When the accident happened, it took less than an hour for the news to spread like wildfire through a dry forest. Television stations interrupted their regular programming, radio broadcasters repeated the headline over and over, and newspapers rushed to print special editions. Within moments, the entire world was talking about it. What made it even more shocking was that traffic cameras had clearly recorded everything. The footage showed Zaboru dashing across the road at unbelievable speed, pushing the little girl out of harm's way—only to be violently struck by the speeding car himself.
The video replayed again and again across global media outlets. Slow-motion clips highlighted the exact moment he leapt forward, the precise second he redirected the child toward her father, and the brutal impact that followed. For many viewers, it was both heroic and heartbreaking. The narrative was immediate and unanimous—Zaboru had risked his life to save a child.
The public reaction was overwhelming. Praise poured in from everywhere, with headlines calling him a "Hero," "The Savior CEO," and even "The Guardian of Gamers." At the same time, outrage targeted the drunk driver. He was immediately identified as the primary suspect, and reports quickly revealed that he came from a wealthy family. As of now, he remained hospitalized, effectively avoiding immediate legal proceedings, but that only fueled public anger further. Public opinion turned vicious, and hatred toward him intensified by the hour.
Like one of the news broadcasts reported: "Zaboru Renkonan, the young CEO and owner of ZAGE, and also the youngest billionaire in the industry, was involved in a serious crash accident while saving a little girl." The anchor's voice carried a mixture of urgency and disbelief as the footage was shown repeatedly on screen. The cameras clearly captured how Zaboru dashed across the road at incredible speed, pushing the child out of danger just seconds before the impact. Slow-motion replays emphasized the exact moment he leapt forward, the desperate timing, and the violent collision that followed. The broadcast then continued, "At this time, we do not yet know the latest condition of Mr. Renkonan. Medical teams are still assessing his injuries, and we will continue to monitor the situation closely. Please stay tuned as we bring you further updates."
However, what the public did not know was that someone far more dangerous than public opinion had already taken notice. Akechi—Zaboru's brother-in-law, known in the underworld as "Rashomon"—was beyond furious. To him, this was not merely an accident; it was an unforgivable offense. Quietly and methodically, he began planning his next move with cold precision. True to Akechi's style, whatever he decided to do would leave no visible trace and no loose ends. Silent and deadly, he would ensure that the driver paid the price.
Aside from that, the video game industry itself was shaken to its core—especially the employees of ZAGE. On the first day after the accident, panic spread rapidly throughout the company. Many of them didn't know what to do or how to react. To them, Zaboru was not merely the owner and CEO; he was their leader in every sense—both spiritually and physically. He was the driving force behind their creativity, their discipline, and their vision. In their minds, there would be no ZAGE without Zaboru. Meetings felt hollow, offices felt quieter, and productivity slowed as anxiety weighed heavily on everyone. However, the situation gradually improved. By the third day, official news confirmed that Zaboru was stable and only needed rest and recovery. That announcement acted like a lifeline for the entire company, allowing hope to replace fear and restoring a sense of direction within ZAGE.
Not only that, but the government itself—especially the Japanese government—was thrown into a state of quiet panic. They fully understood the potential consequences of losing Zaboru as the head of ZAGE. After all, ZAGE was 100% owned and directly led by him. It was not a small or mediocre company within Japan; it had grown into one of the largest entertainment corporations in the entire world. The influence ZAGE held over technology, media, software development, employment, and even international trade was massive. If something were to happen to Zaboru, the stability of ZAGE would immediately come into question. There was no clear successor publicly known, no secondary figure with equal authority or vision.
The government understood just how extraordinary Zaboru was—not only as a creator, but also as a worker and as a leader. He was the central pillar that shaped the company's direction, philosophy, and global strategy. Losing him would not simply mean replacing a CEO; it would mean losing the mind that built and sustained the empire. Without Zaboru, ZAGE would not be the same company. And if ZAGE were to change, the ripple effects across Japan's economy and global entertainment markets could be unpredictable. That uncertainty was what truly unsettled them.
Then there were the players—arguably the group most deeply affected of all. The players and Zaboru's fans were the ones whose hearts broke the hardest, knowing he had nearly died as a hero while saving a little child. Even after learning that he was stable, many of them continued to grieve, replaying the footage and imagining the worst during those hours when his condition was still uncertain. The emotional weight was overwhelming across communities, especially online. To make matters even more intense, specific discussion threads began circulating, amplifying the fear and reflection. One thread in particular, titled "Game Industry Without Zaboru," struck a powerful chord. It became an eye-opener for countless players, forcing them to confront just how important Zaboru truly was to the video game industry and how different the world of gaming might look without him.
As the thread was posted by a user on the ZAGE forum called "Yuki_ZAGE," it quickly gained massive attention. The thread read: "Honestly, the accident broke me. I'm one of Zaboru's biggest fans. But beyond that, I keep wondering what the world would look like without Zaboru—especially the video game industry. We all know that since 1991, when Zaboru founded ZAGE, they have consistently led the industry. They release incredible games in insane quantities each year. They revolutionize genres, redefine standards, and constantly raise the bar.
"And it's not just about making great games. Zaboru has always shared ZAGE's tools and engines with other developers, allowing them to create games for ZAGE consoles more easily. He didn't lock everything behind corporate walls or treat technology as a weapon to dominate the market. Instead, he opened doors—giving smaller studios access to powerful development kits, documentation, and even direct support when needed. From multiple sources, we also know that ZAGE only charges a minimal fee for third-party developers to publish on their platform. It's nowhere near exploitative, especially compared to how other companies structure their publishing cuts. That alone shows Zaboru's genuine desire to see the entire video game industry flourish—not just his own company. He understands that when more developers succeed, the ecosystem grows stronger, players get better games, and innovation accelerates. That kind of thinking isn't common in executives—it's the mindset of someone who truly cares about the art and future of gaming."
