Monday 15 February 2001.
On a quiet street in Tokyo, a man with an average build and an unremarkable appearance walks slowly through the early morning. His destination? None other than a convenience store that operates 24/7, its bright lights standing in contrast to the calm, dim streets around it. The air is crisp, carrying that distinct Tokyo morning atmosphere—clean, slightly cold, and strangely refreshing, the kind that usually clears one's mind and brings a sense of calm. But for this man, none of it matters. Despite the peaceful surroundings, despite the subtle beauty of the city waking up, everything feels dull and lifeless to him, as if the world has lost its color. It's not the city that lacks life—it's his own heart that feels empty, weighed down by the quiet struggles he carries every day.
That man's name is Nobuo—Nobuo Kisaragi, to be precise—and yes, he is the very same kid who first ever played ZEPS in a park, back when ZAGE had only just begun to release it to the public. It was during those early promotional days, when Zaboru, Yugo, Yuna, Shinsuke, and Sayuri dressed up as Mario and Donkey Kong characters, carrying their prototype ZEPS with them along with a small group of fans, stopping by nearby parks to introduce the system to children. Among all those kids, Nobuo was the very first to step forward and try it, the first to touch it, the first to play. That moment, which seemed small and fleeting at the time, happened around ten years ago—and yet, in a quiet, almost forgotten way, it marked him as the first player to ever experience ZEPS in this world, a beginning tied to something much larger than he could have ever imagined back then.
Back then he was just an 11-year-old kid, wide-eyed and excited, and now—almost 21—life is hitting him harder than he ever imagined. He survives on a part-time job, with no college and no clear path forward, carrying responsibilities that came far too early. After their parents passed away, everything fell on his shoulders—raising his little brother and sister, making sure they can still go to school, still eat, still live something close to a normal life. Nights are often spent worrying about money, about rent, about tomorrow. Some days he skips meals without telling them, pretending he already ate, just so they won't feel guilty. Even so, Nobuo never truly gives up; he keeps moving forward, even if it's slow, even if it hurts.
Sometimes, when the house finally grows quiet, he plays games for a little while—his one small escape. He doesn't have a ZEPS 3, not yet, only his old ZEPS 2, but he treasures it like something irreplaceable. Those moments are brief, fragile pockets of peace in a life that rarely allows it. But today, even that feels distant. His stomach aches from hunger, a dull, persistent pain reminding him that he hasn't eaten since yesterday. And so, all he wants right now… is a simple bowl of instant ramen—something warm, something enough to keep him going just a little longer.
Nobuo sighs as he carries the ramen, preparing himself for another day of work at the construction site. As he walks past a storefront, a large screen catches his attention—the advertisement for the Z-Focus and Guitar Hero 2. On it, Zaboru is playing in the middle of a highway, the Z-Focus projecting the game onto the side of a moving truck. The image is wild, almost unbelievable, yet perfectly executed, the kind of spectacle that makes people stop and stare.
"Hehehe… Zaboru is really insane as always… he's so damn cool," Nobuo mutters under his breath, a faint smile appearing despite everything. But behind that smile, there is something else—longing. His eyes linger on the screen longer than he intends, quietly tracing every movement, every detail, as if trying to hold onto it.
If it were possible… he would buy it. Not just that—he would buy ZAGE games, other consoles, everything he had dreamed about when he was younger. If it were possible… he would even try to become a streamer, the thoughts of people watching you play are really interesting for him. But reality settles in quickly. There are more important things in his life now, things he cannot ignore, things that come before his own desires.
Nobuo is a kind person. He never once blames his younger siblings for the situation they're in. They're still in school, still growing, still needing him—and he accepts that without complaint. Still… there are moments like this, quiet moments, where he can't help but wish things were different, even just a little.
Even so, Nobuo has always been the type who smiles. He jokes, he laughs, he acts cheerful in front of his siblings, making sure they never see the weight he carries. And they love him for it, deeply, without question. Because to them, he is strong. Reliable. Someone they can depend on.
And in his own heart, Nobuo tells himself something he has come to believe completely.
"Only I need to be sad."
They don't.
And they never will—not as long as he can help it.
