Sunday 4 April 2001.
Zaboru was now inside the facilities of one of Japan's biggest E-sports organizations, a team known as "AKAI KUMA." Technically, the team was indirectly sponsored by ZAGE because AKAI, one of ZAGE's major subsidiaries, funded most of its operations. And honestly, within Japan, AKAI KUMA was already considered a monster organization. Counter-Strike, DoTA, StarCraft, Warcraft, fighting games—almost every major E-sports scene in Japan had at least one strong AKAI KUMA player competing near the top.
To ordinary Japanese gamers, AKAI KUMA looked untouchable.
They had talented players, expensive equipment, growing fanbases, dedicated practice rooms, and even early sponsorship deals that most Japanese teams could only dream of.
But compared to Korean and Chinese teams?
They were nothing.
That was the brutal reality.
No matter how dominant AKAI KUMA looked inside Japan, once they entered international tournaments, especially against Korean teams, the difference became painfully obvious. The gap in coordination, discipline, strategy, reaction speed, and adaptability felt almost unfair sometimes.
And honestly?
That was exactly why Zaboru came here personally.
Hyoga Akai had called Zaboru personally, telling him that the owner of AKAI KUMA wanted to meet. Since Zaboru had already shown clear interest in the growing E-sports scene, he agreed almost immediately. That was why he now found himself sitting across from Ryota Tanabe, the owner of AKAI KUMA and one of the most passionate figures in Japan's competitive gaming scene.
Ryota was not just a businessman trying to chase a new trend. He was an insane gamer himself, the kind of person who could spend hours talking about strategies, player mentality, tournament formats, balance patches, and the future of competitive gaming without getting bored. More than anything, he genuinely wanted to elevate Japanese E-sports.
To him, it felt almost shameful that Japan, the home of ZAGE and one of the most important gaming countries in the world, still lagged behind in major team-based E-sports. Competitive gaming had already been growing seriously for around five years in this world, and international E-sports tournaments were becoming larger every year. Yet despite that, Japan still had not won a single major team tournament.
Of course, Japanese players were terrifying in fighting games. In one-on-one titles, they could absolutely dominate and had already won multiple events by huge margins. But in team-based games like DoTA, Counter-Strike, StarCraft team leagues, and Warcraft team formats, Japan constantly struggled.
The top level was still dominated by Korea and China, with European and American teams chasing closely behind. Meanwhile, Japan remained trapped in an awkward position: talented enough to be respected, but not disciplined or organized enough to consistently win.
And honestly, that reality frustrated Ryota deeply.
Ryota sighed while looking at the players currently training in front of them. Zaboru stood beside him, watching with genuine curiosity. In his previous life, Japan had struggled badly in many E-sports scenes despite being one of the greatest gaming countries in the world, so he wanted to see with his own eyes whether the same problem existed in this world too.
The practice room itself was lively. Every player was clearly trying hard, focusing on last hits, map control, ward timing, hero matchups, rotations, and teamfight coordination. Some of them looked frustrated when they made mistakes, but even then, the atmosphere was not gloomy. They still laughed, teased each other, shouted jokes across the room, and celebrated whenever someone made a good play. It was serious training, but it still felt like gaming with friends.
"So… Zaboru-san, this is where we train," Ryota explained. "We usually practice around five hours a day here, especially for DoTA. We train macro and micro, replay reviews, lane matchups, and team coordination. And honestly… our players are quite good individually."
He paused for a moment before sighing again.
"But somehow, we still get destroyed even by middle-bracket Korean teams."
Zaboru nodded quietly while continuing to observe the players. They were not lazy. They were not talentless. In fact, their passion was obvious. The problem was that passion alone was not enough to defeat teams that treated E-sports like a true professional battlefield.
Zaboru analyzed the training carefully. Honestly, it was nowhere near as professional as the E-sports training systems he remembered watching on YouTube in his previous life. Compared to the brutal routines of future professional teams, AKAI KUMA still looked surprisingly casual.
But at the same time… there was something genuinely charming about it.
The players were still having fun.