The thread continued: "Then there are video game prices. Right now, we enjoy high-quality games, and the prices range from around 3,500 yen to 6,000 yen, or roughly 35 to 60 USD. It might not be extremely cheap, but it is still very affordable considering the quality and scale of what we receive. But do you really think it would stay the same if ZAGE weren't pricing them like this? Remember back when Sonaya released their Game Station? At that time, ZEPS 3 had not been released yet, so the Game Station was technically the strongest console in terms of graphics. And what were the launch prices of their games? Yes, you're correct—8,000 yen. Insane, right? They justified it by saying, 'This is brand new technology, so it's expensive,' especially since they were using CDs instead of catridges.
Then, just a few months later, ZAGE came in and said—boom!—"I'm your nightmare comes to live" here's ZEPS 3 64 bit system with a new technology called 'DVD.' And it wasn't just marketing talk. ZEPS 3 wasn't a minor upgrade—it was a full generational leap. It was stronger, had delivered smoother performance, and was far more efficient in both development and hardware optimization. Developers suddenly had more room to experiment, more space for content, better audio quality, and more detailed visuals without being restricted by cartridge limitations or CD. And the best part? It was cheaper. ZEPS 3 are stronger , cooler , and way cheaper than Sonaya GameStation, yet despite the technological leap, We could still get ZAGE games at the usual prices of 5,000 to 6,000 yen, even with better technology behind them. That wasn't just smart business; that was a deliberate decision. It showed that ZAGE wasn't trying to squeeze every possible yen out of its customers—they were trying to build long-term trust, long-term growth, and a healthy ecosystem where both players and developers could thrive together.
Now imagine if ZAGE existed without Zaboru—without its creative leader at the center. Imagine ZAGE being led purely by businessmen, not by someone who calls himself an 'insane gamer but a bad businessman.' Would we still be able to enjoy what we have today? Would ZAGE remain the same without Zaboru guiding its philosophy? Or would it slowly transform into just another profit-driven corporation, prioritizing quarterly earnings over creativity, passion, and long-term vision? And if that shift happened, would we even recognize the change at first—or would it arrive quietly, wrapped in polished marketing and safer sequels? Would daring new concepts be replaced by predictable franchises designed only to minimize risk? Would passion projects be filtered out in favor of guaranteed returns? Without a leader who understands games from the inside, the company might still function efficiently, but the spark that drives experimentation and bold storytelling could fade. The danger would not be immediate collapse, but gradual dilution—the kind that turns a visionary studio into a comfortable, cautious enterprise that rarely surprises anyone.
Think about the risks ZAGE has taken over the years—the bold genre shifts, the experimental mechanics, the decision to empower smaller developers instead of crushing them. Would a purely corporate board have approved those moves? Or would they have chosen the safest path every single time? Without Zaboru's mindset at the core, would innovation still be encouraged, or would it be filtered through layers of conservative approval?
We all know how influential he is within ZAGE. He calls the shots—not out of ego, but because he understands games from the inside out. We know that many of the early games on ZEPS 1, during the 8-bit era, were solely made by him, crafted through sleepless nights and raw passion. We know how skilled he is, how valuable he is—not just financially, but creatively. His presence shapes company culture, inspires developers, and sets the tone for what ZAGE stands for.
Zaboru made other developers want to grow; he gave them tools, guidance, and real opportunities instead of treating them as rivals to be suppressed. He made publishing on ZAGE consoles affordable so that smaller studios could survive and even thrive. Not just that, he was even known to be slightly frustrated when too many ZAGE games dominated the Game of the Year nominations. He openly said that he wanted other studios' games to be worthy of GOTY as well, because true competition makes the entire industry stronger. And he never hesitated to praise competitor games if he genuinely enjoyed playing them—even when doing so earned him the moniker "Bad Businessman." What kind of CEO promotes rival products? Only someone who truly loves the video game industry more than his own ego. The guy doesn't just run a company—he lives and breathes games with an almost irrational level of passion.
So let this be a reminder of how lucky we are as gamers to have someone like Zaboru Renkonan in the game industry. Leaders like him don't appear often. And that's why we all sincerely hope he's going to be fine."
This thread truly made gamers realize just how important Zaboru is to the industry. Many of them began to question whether ZAGE would remain the same, especially if Zaboru were no longer leading it. The uncertainty created a deep sense of vulnerability within the community. On top of that, Zaboru is still young. He has so many ideas that have yet to be developed, so many games that likely exist only in his mind, waiting for the right time to be created. In the eyes of his fans, he has not even fully fulfilled his potential yet. There are still entire genres he could reshape, new technologies he could pioneer, and bold risks he could take that no one else would dare attempt. That realization only made the situation feel heavier. The masses weren't just hoping for his recovery because he was a CEO or a public figure—they were hoping because they believed the future of gaming still had many chapters left to be written by him. And so, across forums, communities, and quiet conversations, one shared wish echoed clearly: that Zaboru would recover completely and return stronger than ever.
Then a lot of gamers began making a scene of their own, gathering outside television stations and public spaces while holding large banners and handmade signs for the cameras to capture. They shouted messages like "Speedy Recovery!" and "Just Respawn, Man!" along with countless other creative and heartfelt phrases meant to encourage Zaboru's quick recovery. Some even dressed as characters from ZAGE games, turning the gatherings into emotional yet spirited tributes. The sight of so many fans rallying together, mixing humor with genuine concern, clearly showed just how deeply loved Zaboru was within the gaming community and how strong the bond between him and the players truly had become despite just being unconscious for a couple of days.
Meanwhile, in the hospital, after nearly 4 long days, Zaboru finally opened his eyes.
To be continue
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