Sunday 4 June 1997.
Zaboru decided to take a rare break from his usual nonstop work routine. It wasn't something he did often—he was always busy, always chasing progress—but Ayumi had been gently (and not so gently) nagging him for days. She wanted one lazy day together, just the two of them at home, doing absolutely nothing productive. At first, Zaboru sighed and resisted, but eventually, he relented with a small smirk, secretly glad for the excuse.
The morning sunlight streamed through the windows as Zaboru began stretching and doing some light workouts, not because he had to, but because his body was so used to movement. He wasn't one to sit still for long. Ayumi, meanwhile, didn't join him—instead, she sat comfortably on the couch, a soft blanket around her, sipping on tea and just watching him. There was something magnetic about it. She loved seeing her husband like this—focused, relaxed, and still effortlessly charismatic. To her, Zaboru wasn't just charming, he was mesmerizing. Even in the most mundane moments, he had this quiet energy that pulled her in.
As he moved through his exercises, Ayumi smiled warmly, not saying much. Just watching him in his element was enough to make her heart flutter.
Later that morning, Zaboru and Ayumi were lounging comfortably on their bed, sharing a light breakfast and snacking on chips and fruit. The air was calm, filled with the soft rustle of wrappers and occasional chuckles from Ayumi. With a lazy flick of the remote, Zaboru turned on the television and switched to CNN Global, hoping to catch something light to accompany their relaxed mood. But what flashed on the screen caught him completely off guard. The broadcast was covering a segment titled "The ZAGE Problem in America," and it immediately grabbed his attention. His brows furrowed in surprise as he leaned forward, trying to process what he was seeing.
Zaboru's brow rose as he stared at the screen. "Huh? What is this?" he muttered, genuinely caught off guard by the headline. His expression shifted from confusion to curiosity as he kept watching. The news anchor continued in a serious tone, "ZAGE's latest console, the ZEPS 3, has taken the world by storm and become a global phenomenon. But not everyone sees it as a positive development. Parents across the United States are growing increasingly concerned as their children—particularly young boys—are becoming addicted to the ZEPS 3. In response, a group of social experts has launched an initiative called 'Anti-ZAGE Therapy,' designed specifically to wean these kids off what they're calling 'digital dependency.'"
Zaboru blinked, then sat up straighter as the segment continued, highlighting an upcoming therapy program led by a woman claiming she could rehabilitate children from their obsession with ZAGE games. His eyes widened, and then—he couldn't help it—he burst out laughing. "HAHAHAHA! This is... this is unbelievable! This is actually a thing?" he said between fits of laughter, utterly amused by the idea of a formal 'Anti-ZAGE' therapy. The sheer absurdity of seeing his company's success treated like an epidemic was too much. He leaned back, still laughing, intrigued by what ridiculousness the program would show next.
Then the news shifted to the main event of the segment. The screen showed a clinical-looking room where a woman—flanked by her team of social workers—was addressing a group of six uneasy-looking young boys. Each of them was seated awkwardly next to their mothers, who wore a mix of concern and frustration on their faces. The boys fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable, casting occasional glances at the cameras filming the so-called 'therapy session.'
The news anchor narrated over the footage, his tone grave: "These young boys have been labeled as addicted, and it's now the mission of social expert Karen Josh to educate and treat them through what she's calling 'Anti-ZAGE Therapy.'"
The program then cut to a pre-recorded interview with one of the mothers, her voice trembling slightly. "My boy Timmy hasn't been himself ever since he got the ZAGE console," she said, wringing her hands. "All he does is play. He even pressures his friends to come over and play with him. His schoolwork is suffering—his grades are dropping because he just can't stop. I don't know what to do anymore."
The screen shifted again to Karen Josh, standing confidently in front of the boys with a clipboard in hand. "This is a new form of addiction," she declared. "The ZAGE consoles are engineered in ways that make them particularly harmful for young minds. These boys are vulnerable to developing long-term gaming dependencies. That's why we've created this structured environment to help them break free."
The camera zoomed in as Karen turned to face the boys directly, raising her hand in a slow, instructive motion. "Repeat after me," she said in a firm tone. The boys hesitated, looking at each other, but under the watchful eyes of the adults, they complied as Karen led them through a bizarre chant: "I will not play ZAGE consoles again." "I hate ZAGE." "I will focus on my future."
It was surreal, almost cult-like. The tone, the setting, the forced repetition—all of it left a strange taste in the air, even for viewers at home. And for Zaboru, it only added more fuel to his disbelief and amusement.
