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Chapter 678 ZEPS 3 Technical Difficulties
🕑 Added 2025-09-30 02:34:26 +0000 UTCFriday 4 June 1996 - ZAGE offices Japan Tokyo.
There was a knock at the door of Zaboru’s office—it was none other than his secretary, Yumi Ichijou. Zaboru looked up and asked, “Yumi-san, what’s wrong?”
Yumi adjusted her glasses with a composed expression and replied, “Boss, Zanichi-san is asking for you in the workshop. He seems to be in a debate regarding the ZEPS 3 development.”
Zaboru nodded. “I see. Understood. I’ll head there shortly—let them know I’ll be on my way.”
Yumi gave a respectful nod and quietly excused herself from the room.
Zaboru made his way to the workshop at ZAGE Tokyo, where several of the company’s top minds were already gathered. Inside the room stood Zanichi, Hideo Kojima, Shinji Mikami, Yugo Kanai, and Eiji Aonuma. At the center was Zanichi—Zaboru’s father and ZAGE’s Chief Technology Officer—who smiled warmly at the sight of his son.
“Boss, you’re finally here,” Zanichi said with a grin. “We’ve been waiting. There’s something we need to talk to you about.”
Zaboru nodded and began to take a seat as the others gathered around. Zanichi continued, his tone shifting to one of concern. “Here’s the situation, Boss. The development of the ZEPS 3 is progressing, but we’ve encountered a serious technical hurdle—specifically, the cartridge system.”
Zaboru raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is the issue with the cartridges?”.
Zanichi then began explaining, “ZEPS 3 is attempting to support two media formats—DVDs and cartridges—and honestly, it's proving to be far more challenging than we anticipated. Technically, it’s a huge strain, and from a production standpoint, it’s turning out to be a lot more expensive. The complexity of supporting both formats is slowing down our engineering team, and we’re starting to see diminishing returns on our efforts.
So I wanted to bring up the idea of simplifying things. What if we dropped the cartridge format entirely and focused solely on DVDs for ZEPS 3? If I recall correctly, you were considering attaching a cartridge reader for backward compatibility with older titles, right? That feature alone is adding another layer of hardware complication.”
He leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with Zaboru. “What I’m suggesting is this—what if we remove that cartridge reader completely? No hybrid media, no extra backward compatibility hardware. If we do that, we’ll cut a significant portion of the production costs, speed up development time, and potentially make the ZEPS 3 even more powerful by focusing all our resources on one streamlined platform.”
The others in the room nodded in agreement, clearly aligned with Zanichi’s proposal. They had seen the technical reports, and from an engineering and cost-efficiency standpoint, the idea made sense.
Zaboru had a feeling something like this might come up. Integrating two types of media into a single console was never going to be easy, and deep down, he wasn’t even sure how it could realistically work. Unlike the ZEPS 1 and ZEPS 2—which were grounded in technologies he was familiar with—ZEPS 3 was an entirely new machine, born from a future he hadn’t experienced.
It was uncharted territory, a blank canvas. In his previous world, this console didn’t officially exist, so he had no frame of reference. Although there was the Nintendo PlayStation prototype, it was so rare and incredibly expensive that he couldn't acquire one—let alone take it apart to study its design and architecture in detail. Still, he dreamed of creating something that could do it all—a video game console that pushed the boundaries of what people expected, combining legacy and innovation in a single, seamless experience.
“Dad, everyone—backward compatibility isn’t just some bonus feature. It’s a powerful, defining part of what makes a console truly complete,” Zaboru said firmly. “I understand perfectly well that removing it would reduce development time and bring down production costs. But that’s not the point. I’ve always envisioned ZAGE consoles as more than just machines that play new games. I want them to be machines that honor the legacy of everything we’ve built.”
He looked around the room, locking eyes with the engineers and his father. “Think about it. If I want to play games from a previous generation, I should be able to do that on my current system without needing to switch consoles or dig out old hardware. That kind of seamless experience is what players crave—even if they don’t realize it yet.”
Zaboru paused, recalling his memories from his previous life. He had watched how gamers placed immense value on backward compatibility—how it made consoles feel timeless, how it fostered trust between player and company. “I know from experience lets say that our ZEPS 2 are backward combability with our ZEPS 1 games. Backward compatibility makes a system feel more ‘valuable’—not just technically, but emotionally. People appreciate being able to revisit their favorite classics on new hardware. It’s more than convenience. It’s about respect. It’s about continuity. That’s why, as long as I’m leading ZAGE, backward compatibility will always be part of our design philosophy. Always.”
