In this world's 2001, Tupac Shakur had already debuted with one of his first major albums, 2Pacalypse Now. The album was not merely noticed. It had become a real hit inside the hip-hop scene because of its raw lyrics, sharp social criticism, and the kind of emotional fire that made listeners feel as though Tupac was not only rapping, but arguing directly with the world.
Because of that, Tupac was now one of the fastest-rising stars in the hip-hop industry.
He was not yet the untouchable legend Zaboru remembered from his previous life, but the foundation was already there. The confidence, the anger, the intelligence, the charisma, the contradictions, the sense that he could be poetic one second and ready to fight the next—all of it existed clearly. Even at this early stage, Tupac carried himself like someone who already believed history would eventually be forced to remember his name.
And honestly, he did not care much about who stood in front of him.
Producer, executive, businessman, politician, celebrity, gangster, journalist—it did not matter. Tupac had a habit of doing as he pleased, saying what he wanted, and testing people just to see whether they had a spine or were only hiding behind money and reputation.
That was why, when ZAGE's people approached him for a possible collaboration, Tupac did not ask to meet inside a luxury hotel, a corporate office, or a clean conference room.
Instead, he chose his own bar.
The place was smoky, loud, and alive. The smell of booze mixed with cigarettes, cheap perfume, sweat, and something stronger that Zaboru definitely suspected was weed. Music played from the speakers, people laughed loudly, glasses hit the tables, and several of Tupac's friends were gathered around him like members of a small court surrounding a rebellious king.
Tupac sat in the center of it all, leaning back comfortably with a drink in one hand. Around him were friends, several women, and people from the local scene who clearly treated him with a mixture of respect, loyalty, and excitement.
One of his friends glanced toward the entrance, then leaned closer to him.
"Boss, you sure you want to meet Zaboru here?" he asked carefully. "I mean… it's Zaboru."
Tupac only grinned.
"Zaboru, so what?" he said, his voice calm but full of challenge. "Let's see if he got guts or not. Besides, his people approached me, right? That means he definitely got some offer for me."
Another friend laughed. "Man, you really gonna make the richest game guy come here?"
Tupac shrugged. "If he wants to talk to me, he can walk through the same door as everybody else."
The others laughed, but some of them still looked nervous.
Because even if Tupac acted like he did not care, everyone there knew Zaboru Renkonan was not a normal rich man. He was the owner of ZAGE, the biggest video-game company in the world, the creator of YouTube, the man connected to technology, anime, games, movies, distribution, schools, hospitals, and half the entertainment industry. The guy was so influential that people could make jokes about him, but almost nobody wanted to truly offend him.
Tupac respected that.
He simply refused to bow first.
Meanwhile, outside the bar, Zaboru was walking with Ryan Miller.
Ryan's expression was extremely tense.
"Boss," Ryan said quietly, "this guy Tupac… he might disrespect you. I'm serious. He's just that kind of guy. Even the fact that he asked to meet you at a bar he owns instead of a café, hotel, or studio already says a lot."
Ryan glanced toward the entrance and frowned.
"And honestly, this place is dangerous. We don't know what could happen inside."
Zaboru chuckled calmly.
He understood Ryan's concern, but he was not particularly afraid. Tupac was known for being rebellious even in Zaboru's previous life, and apparently, despite only recently becoming famous in this world, he already carried that same fearless attitude.
But Zaboru had dealt with far stranger and more dangerous people than a gangster rapper.
He had casually spoken with Yakuza.
He had dealt with mafia families.
His wife came from the Hamazou family.
His brother-in-law was Akechi "Rashomon," an emotionless underworld strategist who could probably ruin someone's life with a phone call and a bored expression.
Compared to that, walking into a smoky bar to meet Tupac was almost refreshing.
Zaboru looked at Ryan and smiled. "Relax, Ryan. It's not my first time handling guys like this, all right?"
Ryan sighed. "Boss, your idea of normal danger is broken."
"Maybe," Zaboru admitted. "But it works."
Ryan still looked hesitant.
Zaboru patted his shoulder. "Wait outside if you're uncomfortable. I'll be fine."
Ryan frowned. "I should go in with you."
"You can," Zaboru said. "But your face looks like you're about to attend your own funeral."
Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it.
Zaboru laughed. "See? Wait outside. If something happens, come in."
Ryan sighed deeply, clearly relieved but also guilty. "Fine. But if there's a problem, I'm coming in."
"Of course."
Then Zaboru walked into the bar alone.
The moment he stepped inside, several eyes turned toward him.
At first, some people only looked at him casually. Then recognition spread through the room like fire. Conversations slowed. A few people froze. Someone whispered his name, and within seconds, nearly everyone understood who had just entered.
Zaboru Renkonan.
He looked completely calm despite the atmosphere. The smoke, the alcohol, the loud music, the rough stares, the deliberately intimidating posture of Tupac's friends—none of it made his expression change.
If anything, his face became almost stoic.
He walked forward without rushing.
Tupac remained seated in the middle of the room like a king on a messy throne, surrounded by friends and women, watching Zaboru approach with a grin that looked half amused and half challenging.
Some of Tupac's friends tried to act tough as Zaboru came closer. They leaned back, crossed their arms, stared at him, and tried to look dangerous.
But inside, many of them were honestly nervous.
Because Zaboru's presence was no joke.
His Aura of Influence was not released aggressively, but even the faint natural pressure around him made the air feel heavier. He did not look like a soft executive who had wandered into the wrong neighborhood. He looked like someone who could enter a hostile room, smile politely, and still somehow make everyone feel as though he was the one controlling the situation.
Zaboru stopped directly in front of Tupac.
Tupac looked up at him.
Zaboru looked down at him.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
The music continued playing in the background, but the area around them became strangely quiet.
Then Zaboru said calmly, "If you meet someone, at least you should have the courtesy to stand up, Mr. Shakur."
The people around them stiffened.
Tupac's grin widened.
"What if I don't want to?"
Zaboru chuckled once.
"Then you're an asshole, Mr. Shakur."
For one second, Tupac's eyes widened.
Some of his friends looked as though they could not believe what they had just heard.
Then Tupac suddenly burst out laughing.
Loudly.
"Hahaha! Damn!"
He stood up immediately and extended his hand.
"I was just messing with you, man. I'm a big fan, Zaboru. But damn, I didn't expect you to be tough like that."
Zaboru shook his hand and shrugged casually. "Yeah. I get that a lot."
Tupac laughed again, clearly entertained. "Nah, man. Most rich people come in here acting like they're either too good for the place or too scared of it. You just came in and called me an asshole."
"You asked for it."
"That's fair."
The tension in the room finally loosened. Tupac's friends laughed, the women nearby smiled, and someone turned the music volume down slightly so they could talk properly. Tupac gestured toward the seat across from him.
"Sit down, then. Let's hear what the game king wants from me."
Zaboru sat without hesitation.
Tupac leaned back, studying him more closely now. "So, ZAGE wants rappers?"
Zaboru nodded. "Yes. But not just as decoration."
Tupac's expression sharpened slightly. "Good. Because if you're here to put some rapper's face in a game and make us look like clowns for white kids to laugh at, we're done already."
Zaboru's expression did not change. "I agree."
Tupac blinked, slightly surprised.
Zaboru continued, "That's exactly what I want to avoid. Hip-hop has attitude, history, pain, anger, humor, style, and identity. If ZAGE touches it without respect, the result will feel fake immediately. I don't want fake."
Tupac leaned forward a little.
For the first time, his expression became more serious.
"Then what do you want?"
Zaboru smiled faintly. "I want future games that feel alive because the right music and the right people are inside them. Not just background tracks. Not just licensing a song and forgetting the culture behind it. I want rap, rock, electronic music, and street culture to become part of the game's identity when the game needs it."
Tupac watched him silently.
Zaboru continued, "Video games are changing. Right now, most people still think of games as toys or entertainment for kids. But that's old thinking. Games can become sports, stories, worlds, concerts, hangout places, fighting arenas, street legends, and even cultural spaces."
Tupac slowly nodded. "Okay. That sounds big. But what kind of games are you talking about?"
Zaboru grinned.
"That's the fun part."
He leaned forward slightly.
"One concept is a brutal underground fighting game based around hip-hop culture."
Tupac's eyebrows rose.
