Chapter 1459 1377 — ZAGE: Share Knowledge 2

Zaboru looked across the hall as more hands slowly rose after his question.

"When you're thinking of a game concept—before you open Unreal, before you model anything, before you write ten thousand lines of code—what do you actually do?"

He pointed toward a young man near the front. "You first."

The student took the microphone. "Usually gameplay. I think about what the player is actually doing most of the time."

Zaboru nodded. "Good. Straight to the point."

Another participant answered, "Characters for me. I usually draw someone first, think about their personality, then the world starts forming around them."

"Also valid."

A woman several seats away raised her hand. "Story. Sometimes I already know how I want the game to end before I know how it plays."

Zaboru smiled. "Dangerous, but interesting."

The room laughed.

Another student said, "I normally imagine one mechanic first. Something I think would be fun."

A participant farther back added, "For me it's atmosphere. Like, maybe I want the game to feel lonely or uncomfortable, and then everything develops from that."

Zaboru pointed toward him. "That's a good one too."

Another young man admitted, "Honestly, sometimes I just think, 'That sounds cool,' and everything else comes later."

Zaboru immediately laughed. "Heheheh. Probably the most realistic answer here."

More hands stayed raised, but Zaboru lifted one hand before the discussion scattered too far. "Alright. You guys already proved the point. Everyone starts differently." He turned toward the large screen behind him, and three words appeared across it.

GAMEPLAY — CHARACTERS — STORY

Zaboru gestured toward them. "These three are something I personally like to think of as the Game Soul. Don't start putting that in textbooks like it's some scientific theory. I just think the name sounds cool."

A few people laughed.

"But when people remember a game, usually at least one of these becomes a huge reason why. Sometimes all three."

He pointed toward GAMEPLAY first. "Gameplay is obvious. What does the player actually do? Is movement fun? Is combat satisfying? Does progression make you want to continue? If you're making something where gameplay is the main attraction, you don't necessarily need some gigantic emotional story."

Zaboru smiled. "Take Z-Sports. Nobody needs a tragic storyline about a professional bowler whose father was murdered by the final bowling champion."

The hall erupted with laughter.

"Nobody needs an emotional cutscene before tennis."

Someone shouted, "I WOULD PLAY IT!"

Zaboru pointed toward the voice. "Then make it yourself, bro."

That earned another round of laughter.

"But seriously, Z-Sports works because the actual activity is the point. The controls, competition, accessibility, physical interaction. There are characters and presentation around it, but gameplay carries the experience."

A participant raised his microphone. "So story can be completely unnecessary?"

"Depending on the game? Yeah," Zaboru replied. "A puzzle game can survive with almost none. Some racing games barely need a story. Competitive games can work with simple context. But if you're making a forty-hour RPG and I'm traveling with six people whose personalities are cardboard, then suddenly characters and story matter a lot more."

He pointed toward CHARACTERS next. "People remember people. Mario. Sonic. Cloud. Snake. Link. Jill Valentine. Pikachu. Even if someone forgets exactly how one level worked twenty years later, they may still remember the person they experienced it through."

A young woman asked, "What about games where the player creates the protagonist?"

"Then personality can come from everyone around them," Zaboru answered. "Companions, enemies, merchants, the world itself. Character doesn't only mean the hero. Sometimes some stupid shopkeeper with five minutes of screen time becomes more popular than the main cast."

Several people nodded knowingly.

Then Zaboru pointed toward STORY. "And story doesn't automatically mean two hours of cinematics. Story can come from dialogue, level design, progression, environmental details, or even something the player creates themselves."

He grinned.

"Monster Hunter's personal story can literally become, 'That flying asshole refuses to drop the plate I need.'"

Laughter immediately filled the hall.

"And after fifteen hunts, that becomes more emotionally important than half the dramatic stories you've watched."

Zaboru allowed the laughter to settle before continuing. "Obviously, these three are massive categories. Gameplay becomes combat, level design, movement, progression, AI, difficulty, multiplayer, economy, controls, all that stuff. Characters become design, motivation, relationships, dialogue, animation. Story becomes pacing, structure, worldbuilding, themes."

He shrugged. "I'm simplifying it because otherwise we'll still be here tomorrow."

Someone shouted, "THAT'S FINE!"

Zaboru shook his head. "No. I need food."

The room laughed again.

