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Friday Night 7 November 1999.
The gaming community was still hyped about The Sun Knight 5. People were still arguing about boss rankings, trading tips for the hardest fights, and laughing about how Zaboru's 9.5 review had turned the forums into a battlefield of memes. Even players who didn't own a Sonaya GameStation were talking about it like it was a legend they'd heard from a friend.
But the focus was already shifting.
Because tonight was ZAGE night.
Rumors had been crawling through the community all week, bouncing from magazine offices to game shops to late-night forum threads. ZAGE was going to air a new trailer for their November lineup, and the loudest rumor was insane: six games in one month. Not one big title. Not two. Six.
People didn't know if it was true. That made it worse.
In Japan, families finished dinner early. Kids begged their parents to let them watch. Game cafés turned the volume up and pulled chairs closer to the television. At electronics stores, the staff left a TV on near the display shelves, like they were watching a sports final and the rest of the world also the same.
The month had already been insane, and everyone felt it. Sonaya had just landed a masterpiece with Sun Knight 5, and now ZAGE was about to remind the world that they didn't stop moving just because someone else had a good moment.
So they waited.
Remote in hand. Tape ready for anyone who still recorded commercials. Snacks on the table.
Because when ZAGE ads came across the world, you didn't want to blink.
And then, at exactly 19.00 in Japan, TV Tokyo cut to black.
Across the world, the same moment happened on local channels that carried the block. One second the normal program was running, the next the screen went dark—no warning, no music—just a clean, dramatic silence.
Then the ZAGE logo snapped onto the screen.
"ZAA GEE!!"
The iconic shout hit like a stamp, and living rooms everywhere reacted the same way—people leaning forward, volume turning up, snacks forgotten.
But this time, Zaboru didn't appear on camera.
Instead, his voice filled the broadcast—calm, confident, and unmistakable.
"November 1999," he said, letting the date land like a marker in history. "Almost the end of the 1900s era."
The screen shifted into a fast, stylish montage of lights and shadows, like a curtain being pulled back.
"And this month," Zaboru continued, a faint laugh in his tone, "ZAGE will show you six games. Six. From Team Blaze and Team Frost."
A beat.
"Both Team Blaze and Frost," he added, almost casually, "is our new teams in the USA."
The music kicked in—sharp, energetic—and Zaboru's voice rose with the rhythm.
"But don't worry. It's ZAGE after all. Hahaha."
The screen flashed again, and six silhouettes appeared in a clean lineup. Not the full games yet—just shapes, hints, teasing outlines that made the audience's imagination sprint ahead.
Then the silhouettes scattered like cards being thrown into the air, and a mascot burst onto the screen.
It was a chibi Zabo-Man—round-bodied and energetic, but unmistakable: a black helmet, bright blue eyes behind a sleek visor, and a bold Z stamped on his forehead. He had tiny hands, exaggerated expressions, and the kind of movement that felt made for TV—bouncy, playful, impossible to ignore.
He struck a pose, spun once, and pointed straight at the viewer like he was calling them out personally.
The crowd at home didn't know the name yet.
But they already knew the message.
ZAGE was about to begin.
"HEY! My name is ZABO-Man Cool! You can call me ZACOOL! And I will show you our first game this month!"
ZACOOL bounced across the screen, tiny hands waving like he was greeting a stadium. His black helmet shined, his blue visor lit up, and the bold Z on his forehead caught the light when he turned.
"First is from Studio Blaze!" he shouted. "And it's Toy Story! Ah—you know them, don't you!? Toy Story finally got their first game on ZEPS 3! After it's been on our ZEPS 1 for so long, it's time to make it bigger, smoother, and more fun! And the movie is good, right!?"
He giggled, then pointed straight at the viewer. "Okay, watch this!"
The trailer cut in.
Bright title card. Fast music. A quick flash of Andy's room that made the whole thing feel instantly familiar.
