When the TV Tokyo program Inside ZAGE Tower aired its final episode, it immediately sparked an enormous wave of reactions from audiences across Japan. The feedback was intense and widespread. The show became a national trending topic overnight, with conversations flooding across every major online platform and news sites. Viewers were completely stunned by what they had witnessed inside the legendary ZAGE Tower.
The ZAGE Forums, in particular, saw a massive spike in user activity. Threads appeared within minutes of the broadcast ending. One of the most popular posts asked, "Is this even real, or just some kind of overly produced PR stunt?" The question resonated with thousands who couldn't believe the level of freedom and benefits showcased in the program. Among the replies, a user who claimed to be a current ZAGE employee posted simply: "It's as real as it gets." That one sentence lit up the thread with hundreds of upvotes, instantly becoming a rallying point for those defending the authenticity of what they'd seen.
Other posts echoed disbelief and admiration alike. "This is insane! How can they stay profitable with a structure like this?" wrote one user. Another replied, "ZAGE really is built different, man. This isn't just a company; it's a revolution. I've never seen anything like it, especially not in Japan."
Many people couldn't stop talking about it. The idea that a Japanese company could allow flexible arrival times, reward unused paid leave with bonuses, offer heavily subsidized meals, provide free gym access, and maintain high morale—all while remaining highly profitable—seemed completely foreign to the average salaryman.
But ZAGE had done it. And the people were watching.
There was a notable user on the ZAGE Forums who created a thread titled "ZAGE Tower," posting under the name "Gamer Salaryman." In his thread, he passionately wrote:
"I just finished watching the Inside ZAGE Tower TV special on TV Tokyo, and honestly, it completely blew my mind. How can a company like this even exist in Japan?
I've been working for about eight years now and have already experienced life in three different companies. One of them was a brutal black company, where I was overworked and underpaid. My current job is decent by comparison, but even then, it's nothing close to what ZAGE is offering.
How can they let their employees come in at flexible hours, without docking their pay or questioning their dedication?
How is it possible that unused paid leave is converted into actual money rather than being wasted?
And then the work benefits—man, they're absolutely insane! You get access to a fully equipped gym, meals at a heavily discounted rate using their internal coupon system, and let's not forget the frequent bonuses.
It's not just one perk—it's a whole ecosystem of support. Honestly, it feels like ZAGE exists in a different dimension from the rest of corporate Japan. It's so surreal that I still can't believe it's real!"
This post quickly gained momentum and received a flood of responses, as other users chimed in with similar awe, disbelief, and questions about how such a company could operate so generously yet remain profitable. Gamer Salaryman's words became symbolic of the broader public reaction—a voice for the everyday worker witnessing what felt like an impossible dream suddenly made real.
This post garnered an overwhelming number of comments, igniting an in-depth conversation among forum users. One participant, using the handle "Kikunoho," chimed in with a thoughtful observation:
"Maybe this is why ZAGE has such an outstanding reputation as a workplace. I came across an article recently saying that ever since the ZAGE Tower was established, the company has maintained an impressively low employee resignation rate—around 3%, which is pretty insane. But even with that in mind, I still wonder... how does a company afford to operate like this? Surely the operational costs must be through the roof, right?"
A user named "JuJuPon" responded with a more detailed perspective:
"Yeah, the costs are high, that's for sure. But don't forget what Zaboru said himself—ZAGE is 100% privately owned by him. That means he has full control over where the funds go. He doesn't need to appease outside investors or corporate boards. He can directly reallocate profits to where he sees fit—into improving the company, rewarding employees, and pushing for long-term growth instead of short-term profit. It really puts things into perspective, doesn't it?"
JuJuPon continued,
"This whole situation reveals how rare it is to see a company genuinely prioritize its workforce over pure profit. What we're witnessing isn't just generosity—it's a deliberate design. Zaboru is proving that if corporate greed wasn't always at the forefront, this kind of employee-first culture could become the norm. And I'm saying this from experience—I work in finance at a major corporation with extremely healthy revenue margins. But most of that money goes straight to investors and executive bonuses. We're not poor, but the employees never see the real benefit. ZAGE is the opposite of that, and honestly, it's refreshing."