Zanichi leaned back slightly, arms crossed, and thought, “But those are meager reasons, don’t you think? Compared to the benefits if we removed it? Besides, why would players even want to play previous gen games on a next-gen console?”
Zaboru shook his head with conviction. “That’s where you’re wrong, Dad. There are many different types of players out there, and we can’t dictate how they choose to enjoy their games. Once someone buys our consoles and our games, it’s not up to us to control how they play—we have to provide the best possible experience and flexibility.”
He paused, then continued with more passion, “Let’s look at it this way—if a player buys our ZEPS 3 console in the future, and it still supports our 8-bit and 16-bit titles through backward compatibility, even if they never actually use the feature, just seeing it there will make them think, ‘What a thoughtful and useful option!’ That alone adds satisfaction. It shows we care, that we aren’t forgetting the past while building the future.”
Zaboru leaned forward slightly. “It's not always about what features get used the most—it’s about what features show our philosophy. And if even a small number of players want to revisit those classics, shouldn’t we honor that? It’s about preserving access, honoring nostalgia, and building a sense of long-term value into our ecosystem. That’s how you earn trust. That’s how you build loyalty.”
Zanichi adjusted his glasses and let out a small chuckle. “I see, so you really just want what’s best for the players, huh?”
Zaboru nodded sincerely. “Yes, Dad. That’s always been the goal.”
Zanichi smiled with quiet approval. “Alright then. I’ll see what I can do. Don’t worry—I’ll keep you updated on any progress.”
Zaboru smiled back, reassured by his father’s calm confidence. He knew Zanichi wasn’t just good with electronics—he was a genius. Ever since Zaboru was a child, he’d watched his father build, modify, and fix nearly anything that had a circuit. It was second nature to him, like breathing. If anyone could solve the cartridge and DVD dilemma without compromising quality or cost, it was his dad.
“Sure thing, Dad! And thanks a ton—I really mean it. I know if anyone can figure this out, it’s you,” Zaboru said, laughing lightly.
Zanichi grinned. “Yeah, well... it might take a little more effort this time, but I’ll manage.”
Zaboru chuckled again, the weight on his shoulders a little lighter now. He gave a respectful nod, then excused himself from the room to let his father work.
As Zaboru exited the room, Zanichi and the rest of the ZAGE team shared a chuckle. Shinji Mikami leaned back and said with a smirk, “Our boss is really something. He wants to please the players more than he cares about cutting production costs. That’s rare thinking.”
Hideo Kojima nodded in agreement. “He’s always been like that. That’s why I admire him so much—it’s not just about business with him, it’s about vision.”
Yugo pumped his fist in the air and laughed. “Hehehe! That’s my Boss-sama! Always cool and bold with his decisions!”
Eiji Aonuma smiled warmly. “I’m really glad Zaboru is our boss. He genuinely thinks about gamers first. You don’t see that kind of leadership often.”
Zanichi chuckled and waved his hand. “Alright, enough admiration—get back to work, all of you.”
Yugo, Eiji, Kojima, and Mikami shared a quick laugh before returning to their workstations, still smiling. Meanwhile, Zanichi remained still for a moment, lost in thought.
‘It can’t be helped... I need to use that.’
Zanichi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had a special ability—one he rarely used. An unnatural gift, one that allowed him to understand and communicate with machines on an intuitive level. He could hear them, like voices in the static—soft, mechanical whispers no one else could perceive. It wasn’t just diagnostics or data. It was like the machines had personalities, feelings, answers—if you knew how to listen.
He hadn’t used this power in years. Not because it wasn’t helpful, but because of where it came from.
Zanichi’s ability was inherited through blood—specifically, the bloodline of the Zagashira. A family lineage secretly for strange, often supernatural talents, rooted in ancient and sometimes dark traditions. Zanichi had exiled himself from that heritage long ago, because he had bad blood with the Zagashira Yet, no matter how far he ran, the power remained.
He called it “Machine Talk.” A name simple enough, but it masked the deep complexity and discomfort he felt every time he used it. It made him a genius with hardware, electronics, and systems—but also a prisoner of his origin.
Still, for Zaboru, his son, he would do anything.
‘I made a promise to support him. If this helps us find a solution, then I’ll bear the burden.’
Zanichi opened his eyes and placed both hands on the ZEPS 3 development prototype, closing his thoughts to the world and opening his mind to the current flowing through the circuits. The machines responded instantly—buzzing, beeping, flickering—as if welcoming an old friend. He began asking questions in silence, searching for a solution: how to combine cartridges and DVDs in one system without raising production costs.
The machines spoke back.
And Zanichi listened.
To be continue