Gameplay followed right away: Buzz Lightyear sprinting across the bedroom floor, weaving between toy blocks and sliding under a chair like it was a dangerous tunnel. The movement looked tighter than the old generation—cleaner turns, smoother jumps, and camera angles that actually helped instead of fighting the player.
Buzz jumped onto a stack of books, then onto a shelf. A short sequence showed him timing hops across moving toys, grabbing pickups before they vanished. Another clip showed a small puzzle moment—switches and platforms—simple, but satisfying.
Then the action kicked up. Buzz raised his arm and fired his laser in quick bursts, zapping enemies with bright sparks. The trailer showed him shooting while running, shooting mid-jump, and landing into a quick roll that kept the momentum going. Even through TV speakers, the sound effects had a sharper punch, like the game was proud of how responsive it felt.
ZACOOL popped back in over the final montage, voice full of energy.
"See!? Jump, run, shoot—ZOOM! That's Toy Story on ZEPS 3! Let's go!"
Then the Toy Story trailer ended on a bright freeze-frame, and ZACOOL popped back onto the screen like he'd been waiting behind the curtain the whole time.
"NEXT!" he shouted, throwing both tiny hands into the air. "Another game from Team Blaze! And yes—this one is based on the Disney movie that's been airing since 1997! Hercules!"
The TV cut to a bold title card with heroic music, then jumped straight into gameplay.
Hercules sprinted across a colorful, cartoon-like world that looked like it had been ripped straight out of animation cels—thick outlines, bright palettes, and smooth character motion that surprised a lot of viewers. His running cycle had weight. His jumps looked clean. When he landed, dust puffed up in a satisfying little burst.
The trailer showed a variety of stages in quick flashes: marble temples with shifting platforms, a training area where Hercules punched targets and tossed boulders, and a city section packed with props, banners, and little details that made it feel alive. Enemies came in waves—small monsters, flying pests, and heavier brutes that forced the player to time attacks instead of mashing.
Then the best part: the animation during combat.
Hercules swung his sword, blocked, rolled, then launched into a flashy combo that sent an enemy tumbling across the screen. A short clip showed him grabbing an opponent and tossing it into another, clearing space like a true hero. Another clip showed a mini challenge where the player had to climb quickly while fire rose from below, the camera panning upward with a dramatic push.
Between the action cuts, the trailer teased the fun "adventure" bits too—collecting items, triggering switches, and slipping into secret routes behind columns. It looked like the kind of game where kids would enjoy the straightforward hero fantasy, but older players would still appreciate the tight movement and quick pacing.
Back on TV, ZACOOL's voice cut in over the final montage.
"HE'S STRONG! HE'S COOL! AND NOW HE'S ON ZEPS 3! Hahaha! LET'S GO!"
Then Toy Story and Hercules faded out, and ZACOOL snapped back onto the screen with even more energy, like he was trying to break through the TV glass.
"NEXT!" he shouted. "And now… from a Marvel Comics character! The vampire hunter—BLADE!!"
The music shifted instantly. Bright colors vanished. The screen went dark, gritty, and sharp.
A title card flashed in bold letters, and the trailer cut to 3D gameplay: Blade striding through a rain-slick alley, long black coat swaying behind him like a shadow with its own will. Neon signs flickered in the background. Steam rose from vents. The atmosphere felt heavy—more serious, more adult, and clearly not aimed at little kids.
Blade drew a silver sword, and the animation looked clean—fast slashes with weight, sparks flying when steel met claws. The trailer showed him switching weapons smoothly: sword to handgun, handgun to shotgun, then back to sword again without awkward pauses. It wasn't just style. It looked practical.
A group of vampires rushed him.
Blade fired two quick shots, rolled to the side, then cut through the nearest attacker with a sharp, brutal swing. Blood splashed, dark and dramatic. A second vampire lunged, and Blade countered with a kick that knocked it into a wall, then finished it with a clean slice that made the crowd watching at home gasp.
