Chapter 1467 1385 — Strange 2002

Monday, 16 February 2002 — ZAGE Tower Japan, 19:00

The fifty-first floor of ZAGE Tower had become unusually quiet.

Most of the staff working directly around Zaboru had already gone home, and even the development floors below were gradually thinning out as the evening continued. From inside his private workshop, the distant city lights of Tokyo filled the windows while the faint hum of computers and ventilation remained the only constant sound.

But there was a reason things had become relatively calm despite ZAGE having just launched ZEPS 4 with twelve major games.

Zaboru had planned far ahead.

During ZEPS 4's development, he had never allowed the entire company to concentrate only on the launch lineup. Each major ZAGE development team across Japan, America, Korea, China, and England had already been assigned future projects long before February 2 arrived. Some teams were already several months into production, others were still building prototypes, while a few were deliberately resting smaller groups before entering full development.

Zaboru had learned long ago that stopping an entire company after a major launch was one of the easiest ways to create terrible production gaps later.

So instead, the pipeline kept moving.

Not frantically.

Just continuously.

Zaboru glanced toward one of his monitors, where several internal ZAGE channels were still active. Messages from America, Korea, and England occasionally appeared despite the late hour in Japan because of the time-zone differences.

That was another thing he still occasionally found amusing.

ZAGE Slack.

Something completely ordinary in his previous life had become one of the stranger innovations in this world.

The program had started simply as an internal communication tool Zaboru created because he was tired of information being scattered between e-mails, phone calls, internal bulletin systems, and physical meetings. Eventually it evolved into channels for individual projects, voice calls, file sharing, bug reports, development discussions, quick meetings, build notifications, task assignments, and almost everything else ZAGE needed internally.

Combined with the high-speed FTTH infrastructure that Sendou had been expanding for several years, the result was unexpectedly powerful.

Zaboru could sit in Tokyo and speak directly with developers in Silicon Valley, Seoul, London, or China without needing anyone to travel.

He could review builds remotely.

He could watch someone share their development screen.

He could enter a voice room, answer a design question, then disappear again ten minutes later.

Even large internal meetings no longer always required hundreds of people to gather in the same building.

Zaboru leaned farther back and chuckled to himself. "Heh… I wonder what other companies think when they see how we work now."

The thought genuinely amused him.

To Zaboru, none of it felt revolutionary.

He had lived through the 2020s.

Remote meetings, online workspaces, shared files, live collaboration, people working from completely different cities—or even different countries—had been normal parts of professional life.

But in this world's 2002, the concept still surprised people.

When Zaboru first introduced it inside ZAGE, plenty of employees had been confused. Some wondered why they would send messages through a computer when they could simply telephone somebody. Others found video meetings strange. A few managers initially worried that people working away from the office would become less productive.

Then they actually tried it.

And most of them quickly understood the advantages.

Someone working from home because they were sick could still answer a simple question without forcing themselves into the office.

American and Japanese teams could exchange files and discuss development without waiting for long international calls.

And when Zaboru suddenly wanted to ask Carmack, Mikami, Kojima, Miyamoto, Nagoshi, or any other team leader something, he no longer needed to summon them physically.

The infrastructure made ZAGE feel much smaller than it actually was.

Thousands of kilometers existed between its offices, yet internally the distance sometimes felt like nothing.

Of course, none of this would have worked without the world itself already developing faster than Zaboru remembered.

Technologically, 2002 here was strange.

Very strange.

In some areas, it already felt closer to what his previous world had around 2006 or 2007. Computers were stronger, consumer electronics had advanced faster, broadband adoption was far healthier, and companies like Sendou had pushed fiber infrastructure aggressively enough that high-speed connections were no longer limited to universities, giant corporations, or wealthy neighborhoods.

ZAGE had certainly accelerated some of it.

But not everything came from ZAGE.

That was important.

This world simply had its own momentum.

And sometimes it surprised even him.

Zaboru opened YouTube on one of his monitors.

The homepage immediately filled with thumbnails.

Game reviews.

Walkthroughs.

Comedy videos.

Development tutorials.

Live streams.

Music covers.

Short experimental animation.

People recording strange challenges.

Even a few primitive talk shows that were slowly becoming surprisingly professional.

Zaboru smiled.

YouTube had existed for only a few years in this world, yet its culture was already beginning to form.

Naturally, gaming dominated a huge portion of it.

That was hardly surprising when ZAGE itself had aggressively promoted online video, streaming, and community interaction around its games.

Some videos looked like they had been filmed inside a dark basement using a camera held by somebody having a seizure.