Nobuo forces a smile and grins, clapping his cheeks lightly as if to shake himself awake. "Thinking sad thoughts won't fill these bellies—man up," he mutters under his breath, half a joke, half a rule he lives by. He keeps walking, then slows when a familiar storefront comes into view—the small gyoza place he's always loved. The sign is lit.
He blinks, surprised. This early in the morning… it's already open?
"Huh? It's open already?" he murmurs, stepping closer, peering through the glass. Warm light spills out onto the street, and for a moment the smell hits him—oil, dough, something savory and comforting. His stomach tightens painfully in response.
"Well… I really want gyoza…" he says quietly, almost embarrassed by how much he wants it. He checks his pocket, counting coins in his head. "…Okay. Just a little. I think I can afford one pack."
He lets out a small chuckle, trying to keep it light. In his mind, he's already dividing it up—one piece for himself, just enough to quiet the ache, and the rest carefully wrapped to take home for his siblings. He pictures their faces lighting up, the way they always do over something warm and shared, and that thought alone makes the purchase feel worth it.
Even if it means he goes the rest of the day with almost nothing.
He tightens his grip on the ramen in his hand and steps toward the door, choosing, once again, to put them first—because that's just who he is.
Nobuo pushes the door open—and freezes mid-step. The familiar chime rings, but his attention locks instantly onto the scene inside. The owner, someone he knows well, is already chatting with a customer. That part isn't strange. What is strange… is the customer himself.
A man in a tight compression shirt and gray sweatpants, posture relaxed, movements confident—too confident. His hair falls perfectly, his physique unmistakable, the kind you only see on screens. Nobuo's eyes widen as recognition crashes into him all at once.
No way.
His grip tightens around the ramen bag. His breath catches.
That face—
That presence—
It can't be wrong.
…It's him.
Zaboru Renkonan.
For a second, Nobuo thinks he's hallucinating. Maybe it's hunger. Maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe his brain is playing a cruel joke after that ad he just watched. He blinks once.
Twice.
Still there.
Still real.
"…Z… Zaboru!?" the words slip out before he can stop them, his voice cracking slightly, louder than he intended. His heart starts pounding, loud enough that he can almost hear it in his ears.
Zaboru, who has been devouring gyoza like it's air, pauses mid-bite and turns his head. His gaze lands on Nobuo—and then, recognition flashes immediately.
He chuckles.
"Ah! It's you," Zaboru says casually, as if running into him here is the most normal thing in the world. "You've grown big. You're Nobuo, right? The first kid who ever played ZEPS back in 1991?"
Nobuo's mind goes blank.
He just… stands there.
Staring.
Because not only is Zaboru right in front of him—
He remembers.
Out of all people… he remembers him.
With his Deep Memory Dive, Zaboru doesn't forget things
Nobuo freezes, his eyes widening even further as the words finally leave his mouth. "H… how do you know…?" His voice trembles slightly, caught between disbelief and something deeper—something he can't quite name. He truly didn't expect Zaboru to remember him. Not after ten years. Not after everything that had happened in between.
For Nobuo, that moment in the park had been something unforgettable.
But for Zaboru…?
He thought it was just another passing memory.
Yet here he is—remembered.
Zaboru chuckles lightly, completely at ease, then gestures toward the seat beside him. "Hey, come on. Sit. Let's talk here. I actually need someone to talk to, and I'm curious about you too. Don't worry—my treat."
Nobuo gulps.
"My treat."
Those two words hit harder than they should.
For a brief second, pride flickers inside him. A quiet resistance. But just as quickly, it fades. Pride doesn't feed people. Pride doesn't help his siblings.
He exhales softly, nods, and steps forward.
"…Okay."
He sits beside Zaboru, carefully, almost awkwardly, as if afraid that moving too fast might break the moment. Even now, it still doesn't feel real.
Being this close… makes it even more overwhelming.
Zaboru glances at him more closely this time—and sees everything.
The worn-out shirt, clearly used far beyond its time. The rough, calloused hands of someone who works every day without rest. The faint scars along his fingers, his neck—marks left by labor, by hardship, by a life that doesn't give breaks easily.
It doesn't take long for Zaboru to understand.
His expression shifts.