They laughed during breaks, argued about builds, celebrated good plays loudly, and even mocked each other after stupid mistakes. The atmosphere felt more like a group of passionate friends chasing a dream together rather than athletes trapped inside a cold competitive machine.
And honestly?
That feeling was completely different from the "E-sports training" Zaboru remembered from his previous life.
In the future, professional players often looked exhausted mentally and physically. Endless scrims, strict schedules, replay analysis, sponsor obligations, pressure from fans, toxic online criticism, burnout, and constant fear of replacement turned many teams into stressful environments. Winning became everything.
But here, inside AKAI KUMA?
The players still genuinely loved the game.
And for a brief moment, even Zaboru felt nostalgic watching that atmosphere.
Still, Zaboru needed to know just how strong the Korean teams really were.
"Are Korean teams really that good, Ryota-san?" Zaboru asked calmly.
Ryota let out another tired sigh before nodding slowly. "Yeah… they really are."
His expression became noticeably more serious afterward.
"They're incredibly organized. Honestly, sometimes it doesn't even feel like we're fighting gamers. It feels like we're fighting an actual professional sports organization."
Zaboru stayed quiet and listened carefully.
Ryota continued, "They know exactly how to utilize their strengths. Every player already understands their role perfectly, and somehow they always move together naturally. Their communication, timing, rotations, and discipline are on a completely different level."
He paused briefly before grimacing.
"And the worst part?"
Ryota crossed his arms tightly.
"They always have strange strategies prepared. Every tournament, every scrim, every important match… somehow they bring out things we never expect. Weird lane setups, aggressive timing attacks, strange hero combinations, bait strategies… and somehow it all works."
The frustration in his voice was obvious now.
"It's like they already know how we'll react before we even make decisions. We genuinely can't read them at all."
Zaboru narrowed his eyes slightly.
That level of preparation sounded extremely familiar to him.
Meanwhile, Ryota continued more carefully, "Chinese teams are strong too. Mechanically, some of them are honestly monsters. But compared to Korean teams… they still lack consistency and structure."
He shook his head afterward.
"Korean teams feel terrifying because they combine both discipline and talent at the same time."
Zaboru nodded and smiled, though internally he was thinking, 'Korea really dominates E-sports in this world too, huh…' He remembered clearly from his previous life how terrifying Korean players became across multiple competitive scenes, especially once E-sports developed into a serious professional structure. The discipline, coaching systems, practice culture, and team coordination they built were not something that could be copied casually. Still, Zaboru wanted to see what the AKAI KUMA players could really do before judging them too harshly.
He watched as they played a high-ranked match, carefully observing every movement from behind the players. Honestly, their individual skills were not bad at all. Their last hitting was decent, their mechanical reactions were sharp enough, and their basic coordination showed that they had played together for a long time. But despite that, nothing about their play looked truly special.
Their carry player used Sven and farmed efficiently, but somehow the farming felt too passive. It was not strategic greed. It was more like mindless farming, as if Sven was waiting for the game to become easy by itself instead of actively creating pressure. He had timings where he could threaten kills, punish overextension, or force the enemy lane to retreat, but he kept choosing safety again and again.
Meanwhile, the supports were not properly synchronized. One support using Rylai kept moving aggressively toward mid to help Raijin, while the other support using Vol'Jin stayed too close to Sven for too long. Because of that, their map pressure became awkward. If Vol'Jin had rotated mid together with Rylai at the right timing, their mid Raijin might have secured a kill because Sven is already fat. And if Sven had been more aggressive while supported by Rylai and Vol'Jin together, they could have crushed the side lane much earlier.
Zaboru narrowed his eyes while watching the situation unfold.
The problem was not talent.
The problem was habit.
They were playing like skilled pub players, not like a professional team. Everyone understood their own role individually, but nobody fully understood how to bend the entire map together as one unit. Their movements were close to being correct, but always slightly late, slightly disconnected, or slightly too comfortable.
'Maybe the training is too lax,' Zaboru thought quietly. 'But still… I need to confirm one thing.'