ZACOOL's voice chimed in over the action, proud and excited. "Ooooh! Look at that! Sword! Guns! BOOM! Slice!"
The trailer showed more tools—throwing blades that pinned enemies to surfaces, a flash-like device that stunned a whole group for a moment, and a heavier weapon that turned a narrow hallway into a red blur of chaos. One clip showed Blade leaping from a ledge, landing in the middle of enemies, then spinning with a wide sword arc that cleared space like a storm.
It wasn't just violence for shock. It was a power fantasy done with confidence—quick weapon swaps, smart movement, and a tone that screamed cool.
The montage ended on Blade wiping his blade clean, eyes steady, coat settling around him like a curtain.
ZACOOL bounced back into view, still hyped. "BLADE IS SO COOL!! Hahaha!"
And then ZACOOL zipped across the screen in a blue streak, doing a mid-air spin like a cartoon hero showing off.
"BLADE IS SO COOL!" he shouted, then leaned toward the camera like he was about to whisper a secret. "But the next game is even cooler! Because it comes from Team FROST!"
He pointed up with both hands. "The brothers of Team Blaze! Their first game is… PERFECT DARK!"
The broadcast snapped into a sleek, high-tech tone.
A deep bass pulse hit, and the trailer opened in near darkness—only the glow of computer screens and security lights cutting through. Then the camera swept into first-person view, and the audience saw it immediately: smoother aiming, sharper lighting, and environments that looked more detailed than most shooters on console.
The player moved through a research facility with glossy floors and steel corridors. A guard turned a corner—one clean headshot dropped him. The trailer cut fast: a side door hacked open, a silent takedown, then a sudden alarm. Red lights started flashing.
ZACOOL's voice popped in over the action, excited but proud. "Ooooh! Spies! Guns! Secrets!"
The next shots showed the variety that made it look special. A stealth segment where the player crouched behind crates, watching patrol routes. A gadget menu flashing quickly—something like a scanner, a door bypass tool, a decoy device. Then a loud firefight: automatic fire, enemies diving for cover, sparks spraying off metal railings.
One clip showed a clean sniper scope view—breath steady, crosshair centered—then the screen snapped back to normal as the player sprinted down a stairwell. Another clip teased multiplayer chaos: split screens, four players, a compact arena, and quick weapon pickups.
ZACOOL reappeared, bouncing with pride. "PERFECT DARK! Frost team is here, baby!"
He waved both hands like a traffic officer and yelled, "NEXT!"
"THIS ONE IS FOR PC GAME!!! SERIOUS SAM!"
The tone whiplashed.
The trailer cut to bright skies, wide-open arenas, and a roar of enemies pouring in like a flood. The player held a machine gun that sounded like a drilling engine, and the screen filled with explosions and screaming projectiles.
Serious Sam looked like pure mayhem on purpose—no slow sneaking, no quiet corners. Just running, dodging, firing, and laughing because the game was daring you to survive.
The trailer showcased the best part: scale. Dozens of enemies at once. Skeleton-like creatures sprinting in packs. Giant monsters lumbering forward, soaking bullets. Flying threats diving from above, forcing the player to keep moving.
The weapon showcase hit fast: machine guns, shotguns, rocket launchers, grenade tosses that bounced and detonated in perfect timing. One clip showed the player luring a crowd into a narrow passage, then dropping explosives and sprinting away as the whole screen turned into fire.
ZACOOL screamed over the montage, absolutely losing his mind. "HAHAHA! RUN! SHOOT! BOOM! DON'T DIE!"
Then he suddenly snapped back to presenter mode, dramatic again.
"LAST GAME!" he shouted, stretching the word like a final bell. "And it's about to get ancient! JURASSIC PARK: WARPATH! FIGHT WITH YOUR DINOSAURS!"
The trailer shifted to prehistoric thunder.
A jungle roared across the screen. Leaves shook. A heavy footstep landed like a drum.
