that reminded him of everything he was building not just as a developer, but as a father.
Meanwhile, Ayumi approached them from the kitchen, carrying a small tray with warm milk for Zenshin and a light evening snack for Zaboru. Her long hair was tied loosely behind her, and a soft smile played across her face as she glanced toward the TV and the game case in Zaboru's hand.
"Hmm? Tanaka : Neo SalaryMan? What kind of game is this?" she asked with a teasing laugh. "It looks so weird."
Zaboru laughed heartily and nodded. "That's exactly what makes it awesome. It's bizarre and bold. Wait a bit—I'll put it on ZEPS 3. I want to try it out."
Ayumi gently took Zenshin into her arms while Zaboru stood up, stretched a little, and then walked over to his entertainment setup. He opened the vibrant game case, carefully removed the disc, and powered on the ZEPS 3 console. The disc tray opened with a soft mechanical sound as he inserted Tanaka : Neo SalaryMan! and pushed the tray closed.
As the console whirred to life, Zaboru looked down at the controller in his hand and smiled. A nostalgic thought passed through his mind. I really miss the days when you could just press the controller, and the console would turn on with it, he thought. That simple feature from his previous life—long gone now—held an unexpected charm. And Zaboru, now a game industry giant, silently vowed once again: ZAGE would bring that feature back in the future. Some comforts of the past were too good to be left behind.
As the loading finished, the screen faded into the game's main menu. It was simple—just two options displayed in bold stylized font: New Game and Load Game. The latter was grayed out, as expected, since Zaboru didn't have any save data. Without hesitation, he selected New Game, his curiosity piqued and his anticipation rising.
The screen dipped to black for a moment, and then the opening cinematic began. The graphics, while not ultra-realistic, had a sharp, expressive charm to them. Characters were stylized with exaggerated features, and the lighting was intentionally moody—creating a tone somewhere between satirical and surreal. An over-the-top narrator's voice boomed through the speakers: "One day… it was Casual Friday for Tanaka, a humble salaryman stuck in the grinding gears of a black company…"
The scene zoomed in on Tanaka, hunched at his desk under a flickering fluorescent light, surrounded by mountains of paperwork. The narration continued, "He worked twelve hours a day… six days a week… and still dragged himself into the office on Sundays. His life was a miserable loop of deadlines, unpaid overtime, and soul-crushing monotony."
Then the camera followed Tanaka as he stumbled home through a rain-drenched alleyway, the ambient noise of buzzing neon and distant traffic filling the atmosphere. He looked up at the sky and, with a sudden burst of emotion, screamed, "F*CK THIS COMPANY! I WILL ELIMINATE ALL OF YOU!"
Thunder exploded in the sky. A lightning bolt struck the puddle at Tanaka's feet, sending a shockwave of energy that distorted the screen like broken television static. The environment warped, and reality itself seemed to bend around him. In a flash of white, he was back inside the office—but something was wrong. The walls twisted unnaturally, the lights flickered a sinister red, and a glowing sign above the entryway now read: WELCOME TO THE BLACK COMPANY.
The office was no longer ordinary. It pulsed with a dark energy. Filing cabinets rattled on their own. Printers growled. Office workers, once colleagues, now had glowing eyes and robotic, jerking movements. Computers blinked with red, angry static. The workplace had become a nightmarish labyrinth.
Tanaka stood frozen, wide-eyed. But then his briefcase suddenly shimmered with power, and his tie lashed to life like a sentient whip. His ID card began to glow, floating before him as light burst outward. The narrator returned with a dramatic tone: "In the darkest hour… a forgotten employee awakens!"
Tanaka took a battle stance, his silhouette cast in bold shadows. "HENSHIN!" he shouted with conviction.
In a transformation sequence straight out of a tokusatsu series, Tanaka's appearance began to shift. His tucked-in shirt burst loose as if rejecting corporate formality. His once-worn face twisted into a determined grin. His tie tightened itself like a sash. And his glowing ID card spun in mid-air, projecting the title across the screen: TANAKA - SALARYMAN!
Zaboru leaned forward, eyes sparkling. The tone, the style, the sheer audacity of it all—it was completely insane and Zaboru burst out laughing. "Hahaha… this is completely insane," he said, still chuckling as he picked up the controller and fully committed to the game. The gameplay opened with explosive energy—Tanaka : Neo SalaryMan! wasted no time in diving into its absurd premise. A fast-paced third-person action experience, the game dropped players directly into the chaotic world of a corrupted corporate office reimagined as a dungeon from hell.