But others were improving extremely quickly.

And Zaboru loved watching that happen.

He scrolled past several videos before noticing how many live streams were currently active.

That development, interestingly enough, was not entirely ZAGE's doing.

Zaboru grinned. "Heh. Sonaya really is smart."

Sonaya's camera division had unexpectedly become one of the biggest reasons consumer live streaming had become practical so early.

Instead of only focusing on expensive professional equipment, Sonaya had begun producing relatively affordable portable cameras that could connect directly to computers and function as simple streaming or recording devices. The quality obviously could not compete with professional television cameras, but for home creators it was more than enough.

Some models even came bundled with basic software that made them unusually easy to configure.

Zaboru had absolutely no problem with that.

In fact, he loved it.

The healthier Sonaya became as a company, the more interesting this world became for everyone.

Competition did not always need to mean destroying each other.

Sometimes another company simply created something useful, and the entire ecosystem benefited.

"Good job," Zaboru muttered while scrolling past another creator using one of Sonaya's compact cameras. "Keep making weird shit."

He continued browsing.

YouTube was only one part of the change.

Steam had also become increasingly interesting.

When Zaboru first created the platform, his original objective had been simple: digital PC distribution, automatic updates, easier multiplayer integration, and eventually a place where developers who could never afford traditional physical publishing might still sell games.

Now that ecosystem was finally beginning to mature.

Small development teams were appearing everywhere.

Some were formed by university students.

Others were groups of friends working from bedrooms or garages.

A few were former developers who had left larger companies because they wanted to experiment with something smaller.

The word indie developer was slowly gaining meaning.

Zaboru smiled as he thought about it.

The early days had been more difficult, especially because he had deliberately limited public access to ZAGE's best technology.

Before Unreal Engine 4 became publicly available, ZAGE had kept its strongest internal engine technology private. Outside developers could use a reduced public version based on Unreal Engine 3 technology, which was still far more powerful and user-friendly than most independent developers could realistically build themselves.

Now things had changed.

With UE4 officially released alongside ZEPS 4, the previous UE3 tools had become far more broadly available, while Unreal Engine 4 itself could also be licensed by outside studios. The base tools were accessible enough for normal developers to experiment with, while more advanced support, specialized packages, enterprise tools, and certain libraries cost additional money.

Zaboru considered that a fair balance.

He wanted the technology to spread.

He simply did not want to give every single internal ZAGE secret away for free.

What really accelerated things, however, was education.

The official ZAGE YouTube channel had become filled with development tutorials.

Not marketing tutorials.

Actual development material.

Basic level design.

Animation.

Lighting.

Simple scripting.

Optimization.

AI behavior.

Sound implementation.

Multiplayer basics.

Even long-form demonstrations from experienced ZAGE developers.

Some tutorials were taught by ordinary technical staff.

Others occasionally featured major names from inside the company.

More importantly, they were building things.

The games appearing on Steam were still rough compared with what Zaboru remembered from his previous world's mature indie scene. Many projects were extremely basic. Some relied too heavily on existing templates. Others were obviously inspired by popular ZAGE games without fully understanding why those games worked.

But Zaboru did not care.

They had to start somewhere.

The thing that pleased him most was the atmosphere.

It was healthy.

People were experimenting.

Sharing techniques.

Making tutorials for each other.

Modding games.

Creating prototypes.

Failing publicly.

Trying again.

Arguing about design.

Building strange things purely because they thought those things sounded fun.

That was exactly the kind of environment Zaboru wanted.

He leaned back with a satisfied smile. "Not bad."

For all his obsession with pushing technology and building enormous games, Zaboru never wanted the industry to become something where only giant companies could participate.

Sometimes the stupid little game made by four idiots in a bedroom became the thing everybody remembered.

His previous life had taught him that very clearly.

As he continued scrolling through YouTube, one familiar face appeared among the recommended streams.

Zaboru immediately stopped.

"Oh?"

The thumbnail showed Miguel Katayuya, better known online as Toro Kami, staring at his monitor with an expression somewhere between exhaustion and rage.

The title was simple.

SMT III NOCTURNE HARD MODE — FIRST PLAYTHROUGH — I WILL FINISH THIS

Zaboru stared at the title.

Then laughed.

"This idiot is still doing that?"

He clicked the stream.

Miguel's voice immediately exploded through the workshop speakers.

"NO! NO! WHY?! WHY THE FUCK DID YOU MISS?! YOU HAD ONE JOB!"

On screen, Miguel was deep inside the final portion of Shin Megami Tensei III: Nocturne.

Zaboru slowly leaned toward the monitor.