Then two dinosaurs collided.
The concept was immediately clear: dinosaur versus dinosaur, full-contact battles with brutal weight. The first fight showed a T-Rex charging an Allosaurus, jaws snapping, claws raking, bodies slamming hard enough to kick up dust and shake the camera.
The gameplay looked like a mix of fighting game and monster brawl—different dinosaurs with different styles. Heavy hitters that relied on bite strength and knockdowns. Faster predators that circled and punished openings. Even a few weird ones that used tail whips, headbutts, or momentum tackles.
The trailer cut through match-ups quickly: a raptor-like dinosaur darting in and out, a horned dinosaur lowering its head for a charging stab, a massive brute pinning an opponent and thrashing until it broke free.
Blood splashed, dirt flew, and the crowd at home could almost feel the impact through their speakers.
ZACOOL flew back in with both fists raised like a referee. "DINOSAURS!!! RAWRR! WARPATH!!!"
The last frame froze on a roaring T-Rex, the logo slammed onto the screen, and the music hit one final punch.
Then ZACOOL threw both hands up like he'd just finished a marathon.
"THAT'S ALL of our game releases in NOVEMBER!" he shouted. "Pretty cool, huh!?"
He spun in a circle, cape-less but still dramatic, then pointed straight at the viewer again like he could see every living room.
"And not just that!" ZACOOL continued, voice rising with excitement. "Next month too! Don't relax! Don't blink!"
The screen behind him flashed quick, teasing shapes—just colors and motion, nothing clear enough to confirm anything. It was the perfect bait.
"Make sure you come to the ZAGE End of the Year Event, okay!?" he yelled, bouncing in place. "We have a really big surprise in there! The kind that makes you go, 'EH!?' and then you scream!"
He leaned in close to the camera, lowering his voice like he was sharing classified information.
"And don't forget…"
A beat.
ZACOOL suddenly straightened up, puffed out his chest, and imitated Zaboru's calm confidence as best as his chibi body could manage.
"Oh, my boss said this!"
He snapped back into his own voice and shouted it like a battle cry.
"JUST BUY IT, OKAY!?"
The music hit one last punch.
ZACOOL saluted with two fingers, then shot upward like a rocket, shrinking into a blue streak as he flew into the top of the screen.
The broadcast cut to black.
Everyone who watched was flabbergasted—and honestly, amused. ZACOOL wasn't just a random gag in an ad. He felt like a new Zabo-Man mascot with real personality, the kind that could live on posters, magazine pages, and merch shelves. Kids copied his poses in front of the TV. Teenagers repeated his catchphrases like jokes that would spread through school the next day. Even adults who usually ignored game commercials laughed at how confidently he ran the whole show like a tiny host.
And then the other shock landed: ZAGE really did it. Six games in November.
People argued about the lineup immediately. Some were hyped for the bright fun of Toy Story. Some were excited that Hercules looked so smooth and animated. Older fans couldn't stop talking about Blade's tone and how bold it was for a mainstream TV block. Shooter fans latched onto Perfect Dark. PC players were already planning Serious Sam nights like it was a party invitation. And Warpath? That one turned into instant playground talk—dinosaurs fighting dinosaurs was an idea you could sell in a single sentence.
The forums lit up. People argued about which title would be the surprise hit, which one would become the best seller, and which one would create the loudest controversy.
And that end-of-year event tease only poured gasoline on the fire. If ZAGE was dropping six games now, what kind of surprise did they think was big enough to save for the end of the year? Fans started guessing wildly—new more games , new console and new stuff. Some were scary-close. Most of them were fun.
So yes, even with Sonaya's masterpiece, Sun Knight 5, this trailer reminded everyone of the same truth: ZAGE still controlled the spotlight. Sonaya could land a legendary hit—but ZAGE could shift the entire month with a single broadcast.
And after tonight, the industry didn't just feel competitive.
It felt like it was accelerating.
To be continue
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