He took a few steps across the stage. "Now this part—the ideas, characters, mechanics, story—is fun. Brainstorming makes everyone feel intelligent. You sit around a table drinking coffee and somebody says, 'What if the final boss is the moon?' and everyone goes, 'Holy shit!'"

Several developers laughed.

"Then you actually have to make the damn thing."

The laughter became louder, especially among the programmers.

The screen changed.

IDEA → IMPLEMENTATION → DEVICE

Zaboru pointed toward it. "This is when fantasy meets reality. Code. Memory. CPU. GPU. Animation. Storage. Art production. Time. Money. Suddenly that amazing idea has to actually function."

A programmer raised his hand. "So this is where optimization becomes part of design?"

"Exactly." Zaboru pointed at him. "That's something I want more programmers to think about. A good programmer can make something work. A creative programmer also asks how to make it work better, cheaper, faster, smaller, or through a completely different trick."

He raised a finger. "And I'm not saying one is a superior human being. Reliable code is already extremely valuable. I'm talking about mindset."

Zaboru walked slowly along the stage. "ZEPS 4 gives developers a lot of power. That's good. But powerful hardware creates a dangerous temptation."

He smiled.

"Being lazy."

Several programmers laughed nervously.

"Yes. You."

The audience laughed louder.

"I'm guilty too. You see a ton of available memory and think, 'Eh, just throw it in there.' Strong GPU? 'Whatever, render more shit.' But if that becomes your first solution to every problem, eventually your game needs a supercomputer because nobody bothered thinking."

Zaboru looked toward the PC developers. "Especially you guys. Maybe you're developing on some expensive workstation, while your customer's computer is surviving on dust, prayer, and one fan that sounds like it's begging to die."

The hall cracked up.

"Think about scalability. Lower texture quality. Reduced effects. Smaller simulation distance. Simpler geometry. Fewer active AI processes. You don't need your game to run on a calculator, but at least understand why it requires what it requires."

Someone asked, "But can optimizing for weaker hardware damage the original vision?"

"Of course," Zaboru replied immediately. "That's why there's balance. I'm not saying destroy your game just so a twenty-year-old machine can play it. Sometimes the idea genuinely needs stronger hardware. Fine."

He grinned. "But if your card game needs a Raijin processor because your code is garbage, I'm judging you."

The room burst into laughter.

Zaboru continued, "Sometimes a limitation can even improve an idea. Your original design is too expensive? Maybe you fake part of it. Maybe reduce the simulation but preserve the illusion. Maybe the programmer says, 'We can't do exactly what you asked, but what if we do this?'"

A participant nodded. "So the technical solution can create new gameplay."

"Exactly." Zaboru smiled. "That's why designers and programmers need to communicate. A designer imagining impossible things is useful. A programmer understanding what can actually happen is useful. Put those together properly and sometimes the workaround becomes better than the original idea."

Several people began writing again.

Then Zaboru slowed down.

"Of course…"

He sighed dramatically.

"Then shit happens."

The audience laughed.

"We've spent all this time talking about games like development exists in some magical world where everyone only wants to create cool stuff. Unfortunately, companies need money."

He shrugged. "That's not evil. Developers need salaries. Buildings cost money. Servers cost money. Marketing costs money. Making the next game costs money."

Then he paused.

"And sometimes you need investors."

A few people immediately looked more attentive.

"Investors aren't automatically bad either. Sometimes their money is the entire reason your game can exist. The problem starts when someone who knows nothing about making games decides that giving you money also makes them creative director."

Several participants laughed and nodded.

One asked, "What if an investor asks us to change something because they think it will sell better?"

"Listen first," Zaboru answered. "Seriously. Don't become arrogant just because you're the creative person. Maybe they have actual data. Maybe your project costs too much. Maybe their concern is legitimate. Developers can be stupid too."

That earned a few laughs.

"But ask why. If the answer is basically, 'Competitor X has this, so our game should copy it,' then I'd start worrying."

Another participant asked, "What if we can't refuse?"

Zaboru nodded slowly. "Then sometimes you compromise. That's reality. If you work for somebody else, you don't own every decision. If an investor funded your company, maybe the contract gives them influence. Creative freedom sounds great until payroll arrives."

He paused briefly before smiling again.

"You know why ZAGE is great?"

The audience immediately laughed.

"I'm not gonna brag."

That made them laugh harder.