Zaboru then spoke to Ryota calmly. "Ryota-san… honestly? I have ideas that could drastically improve the players' skills and probably increase your chances of winning too."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"But… it's going to cost the 'fun' of the game for them. At least for a while. Are you okay with that?"
Ryota instinctively gulped.
If those words had come from some random CEO or rich businessman, he probably would have treated them like empty motivational nonsense.
But this was Zaboru.
Zaboru was literally considered one of the GOATs of the entire E-sports scene.
He was famous for being absurdly skilled across multiple games. In yearly fighting game tournaments alone, he had fought and defeated multiple champions without ever looking overwhelmed. And his DoTA skills were legendary too, especially because he often streamed ranked matches on ZAGE YouTube. Millions of players had already seen him casually outplay top-level competitors while explaining strategies live.
That was what made his words terrifying.
Because if someone like Zaboru said the team lacked discipline… then the problem was probably much worse than Ryota originally thought.
But the idea of sacrificing the "fun" of gaming for his players?
Honestly… that felt cruel to Ryota.
He understood better than anyone how magical games could feel. The laughter between teammates, the excitement after clutch victories, the late-night conversations about strategies, the feeling of improving together—those moments were the reason he loved E-sports in the first place.
If gaming started feeling like nothing more than exhausting labor, then what was the point?
For a moment, Ryota looked toward his players again.
Some were still arguing loudly over a failed teamfight.
Others were laughing after somebody accidentally misclicked a skill.
Despite all their frustrations, they still looked happy.
And honestly?
Ryota was afraid of destroying that atmosphere.
But at the same time… he also knew his players desperately wanted to win.
Not just locally.
Internationally.
They were tired of always being called "good for Japan."
Tired of entering tournaments only to become stepping stones for Korean teams.
Tired of watching other countries evolve while Japan stayed behind.
Ryota slowly lowered his head before answering seriously.
"…I want to know, Zaboru-san."
Zaboru looked at him quietly for several seconds before chuckling softly.
"Good."
Then his expression became gentler.
"And don't worry. The lack of fun is only temporary."
Ryota looked slightly surprised.
Zaboru continued calmly, "What destroys players isn't hard training itself. It's meaningless hard training. If they improve, if they start understanding the game on a higher level, if they finally become capable of defeating the teams they fear…"
A faint smile slowly appeared on Zaboru's face.
"…then the joy that comes afterward becomes far greater than before."
The room became quieter.
Zaboru then looked toward the AKAI KUMA players again.
"I'm not trying to turn them into emotionless machines, Ryota-san. I'm trying to help them reach a level where their passion can actually compete against the world."
Ryota suddenly grinned hopefully. "Are… are you joining our team?"
Zaboru immediately chuckled. "Hah, I wish. But I can't. I'm too busy, Ryota-san. Still… wait a bit, okay?"
Ryota blinked in confusion while Zaboru calmly walked toward one of the nearby tables before opening his laptop.
For the next several minutes, the only sound inside the room was the rapid clicking of keys.
Meanwhile, Ryota quietly watched from behind.
Zaboru's expression slowly became more serious as he began writing an entirely new training structure based on what he remembered from his previous life: the brutal practice systems future E-sports athletes used to dominate internationally.
Ryota's eyes slowly widened as he read through the schedule, then widened even further. "…Z-Zaboru-san…?" For the first time since their conversation started, Ryota genuinely looked shaken. His gaze moved down the document again and again, and the deeper he read, the more unreal the schedule started to feel.
Strict practice blocks, replay breakdowns, communication drills, physical conditioning, mental training, controlled scrims, sleep regulation, and pressure simulations all stood neatly arranged before him. It looked less like gaming practice and more like preparation for war.
Ryota instinctively swallowed. "N-No… I mean, Boss… is this for real?" His voice almost cracked slightly. "This is way too strict… this is basically military-level training."
Zaboru only chuckled softly. "Just trust me." Then he slowly closed the laptop. "I'm sure it'll work."
A faint grin appeared on his face afterward. "But first…" Zaboru looked toward the AKAI KUMA players practicing loudly across the room. "…let's talk to the boys."
To be continue
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