Then his eyebrows rose.

"Wait."

He looked more carefully.

"Kagutsuchi?"

Miguel had actually reached the final boss.

On Hard Mode.

During his first playthrough.

Zaboru stared for several seconds before breaking into an impressed chuckle. "Heh… this bastard really is a masochist."

Miguel continued shouting at his demons, blaming them for decisions that were very clearly his own fault.

"You stupid piece of shit! Thor! I gave you ONE responsibility! AAAAAAAAA!"

Zaboru laughed.

The man reminded him strongly of a certain type of chaotic internet entertainer from his previous world iShowSpeed, although Miguel had developed his own personality around it. Half Mexican, permanently loud, completely shameless, surprisingly skilled when he stopped screaming, and somehow capable of turning genuine frustration into something thousands of people wanted to watch.

The live chat moved so quickly that Zaboru could barely follow it.

Miguel shouted again as Kagutsuchi nearly destroyed his party.

Zaboru laughed harder.

"He really reached the final boss like this… not bad."

What amused Zaboru most was that people genuinely cared.

Thousands of viewers were watching one ridiculous man scream at a JRPG boss.

In 2002.

Zaboru slowly leaned back in his chair.

For a moment, he stopped watching the fight and simply stared at the YouTube interface surrounding it.

"The world really is changing…"

His voice became quieter.

Sometimes he forgot just how strange his life had become.

This was 2002.

And yet people were already watching online livestreams.

Digital games were growing.

Remote work existed.

Independent developers distributed games globally.

High-speed fiber was spreading through major cities.

Portable cameras were being designed specifically with home video creators in mind.

People could buy a game online, download it, talk to friends on another continent, watch someone stream that same game, then open Unreal Engine and attempt to create their own.

None of this matched the 2002 he remembered.

ZAGE had accelerated much of it, certainly.

Zaboru could not pretend otherwise.

Steam, YouTube, Unreal Engine, ZAGE Network, and ZAGE's enormous technology investments had pushed entire industries years forward.

But this world was not simply his previous world running faster.

There were deeper differences.

The global economy itself was healthier.

Not perfect.

Not even close.

Corruption still existed. Poverty still existed. Bad governments existed. Greedy corporations existed. People still suffered.

Zaboru was not naïve enough to imagine otherwise.

But compared with his previous world, the gap felt different insanely

The middle class was larger in many countries.

Infrastructure investment was stronger.

Several developing economies had industrialized more successfully.

Regions in Brazil, parts of Africa, and many other developing areas had significantly lower rates of extreme poverty compared with the equivalents Zaboru remembered.

Technology adoption spread more evenly because more ordinary families could actually afford to participate.

That mattered.

A streaming website meant nothing if almost nobody owned a computer.

Digital distribution meant nothing if broadband was limited to wealthy neighborhoods.

New industries could only grow when ordinary people had enough stability and money to become customers, creators, and workers.

That, more than the shiny technology, was what made Zaboru appreciate this world.

He smiled faintly.

"This place really is pretty damn good."

He genuinely loved it here.

Another chance to live.

Another chance to create.

Sometimes he became so busy building the future that he forgot to simply appreciate the life he already had.

On the monitor, Miguel suddenly screamed loud enough to snap Zaboru out of his thoughts.

"YES! YES! TAKE THAT, YOU GIANT DISCO BALL!"

Zaboru blinked.

Then burst out laughing.

Miguel had somehow survived another turn.

"Hehehe… I wonder what this world will look like ten years from now."

That thought was almost dangerous.

If 2002 already looked like this, then what would 2012 become?

What kind of computers would exist?

What would games look like?

What would online culture become?

Would independent developers eventually rival major studios?

Would streaming become a normal profession?

Would people carry fully connected computers in their pockets far earlier than they had in his previous world?

Would ZAGE still dominate?

Would some completely unexpected company appear and punch them in the face?

Zaboru grinned.

Honestly, that possibility excited him.

But after a few seconds he shook his head.

"Eh. No point predicting everything."

He had already learned that lesson.

Even with knowledge from another life, this world constantly created things he never expected.

Trying to perfectly control the future would only make it boring.

Zaboru returned his attention to the stream.

Then something suddenly entered his mind.

He blinked.

"Oh, yeah…"

He paused the video for a moment.

"It's been a while."

Zaboru opened another browser tab.

For years, he had occasionally entertained himself using two anonymous alternate accounts completely disconnected from his public identity.

The first was Zaborn.

The second was Isekai.

Zaboru chuckled "Hmmm what should i do..?"

To be continued.