Monday 3 July 1997 ZAGE Tower Japan.
Zaboru was once again in a meeting—this time a tense one—with Sayuri Yamaguchi, ZAGE's head of finance. Her expression was sharp, clearly irritated, and beside her sat Zanichi, observing quietly.
"Boss," Sayuri began, adjusting her glasses with a sigh, "I know this is technically your personal money. But you hired me to manage it responsibly and ensure our company doesn't walk itself into bankruptcy. So I need you to actually listen to what I'm saying, because I'm the one tracking every digit of ZAGE's financial health. I know when we're thriving, and I know when we're skating on thin ice."
Her tone was firm but not disrespectful—she wasn't just venting. She was doing her job, and doing it well. Her loyalty had always come from protecting the company, not pleasing the boss. The fact that she looked this upset meant something serious was on the line.
Sayuri then said, "Not only that, Boss—this isn't just a one-time investment, is it? As far as I understand, the contract includes a clause that commits ZAGE to providing additional financial support if the project stalls due to rising costs. That means if the initiative runs into delays or overruns, we're legally bound to step in. And realistically, 10 billion yen is nowhere near enough to fully cover the rollout across all of Japan, let alone even partially into Korea and China. Although the government is handling a significant portion of the effort—including land acquisition, government approvals, cross-border logistics, and technology licensing—the infrastructure demands are still massive.
We're looking at a project with layers of complexity that stretch far beyond the initial phase. So tell me, Boss, are we truly prepared for the second and possibly third wave of major expenditures? Because from where I sit, it's not just about committing 10 billion yen—it's about committing to a financial black hole that could easily swallow twice that in the next 12 to 24 months."
Zaboru, who respected her immensely, felt a bead of sweat form at his temple. He knew full well that without Sayuri's tight control over the company's books, he would have burned through their capital years ago on wild ideas. And now, it was clear she thought he was about to do exactly that again.
Zaboru wiped the sweat from his brow, visibly uneasy. He deeply appreciated Sayuri—he knew better than anyone that without her strict financial oversight, he would've already sunk the company into a dozen reckless ventures. In fact, he was the one who had personally appointed her to lead ZAGE's finance division. That trust wasn't handed out lightly. Even his father, Zanichi Renkonan, ZAGE's CTO, respected Sayuri's authority when it came to company finances.
And yet, here they were again—another major investment, another disagreement. This time, it was over something close to Zaboru's heart.
"But Sayuri-san," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "this move will be a huge step for our future. We're talking about a company with a deep library of beloved manga IP. If we acquire it, we can finally leverage those titles properly, especially through our network of platforms and studios. It'll also give a huge boost to our publishing subsidiary, Hakushensha."
Then Sayuri said, "That could be true, Boss, but we don't know what we might face in the future. After you spent around 11 billion yen to invest in Sendou Fiber Optics, our finances are still healthy—but the margins have dropped significantly. We're not in crisis yet, but we're definitely closer to the edge than I'm comfortable with. And now, if you're considering spending another 20 billion yen to fully acquire Shonen Jump, that could push our financial health dangerously close to unstable territory. It's not just the amount—it's the timing. If anything unexpected happens—an economic downturn, a legal dispute, or even a delay in revenue—we might not recover. One wrong move, and we could be forced into austerity. Not to mention the additional costs that will inevitably arise as the Sendou project progresses—new phases of infrastructure, system upgrades, unexpected regulatory fees, or even logistical setbacks. These are not one-time expenses; they will compound over time. And once we're locked into that commitment, pulling back will be nearly impossible without damaging our reputation or halting momentum."
She leaned forward, eyes sharp behind her glasses. "You need to ask yourself, Boss—are you really ready to risk the entire stability of ZAGE for this?"
Zaboru thought for a moment, arms crossed, pacing slowly across the meeting room. He could feel the pressure weighing on him, the tension clinging to every corner of the room. Sayuri's words weren't just financial warnings—they were personal. She'd seen what could happen when ambition outpaced strategy. But deep down, he also knew this was a once-in-a-generation opportunity.