Meanwhile, Ayumi, who was watching beside Zaboru, looked clearly pissed. She hated how ZAGE was being unfairly blamed by the media, and her frustration showed in the furrow of her brow and the sharpness in her eyes. But what puzzled her even more was Zaboru sitting beside her, laughing uncontrollably.
"HAHAHAHA!" he roared, clutching his side.
Ayumi blinked, confused and irritated. "Zabo, why are you laughing?" she asked, her voice a mix of concern and disbelief.
Zaboru chuckled again, trying to catch his breath. "It's just too funny," he said. "These kinds of shows—they're painting our consoles as if they're some kind of toxic mind control device. Like some so-called 'Social Expert' is going to reprogram kids by making them chant anti-ZAGE slogans. It's pure comedy."
He took another breath and continued, his grin widening. He was laughing so hard because the whole broadcast felt like it had been ripped straight from the 1990s—a decade packed with moral panics, absurd TV specials, and outrageous claims about media ruining society. In his previous life, Zaboru had seen more than his fair share of this kind of manufactured outrage, and this show was hitting all the same beats with almost comical precision. The overreactions, the dramatic music, the out-of-touch experts—it was all so hilariously familiar. To him, it wasn't just nostalgia—it was comedy gold, and he was absolutely loving every second of it.
Ayumi, still frowning, couldn't help but smile just a little. She might not share his sense of humor about it, but seeing him this amused—this full of life—made her heart swell.
The show continued with a montage of concerned parents, each claiming that their children had changed noticeably since getting their hands on the ZEPS 3. Their testimonies painted a dramatic picture of kids becoming distant, obsessed, and even unruly—all thanks to the console. Then, the program shifted tone and focus. The scene cut to a new segment where a male presenter appeared on screen, now seated in a demo room with a ZEPS 3 console in front of him. With a controller in hand and the camera rolling, he prepared to test the console in real time, claiming he would investigate what exactly made it so 'addictive' firsthand.
"Now we will see what makes ZEPS 3 so addictive," the host announced with theatrical seriousness as the camera zoomed in on him holding a controller. The screen then cut to gameplay footage as he launched into Twisted Metal, chaos erupting across the screen with explosions, twisted wreckage, and non-stop action. "So much violence!" he exclaimed, but it was hard to miss the hint of excitement in his tone. Despite the dramatics, he was clearly enjoying it. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, thumbs tapping rapidly, trying to keep up with the mayhem.
Zaboru couldn't take it anymore—he burst into another round of loud, unfiltered laughter. "HAHAHAHAHAH!" he roared, nearly doubling over. It was too perfect. This host, who was supposed to be critically analyzing the so-called 'addictive' nature of the console, was unintentionally giving ZAGE free promotion. The irony was delicious.
A few minutes later, the host transitioned to Mario 64, and the mood visibly changed. The colors were bright, the music cheerful, and the gameplay less violent—yet equally engaging. As he navigated Mario through jumps, enemies, and coins, a smile formed on his face. "This is quite addictive. I understand why kids love this," he admitted, his voice now carrying genuine enjoyment. The camera lingered on him a few seconds longer than necessary, catching him grinning as he leaned closer to the screen, completely absorbed.
Zaboru kept laughing, harder than before. It was surreal—this supposed exposé on ZAGE's dangers had turned into an enthusiastic showcase of why the console was so beloved. The host didn't even realize he was slowly becoming part of the punchline.
After several more minutes of gameplay, the host reluctantly set the controller down and turned toward the camera with a forced look of concern. "This is clearly addictive," he said, straightening his jacket. "We need to keep ourselves in moderation." The comment landed flat, especially after everyone had just watched him have the time of his life.
The segment ended not long after that. The show tried to bring the tone back to seriousness, but the damage was done.
And Zaboru? He was still laughing. "HAHAHA! That was seriously the funniest and best show I've ever watched," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. It had been a total PR gift, wrapped in clueless overreaction.
Ayumi chuckled beside him, still a bit baffled. She didn't always understand Zaboru's brand of humor, especially when it came to things like this. But watching him so full of joy, eyes bright and laughter uncontained—it made her feel full inside. She loved him deeply, and moments like this reminded her why.
With the TV off, they leaned into each other, letting the absurdity of the show fade into the background as they continued their peaceful day—laughing, lounging, and just being together.
To be continue
AN : this are based on reactions when i first see those "Anti Nintendo" TV in 1990s i laugh so hard.
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