Then there was a particularly popular thread titled "How To Join ZAGE ASAP!" which emerged as a response to the overwhelming number of people who had recently attempted—and failed—to get hired at ZAGE. The thread quickly filled with comments from frustrated applicants sharing their experiences. One user wrote, "Joining ZAGE is extremely hard, especially now that they've implemented a much stricter selection process. There's an IQ test, a video game skill assessment, and even a decision-making test. One of the questions they asked me was something absurd like, 'If you had to shoot 100 cute cats to save a single stranger, what would you do?' I answered with what I thought was a well-reasoned reply, but the HR staff just nodded without any feedback. It was honestly the most mentally taxing interview I've ever had!"
The conversation didn't end there. Many others echoed similar sentiments, calling it the "most difficult job interview in Japan." Some even said they prepared for weeks but were still thrown off by the psychological curveballs.
Meanwhile, a few voices of hope chimed in. A newly recruited ZAGE employee commented in the thread: "It's really hard, no doubt about it—but it's not impossible. They genuinely care about your skills and how you think. I just joined two months ago, and now I'm working as a developer on Team FUMA. They put me through the wringer, but once I got in, it was worth it. The environment is insane—in a good way. You just have to be persistent and stay sharp."
There were also passionate reactions coming from many high school students across the country. Inspired by the broadcast, they expressed renewed motivation to study hard and play smart, dreaming of one day working at ZAGE. The show lit a fire in them—they now saw ZAGE as not just a workplace, but a symbol of hope and achievement. These students realized that the competition was fierce and the recruitment quota was limited, which only encouraged them to push themselves even harder, whether academically or in extracurriculars, to stand a chance at joining such a revolutionary company.
And it wasn't just the students who were affected. Their parents, too, were deeply moved and impressed after seeing how the ZAGE Tower operated. Many of them were stunned by the modern and humane corporate structure ZAGE had implemented. For families used to the traditional rigid hierarchy of Japanese workplaces, the sight of ZAGE's innovation and care for its workers was both shocking and aspirational. Parents began expressing dreams of seeing their children work in such a place someday, a future where their sons and daughters could be treated with dignity, creativity, and opportunity.
The responses clearly reflected a widespread sense of hope and admiration. People understood that joining ZAGE was extremely difficult, but not impossible—and that fact alone was enough to fuel ambition and reshape how many young people and families viewed the future of work in Japan.
Other major Japanese companies are collectively sighing as they observe the massive public reaction to the ZAGE Tower broadcast. For many of them, it feels like ZAGE is setting an incredibly high—and some might even say unrealistic—bar for what a modern company should be. The policies, benefits, and culture showcased by ZAGE are so far removed from the conventional Japanese corporate model that it almost seems like a fantasy. And yet, ZAGE is not only real but thriving. The success of ZAGE, both in terms of employee satisfaction and overall profitability, makes it impossible for other big companies to ignore.
While many traditional corporations scoff and dismiss it as an anomaly, some forward-thinking companies—particularly those that haven't yet devolved into full-fledged black company practices—are starting to pay close attention. These companies are beginning to consider the possibility that ZAGE's approach may hold valuable lessons. They're realizing that perhaps there is a way to run a successful, competitive business while still treating employees like human beings and encouraging creativity, flexibility, and autonomy. For them, ZAGE has become not just a rival, but a potential blueprint for the future of work in Japan.
But of course, not all reactions were positive. There was a sharp wave of backlash, particularly from executives and owners of so-called "Black Companies"—corporations notorious for exploiting workers through long hours, unpaid labor, and toxic work environments. Many of these figures took offense almost immediately, aggressively denouncing The ZAGE Showcase as complete nonsense. "It's all fabricated propaganda," one CEO claimed in a televised interview, while others took to business journals to publish scathing rebuttals, labeling ZAGE's working culture as unrealistic fantasy. Their collective sentiment was clear: this kind of company shouldn't exist, and if it did, it was surely doomed to collapse.