After a long pause, he finally spoke, voice steady but quiet.
"I am, Sayuri-san. This will definitely be my last major investment for the year—unless additional costs for the Sendou project arise, in which case we'll reassess with caution. I promise. I won't move forward blindly. I'll keep the company's stability front and center."
Sayuri sighed and glanced at Zanichi, who merely shrugged and said, "Fine, Boss. You can invest."
Zaboru pumped his fist. "Woho!" he shouted, practically glowing with excitement. The reason was simple—if the deal went through, he would gain full rights to the vast and legendary Shonen Jump IP catalog. Though many of the most iconic series from his previous life hadn't been released yet in this timeline, there were still powerhouse titles already in circulation, including Captain Tsubasa and Kinnikuman.
He knew just how much potential those properties had—especially when it came to game adaptations. With the right development teams, they could be transformed into high-energy sports titles and action-packed brawlers, tapping into both nostalgia and a new generation of fans. Not only would these IPs feed into ZAGE's gaming branch, but they'd also become central pillars in its growing manga publishing subsidiary.
Zanichi, however, wasn't entirely convinced. "Be careful, Boss," he warned, his tone serious now. "Shonen Jump is owned by a complicated mix of stakeholders. Their value has probably dipped a lot recently, and many of their investors have already pulled out. That means negotiations could be messy, even desperate. Make sure Kudou—our head of the legal department—goes with you. You'll need someone sharp at the table."
Zaboru nodded firmly. He fully understood the weight of his father's words and knew this wouldn't be a simple transaction. But that didn't matter. The prize was worth it.
Shonen Jump, once the unshakable titan of Japan's manga industry, was now teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. Ironically, its downfall stemmed from its refusal to evolve. When ZAGE's publishing subsidiary, Hakushensha, began revolutionizing the industry by offering mangaka better pay, creative freedom, and stronger royalty agreements, it set off a chain reaction. Talented artists, both new and veteran, began flocking to Hakushensha, eager to escape the rigid, outdated structures that defined Shonen Jump's editorial policies.
As the creative exodus gained momentum, other publishing houses took notice and started following Hakushensha's example. The industry was shifting rapidly. Yet, Shonen Jump, the dominant force in manga publishing for the last decade, remained obstinate. They refused to adjust their payment structures. They kept their antiquated contracts. They clung to their legacy practices with an arrogance born of past success. As a result, resentment from creators festered, and their pipeline of fresh, high-quality content began to dry up.
Investors took notice. Over the past year, confidence plummeted. Many began pulling their capital out, seeing no clear plan for recovery. Revenues dropped. Morale inside the company collapsed. Shonen Jump, once the heart of Japanese pop culture, was now limping, unable to keep pace with a changing world.
Then, just days ago, ZAGE received a surprising call from Shonen Jump's majority owner and acting CEO. They were ready to talk. Not about a partnership, not about a bailout—but about a complete sale. For 20 billion yen, ZAGE could acquire 100% ownership of Shonen Jump. It was a monumental offer, one that triggered the fierce debate between Zaboru and Sayuri.
But for Zaboru, the decision was clear. He understood the value of intellectual properties like Captain Tsubasa, Kinnikuman, and the dozens more still buried in Shonen Jump's vault. With the right leadership, those IPs could be reborn—through games, anime, merchandise, and more. He saw potential where others saw risk. Despite the warnings, despite the costs, Zaboru knew he had to secure the deal. For ZAGE, for Hakushensha, and for the future of entertainment, it was worth it.
Then, after a series of closed-door negotiations between Zaboru and the major shareholders of Shonen Jump, the acquisition was finalized in complete secrecy. The discussions had been delicate—each party wary of media leaks and corporate sabotage—but the effort paid off. ZAGE successfully acquired 100% ownership of Shonen Jump for a total of 20 billion yen, marking another massive investment in what had already been a high-stakes year. The deal would not only reshape the future of ZAGE's media empire but also send shockwaves through the entire manga and entertainment industry.
To be continue
AN "This might be rush but i really need to able create that Ps1 captain Tsubasa game i really loved it"