Another world Game Developers in Japan`s 1991

Monday, 3 December 1994

Zaboru sat in the lounge of one of Tokyo's most prestigious hotels, the kind where government officials, international CEOs, and movie stars crossed paths. Today's agenda was serious: a private meeting with Keisuke Adachihara, a high-ranking official from the Japanese Ministry of Education, Sports , Culture and Technology.

Zaboru was no stranger to Keisuke, one of Japan's more forward-thinking politicians. Keisuke had long praised ZAGE for its contributions to Japan's entertainment industry, and the fact that the Ministry of Education itself had requested this meeting spoke volumes. It was a clear sign of just how much they respected and valued Zaboru's influence.

Zaboru sat alone, cutting into an expensive steak while sipping a chilled glass of orange juice. He frowned slightly. "This is delicious… but there's still something missing. Maybe I'm just not the kind of person who enjoys fancy meals?" With a soft sigh, he resumed eating, the quiet clink of cutlery filling the room — until Keisuke Adachihara finally arrived.

"Ah, sorry, Zaboru-san. Traffic was a nightmare. I hope I'm not late." Keisuke, a man in his early forties with neatly combed black hair and a medium build, wore thin-rimmed glasses and sported a neatly trimmed beard that added to his thoughtful appearance.

Zaboru smiled and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. "Not at all, Keisuke-san. You're right on time."

They shook hands firmly. Keisuke glanced at the half-cleared plates on Zaboru's table and chuckled. "Big eater as always, huh?"

Zaboru let out a light laugh and took a sip of his orange juice. "Just a little hungry — couldn't resist."

Then Keisuke smiled and said, "Congratulations on the recent Guitar Hero success. ZAGE always manages to bring something fresh to the table, huh?"

Zaboru gave a polite nod, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "Thank you, Keisuke-san. But let's not dance around it — you're here because of Fallout, aren't you?"

Keisuke sighed and nodded slowly. "Yes, unfortunately, Zaboru. The game's theme — nuclear war — is a deeply sensitive subject in Japan. It stirs up painful memories tied to our national history. You understand that, don't you?"

Zaboru nodded. "I completely understand, Keisuke-san. But the world of Fallout isn't grounded in our reality. It takes place in an alternate future, shaped by exaggerated Cold War anxieties, where nuclear technology evolved into a dominant power source before spiraling into disaster. It's a dystopian fantasy — not a retelling of real history. It's meant to provoke thought, not offend."

Keisuke nodded slowly. "I understand that, but unfortunately, not everyone in the government sees it that way. The moment a Japanese creator touches on the subject of nuclear war — no matter how fictionalized — it raises alarms. To them, it's not just a creative choice, it's a national issue."

Zaboru nodded slowly. The rigid mindset frustrated him, but he could understand where it was coming from. "Okay… so what exactly are you wanting me to do?"

Keisuke looked at Zaboru with a serious expression. "Can you… pull Fallout from the market and issue an official apology?"

Zaboru frowned, his tone sharpening slightly. "Why would I, Keisuke-san? As I mentioned, this isn't real history. Yes, it touches on sensitive themes for Japan, but in the end, it's a fictional narrative — a piece of art, not a political statement. I have great respect for our history and the people affected by it, but Fallout isn't designed to mock or diminish that. It's simply a game meant to explore 'what if' scenarios through a creative lens. So no, I'm not going to pull Fallout from the market, and I certainly won't be apologizing for something I don't believe was wrong."

Keisuke sighed. "I figured as much. Those were suggestions from several government leaders — but certainly not all. There are still people like me who see your value, Zaboru. That's why I've always supported you. Personally, I think Fallout is a great game — bold, creative, and deserving of recognition."

Zaboru sipped his orange juice and thought, Politicians always know how to dress up their words — charm, flattery, and subtle manipulation. Keisuke was clearly trying to get on his good side, and Zaboru saw right through it.

"Okay, Keisuke-san. So what now? Do you want me to vow never to touch the topic of nuclear and war again in any future games? If so, I'm afraid that's not going to happen. I won't put shackles on my creativity just to appease discomfort."

In Zaboru's past life, countless iconic games tackled those very themes — war , nuclear conflict, post-apocalyptic survival, political satire — and many of them were absolute masterpieces and worse if he can't make another Fallout sequel it will be a disaster. To deny himself that territory now would be to turn his back on the very spirit of creative freedom.

Keisuke's brows furrowed deeply. That was exactly what he had come to suggest — for ZAGE to abandon nuclear war as a theme altogether. He clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his composed expression. Why is this guy so damn stubborn? He's just a brat — yet refuses to bend. Why can't he show some deference to the government?

He adjusted his glasses and spoke, his tone colder than before. "Alright then, Zaboru. If you insist on being difficult, let me make one thing very clear — you do not want to end up on the Japanese government's bad side."

Zaboru chuckled. "Keisuke-san, who in their right mind wants to be on the Japanese government's bad side? But let me be clear — I never meant to antagonize you or anyone else. Just because I challenge the approach doesn't mean I see the government as the enemy. On the contrary, I genuinely hope everyone can move forward with a broader perspective.

History should be honored and remembered — absolutely. But creativity shouldn't be shackled because of that. Entertainment is one of the most powerful tools we have to explore, to question, and yes, to educate. In fact, if you flip the lens, Fallout might even discourage nuclear warfare. It paints a vivid picture of the horrors that come when humanity fails to learn from its mistakes. A world of radiation, ruined cities, mutated massive scorpions and oversized cockroaches — surely that's not a future anyone wants to live in, let alone fight in.""

Keisuke sighed, blinking in surprise. "Wait — oversized cockroaches? That's actually in Fallout? Oh boy... Anyway, you might have a point." He composed himself and continued, "Alright then, I can see I won't be able to make you apologize. So here's my proposal instead: can ZAGE develop a game that highlights the nobility of the samurai? Something that truly showcases the Bushido spirit and makes the world see Japanese warriors as icons of honor and strength?"

Zaboru frowned, his tone tinged with amusement. "Keisuke-san, the world already sees the samurai as cool — they've been romanticized in films, novels, and pop culture for decades. It's always been that way."

Keisuke nodded. "I know. But let's just say this is the lightest punishment the government is willing to hand down to ZAGE. Don't worry — they won't pursue legal action or demand any financial penalties. All they ask is that you develop one game in 1995 with a clear purpose: to highlight and honor Japanese culture, specifically the spirit of Bushido and the legacy of the samurai. That's all. Can you agree to that?"

Zaboru let out a slow sigh, thinking to himself, Punishment? For what — being creative? Still, he knew when to pick his battles. There was no use in prolonging the conversation.

"Fine then, Keisuke-san. I'll do it," he said with a resigned yet composed tone, the weight of compromise settling on his shoulders.

Keisuke smiled in relief and gave a respectful nod. The tension in the air eased slightly as the two men engaged in a more relaxed conversation — small talk about the game industry, upcoming holidays, and the changing political climate — before they eventually stood, exchanged farewells, and departed the restaurant in different directions.

Now back at ZAGE Tokyo, Zaboru leans back in his chair.

"Sigh… They're such strange people sometimes. Still, a samurai game, huh? One designed to make the world appreciate Japanese culture? Heh." He leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "If only I could make Ghost of Tsushima or Sekiro right now — something cinematic, beautiful, and brutal in all the right ways. But this is 1994, not the future… Those games are still years away. Still, there are plenty of directions I can take."

Zaboru chuckles and continues working on the December game projects.

To be continued

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