From the very first encounter, it was clear that SalaryMan Tanaka wasn't just another action protagonist. His movements were exaggerated to near-cartoonish degrees, but every attack felt satisfyingly weighted. He could lash out with his tie like a retractable sword, swinging it with stylish arcs that cut through waves of enemies. His briefcase acted like a hybrid between a boomerang and a rocket-powered shield—capable of knocking enemies down in a wide arc before magnetically returning to his hand with a metallic clunk. Even mundane actions like dodging had flair, as Tanaka would dive-roll while spinning mid-air like a judo-flipping gymnast.
As Zaboru continued, the weapon system only became more delightfully unhinged. Office supplies were no longer tools of productivity—they were now implements of destruction. Ballpoint pens became dart-like projectiles that Tanaka could fire in a rapid, fan-shaped spread. Computer mice could be thrown and detonated like grenades, their cords lashing at enemies before exploding into sparks. Keyboards acted as beam weapons, charging up with light before releasing devastating energy bursts in the form of corrupted Excel spreadsheets.
Each level was a twisted version of office environments—break rooms filled with vending machine mini-bosses, copy rooms warped into shadowy mazes, and elevators that descended into new 'floors' of the company, each one weirder than the last. The enemies were hilariously grotesque caricatures. Zaboru laughed as he fought a mutated water dispenser called Thirst Killer, which screamed while firing water jets like high-pressure hoses. Moments later, he was dodging laser-guided staplers launched by Copy Master, a possessed photocopier that spawned evil clone employees made of recycled toner and broken contracts.
Then came the first real boss fight. The screen darkened. The HUD pulsed red. A heavy musical track—clearly inspired by tokusatsu battle themes—kicked in as the name flashed across the screen: Senior Worker – Takahashi. The camera panned up dramatically to reveal a towering, hunched man wrapped in endless rolls of paper, some stapled directly into his limbs. He shuffled forward like a sumo wrestler and shouted, "NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" every time the player made a mistake.
Zaboru couldn't stop laughing as the fight progressed. "Hahaha, this is brilliant!" he exclaimed, barely able to focus between dodging attacks and laughing at the absurdity that unfolded on-screen. Every wave of enemies brought fresh absurdities—one moment he was dodging flaming sticky notes, the next he was parrying attacks from weaponized presentation clickers. It was the kind of surreal chaos that somehow felt all too familiar, wrapped in a colorful, ludicrous shell of high-speed action.
The gameplay was pure, distilled fun chaotic, unpredictable, and gloriously unconcerned with realism. Yet what elevated it beyond just slapstick absurdity was its incredibly sharp satire. Beneath the over-the-top animations and explosive combat was a biting commentary on toxic corporate culture. The boss shouting "NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" was more than just an attack pattern—it echoed real voices Zaboru had heard in boardrooms and meeting halls of his former life. The cluttered, suffocating environments, the barrage of pointless tasks, the faceless interns—all of it served as exaggerated metaphors for burnout, overwork, and dehumanization.
Each enemy truly felt like satire given form. It wasn't just parody—it was reflective horror delivered through comedy. The twisted vending machine boss was a critique of how workplaces pacify burnout with shallow comforts. The exploding mouse grenades mocked how disposable tech and tools were overused and underappreciated. Zaboru felt like the game was digging into memories he hadn't revisited in years—and then turning them into cartoon monsters for him to destroy.
He couldn't help but admire how the developers had woven such meaningful commentary into such a ridiculous wrapper. It reminded him why he valued creative risks so much—because games like this weren't just fun. They said something. They resonated. And they made players laugh, think, and remember all at once.
Ayumi watched from the side, smiling and chuckling softly at Zaboru's reactions. She still thought the game itself was strange, almost nonsensical, but she understood Zaboru well enough to see the beauty he found in it. Meanwhile, Zenshin sat between them, unable to stay quiet, excitedly babbling as flashing lights and loud effects filled the room. His tiny reactions only added to the warmth of the moment.
For Zaboru, games like this were necessary. They dared to be different—unapologetically weird, creative, and honest in their satire. And most importantly, this one had succeeded in what every game should do: it entertained him completely. As he continued playing, curiosity crept in about the mind—or minds—behind such a bold concept. For now, though, Zaboru the gamer had fully taken over, quietly replacing Zaboru the CEO, as he sank deeper into the experience and let the game consume him.
To be continue
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