Not pity.
But recognition.
Understanding.
"So…" Zaboru says, his voice quieter now, more grounded. "How's life?"
The question is simple.
Too simple.
And yet—
To Nobuo…
It feels heavier than anything he's been asked in a long time.
The question hits him harder than he expects. For a split second, something raw surges up in his chest—words he wants to say, words he has buried for years: "IT'S LIKE SHIT! WHY ME!" The scream never leaves his throat. He swallows it down, forces it back where it belongs, and replaces it with a small, practiced smile. "Heh… just casual, trying my best," he says, keeping his tone light, almost joking, as if nothing is wrong at all.
Inside, though, his thoughts keep moving. Rent. Bills. School fees. Groceries. The quiet fear of getting sick because he can't afford to stop working. The memory of skipping meals. The sound of his siblings laughing at dinner when he pretends he's already eaten. It all presses in at once—and he pushes it all away just as quickly.
Nobuo grins again, a little wider this time, and takes a bite of the gyoza. It's hot, rich, and unbelievably good—so good it almost hurts. For a moment, he just focuses on that. The taste. The warmth. Something simple and real. Zaboru chuckles and nods, watching him, but Nobuo doesn't meet his eyes for long.
He doesn't want to cling to Zaboru. He doesn't want to beg. Even if things are this hard, even if part of him wants to ask for help, he refuses. That's not who he is. Instead, he straightens his posture slightly, takes another bite, and chooses to enjoy what's in front of him—this food, this conversation, this brief moment of relief.
He tells himself that's enough.
For now.
Zaboru smiles, leaning slightly back as he watches Nobuo carefully. "You know what? There's no way the first player of ZEPS is going to walk away with nothing, right? Do you still play our games?"
Nobuo lets out a small chuckle, scratching the back of his head, clearly a bit embarrassed. "Yeah… I play. Not a lot though. Honestly, I only have ZEPS 2… and I don't really have any new games." He pauses for a moment, his voice softening slightly. "But… I still love playing them. A lot. It's… kinda the only time I feel relaxed, I guess."
He laughs again, trying to brush it off, but there's sincerity in his tone that he can't hide. His fingers tighten slightly around the gyoza box as he looks down for a brief second before continuing. "I mean… it's not like I need more or anything. This is enough for me."
Even as he says that, there's a faint hesitation—something unspoken lingering behind his words.
Because deep down…
He knows it's not really enough.
But he has already learned how to live like it is.
Zaboru smiles and nods slowly. "Alright… I get it. Then let's just see later, okay?" he says with a light chuckle, as if he has already decided something but chooses not to say it out loud. He stands up casually, stretching slightly before heading toward the counter. Without making a big deal out of it, he pays for everything—far more than necessary—and even gestures for Nobuo to take as much gyoza as he wants.
Nobuo hesitates for a brief second.
Then another.
But when he thinks about his siblings waiting at home… he lowers his head slightly and speaks, a bit awkwardly. "Then… ten servings."
Even saying it makes him feel a little shameless.
But hunger… and love for his family… wins.
The owner doesn't mind at all—in fact, he looks more than happy, because Zaboru casually leaves behind a large amount of money, far beyond the cost of everything combined. To him, it's nothing. But to Nobuo, it's something he can't even properly measure.
Before leaving, Zaboru glances back at him once, that same unreadable smile still on his face.
Then he walks out.
Just like that.
Leaving Nobuo sitting there with warm food in his hands… and a strange feeling in his chest he can't quite explain.
Not long after, Nobuo heads back home, carefully carrying the gyoza as if it were something precious. When he arrives, his siblings immediately brighten up, their faces lighting with pure happiness at the sight of the food. He laughs, acting like it's nothing special, watching them eat first as always, pretending he's already full.
Then, without resting much, he leaves again for his shift at the construction site.
The day passes like usual.
Hard work.
Heavy lifting.
Sweat, dust, exhaustion.
He doesn't think too much about what happened earlier—he tells himself it was just a lucky encounter, nothing more.
But when he finally returns home that night…
Everything changes.
Because what he sees waiting for him there…
Is something he never could have expected.
Something that would quietly…
Turn his entire life around.
To be continue
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