The backlash intensified when word spread that Zaboru, in the special, had commented bluntly about traditional Japanese corporate culture. He had criticized how many companies take pride in draining their employees dry, valuing blind obedience over well-being. Some CEOs took this as a personal insult to Japanese business values, and they fanned the flames of controversy, painting Zaboru as an arrogant disruptor who disrespected tradition. Media outlets picked up on the comments, which only deepened the outrage among conservative corporate circles.
But the public was no longer silent. In fact, the backlash sparked an unexpected counter-reaction. Employees from black companies across the country began to speak up. Empowered by ZAGE's example, they started organizing through anonymous bulletin boards, office gossip, workplace flyers, union whispers, and even through the growing network of local labor rights circles. Since there were no social media platforms in 1999, word spread through a combination of message boards, online forums like the ZAGE Forums, late-night radio shows, underground newsletters, and in-person meetups held in cafes and izakayas.
Stories poured in—accounts of unpaid overtime, withheld salaries, verbal abuse, exploitative management, and illegal wage deductions. Each testimony added fuel to the fire, giving others the courage to speak out.
As more and more whistleblowers emerged, the groundswell of worker voices became too massive to ignore. What had started as grumbling in the shadows turned into a national awakening. Within weeks, labor watchdog organizations were overwhelmed with new reports, and the public began demanding answers. The flood of stories revealed just how widespread the abuse truly was—and it all stemmed from one spark ignited by the bold transparency of ZAGE.
As a result of the growing unrest, government officials were forced to take notice. Under pressure from both public opinion and an increasingly emboldened workforce, authorities began launching investigations. Labor offices received record-high complaints in a matter of weeks. Regulatory bodies sent out surprise audits. Newscasters reported daily on the crumbling facades of black companies.
For the first time in years, a wave of fear spread—not among workers, but among the exploitative companies themselves. The very system they had built on silence and compliance was starting to unravel. And all of it had begun with one broadcast from inside ZAGE Tower.
The Black Companies, feeling the heat from rising employee whistleblowing and increasing public scrutiny, attempted a desperate and dangerous move. In an effort to suppress their workers and silence further dissent, several of these corporations resorted to underworld tactics by hiring Yakuza enforcers to intimidate employees who had spoken out. Their plan was to instill fear, disrupt the growing labor movement, and make an example out of the most vocal dissidents.
However, their efforts were swiftly thwarted. Akechi Hamazou, head of the Aoshidan security network and brother-in-law to Zaboru, stepped in to neutralize the threat before it could escalate. He made it explicitly clear to the criminal underworld that any Yakuza involvement in suppressing ZAGE-related activism would not be tolerated. The message was backed with force and reputation. The moment the name "Rashomon" was mentioned, a silent but powerful ripple spread throughout Japan's underground circles.
Rashomon, a name deeply feared and respected in the old Yakuza world, was the Nickname of Akechi. Though the Hamazou clan had transitioned into legitimate business under Akechi's leadership, the power and legacy of Rashomon remained strong. That name alone—Rashomon—was enough to send a clear warning. As a result, Yakuza syndicates across Japan backed off immediately. None of them dared to provoke the wrath of the organization that once ruled the streets.
Realizing that ZAGE was not just a tech and gaming powerhouse, but one backed by an unseen but formidable legacy, the black company owners were stunned. They weren't just dealing with a visionary like Zaboru—they were facing a fortress that had the protection of the Rashomon . The revelation sent chills down their spines.
What was once considered "just a company" now stood revealed as an empire protected from both corporate sabotage and criminal interference. The situation, to many in the old guard, felt like pure insanity—a modern utopia guarded by the ghosts of Japan's most feared syndicate.
And so, Zaboru didn't concern himself with the whirlwind of headlines, heated debates, or corporate chaos that followed his comments. He had simply spoken his mind, and now he was back to what he enjoyed most—immersing himself in video games. Zaboru sat with a controller in hand, grinning, completely absorbed and having the time of his life.
To be continue
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