"Okay. Maybe slightly."

Zaboru chuckled. "One advantage ZAGE has is that I own the company privately. There isn't some group of outside shareholders calling me because a chart moved down two percent and demanding we put something stupid in a game."

He spread his hands. "Yes, ZAGE wants profit. Obviously. We're a business. But I refuse to let some money-hungry businessman walk into a development team and redesign the game because his spreadsheet says twelve-year-olds like purple this year."

Laughter spread through the hall.

Zaboru smiled. "But I know that's unusual. Most of you won't own a giant company. Some of you will join big studios. Some of you will build tiny teams."

A woman raised her hand. "Would you recommend staying independent, then?"

"Not automatically," Zaboru replied. "Independence gives you freedom, but freedom without money doesn't magically pay artists. Big studios can give you salaries, experienced people, QA, marketing, technology, infrastructure. Small teams can give you ownership and flexibility."

He shrugged. "Neither is automatically morally better. Figure out what you need."

Another participant asked, "Funding is probably the hardest part for small teams, though."

Zaboru smiled.

"Yeah. And we've been thinking about that."

The room immediately became quieter.

"In the future, I want to expand the ZAGE Foundation so we can invest more directly into small development teams and independent creators."

Murmuring spread through the audience.

Zaboru immediately raised a hand. "Future. I said future. Don't start throwing prototypes at me tonight."

The hall laughed.

"There are people with skill and good ideas who simply don't have capital. I'd like ZAGE to eventually help some of them finish projects without automatically turning everything they create into another ZAGE-owned franchise."

One participant quickly asked, "So ZAGE wouldn't always own the IP?"

"That's the idea," Zaboru replied. "Obviously we still need to figure out different funding models, contracts, how much support makes sense, and all that boring legal suffering. But if our goal is supporting independent developers, taking their identity away from them would defeat the purpose."

That earned applause.

Zaboru chuckled. "Don't applaud too early. The lawyers haven't suffered yet."

More laughter followed.

"But even without that," he continued, "distribution is already getting easier. We built Steam so PC developers don't always need massive physical distribution. Z-Store gives ZEPS 4 the same advantage. If a small team creates something good, passes certification, and can sell it digitally, they don't need millions of discs sitting in stores."

A young developer asked, "But how can a small game compete with something like GTA: San Andreas or Halo?"

Zaboru smiled.

"Why does it need to?"

The student paused.

"If you create a clever ten-dollar puzzle game, San Andreas isn't automatically your enemy. Someone buying GTA doesn't make their ZEPS 4 explode so they can never buy another game."

The room laughed.

"Physical stores have limited shelves. Digital stores have vastly more room. That means a smaller game can succeed with a smaller audience, especially if the development cost is also smaller."

The screen changed again.

MORE ROOM FOR WEIRD IDEAS

Zaboru pointed toward it. "That's important. Not every game needs ten million customers. Maybe your weird little game only needs fifty thousand people who absolutely love it."

A participant near the middle asked, "Do you think independent games will become much bigger?"

Zaboru nodded. "Definitely. Engines will improve. Computers will get stronger. Tools will become easier to use. Tutorials will become more common. Distribution will get simpler."

He glanced around the hall.

"Making a good game will never become easy, because creativity isn't something technology can solve for you. But the barrier between having an idea and being able to build something from it will keep getting smaller."

Several participants nodded.

"One day, teams ridiculously smaller than what we use now might make games that look impossible for their size."

Zaboru smiled.

"And when technology stops being the biggest obstacle…"

He turned toward the screen.

"…the most valuable thing you have becomes your idea again."

The display faded before large silver letters appeared.

UNLEASH YOUR CREATIVITY

Zaboru looked across the developers, students, artists, and hobbyists seated before him.

"So guys… learn your tools. Learn optimization. Understand money. Know your limitations."

He grinned.

"But after all that?"

He gestured toward the screen.

"Unleash your creativity, okay?"

Applause immediately filled the hall.

And with that, the ZAGE Share Knowledge session came to an end.

There had been no trailer, no secret ZEPS 4 announcement, and no surprise game reveal.

Just a conversation about making games.

But for many of the young developers leaving ZEB Los Angeles that day, that conversation had given them exactly what Zaboru wanted them to leave with.

Not instructions for what kind of game they should make.

But confidence that whatever strange idea existed in their heads might be worth trying.

To be continued.