Zaboru continued, "Not a normal clean tournament with polite fighters bowing to each other. I'm talking underground clubs, back alleys, parking lots, warehouses, rooftops, cages, illegal arenas, street reputations, crews, money, pride, music blasting through speakers, people shouting around the ring, and fighters wearing clothes that look as important as their punches."
Tupac's grin slowly returned.
Zaboru pointed toward him. "Each character would have their own style. Some are boxers. Some wrestle. Some fight dirty. Some use martial arts. Some are just street monsters who don't care about technique and only want to break you. The crowd reacts. The music changes the atmosphere. The player builds reputation, chooses clothes, earns respect, and fights their way through the underground scene."
Tupac leaned back and laughed softly. "That actually sounds hard."
"It should be," Zaboru replied. "A hip-hop fighting game should not feel soft."
Tupac nodded. "And you want real rappers in it?"
"Some real rappers. Some original characters. I don't want to force everyone in if they don't fit. But if an artist joins, I want them involved properly. Their character should match their image, their music, and what they want to represent. If someone wants to be shown as a calm strategist, fine. If someone wants to be a violent final boss, fine. But they should have a voice in it."
Tupac stared at him for a few seconds, then said, "You really thought about this."
"Of course."
"Most companies just want a face and a signature."
"I don't."
Tupac tapped his finger against the glass in his hand. "What else?"
Zaboru smiled. "Night underground racing."
Tupac's eyes sharpened again.
Zaboru continued, "Street racing at night. City lights. Modified cars. Police pressure. Music blasting from the speakers. Crews, rival racers, reputation, car customization, betting, style, speed, danger. Not just driving around a clean track. The player should feel like the city itself is alive."
Tupac nodded slowly, clearly interested. "That would need music."
"Exactly," Zaboru said. "The right music makes the road feel different. Rap, rock, electronic, Latin beats, whatever fits the area and culture. Without the right soundtrack, a racing game like that loses half its soul."
Tupac grinned. "You know, I can see people playing that in the hood all night."
"That's the point."
Zaboru continued, "Another concept is an open urban action game. Not only crime, but city life. Music, choices, crews, business, loyalty, betrayal, fighting, racing, relationships, reputation. Games that capture energy from real places but still become larger than life."
Tupac became quieter.
"You talking about using the streets."
Zaboru shook his head. "No. I'm talking about respecting the streets enough not to use them lazily."
Tupac's expression changed slightly.
Zaboru spoke more carefully now. "I don't want ZAGE to take people's struggles, paint them as cool violence, and sell it without thought. That would be disgusting. But I also don't want games to pretend those worlds don't exist. There's music there. Language there. Pain there. Humor there. Style there. Dreams there. Anger there. People there."
For a moment, the bar felt quieter.
Tupac stared at Zaboru with a sharper gaze than before.
"You talk like someone who knows what you don't know," Tupac said.
Zaboru chuckled. "That's probably the most accurate thing anyone has said about me today."
Tupac smiled faintly. "Nah, I mean it. You ain't trying to pretend you're from where I'm from."
"I'm not," Zaboru said simply. "That's why I need people who are. If ZAGE makes these kinds of games, I want real voices involved. Not only musicians, but writers, artists, designers, people who understand the culture and can tell me when something feels fake."
Tupac looked at him silently for a few seconds.
Then he leaned back and nodded.
"Okay. Now I'm interested."
Zaboru smiled.
Tupac continued, "I ain't saying yes to everything yet. I wanna see contracts, creative control, money, all that. But conceptually?" He pointed at Zaboru. "Yeah. I can work with that."
"That's all I need for now," Zaboru replied.
Tupac took another drink, then asked, "So you want songs from me?"
"Eventually, yes. Songs, voice work, maybe character input, maybe even helping us understand how to present certain scenes better."
Tupac grinned. "You want me to be a consultant?"
Zaboru shrugged. "If you're good at it, yes."
Tupac laughed. "You really just say anything."
"I prefer efficiency."
"Man, you're weird."
"I know."
Tupac looked at him with amusement, then said, "You know, I didn't expect this. I thought you were gonna come here with some corporate speech. 'Mr. Shakur, ZAGE values synergy with urban youth culture,' some bullshit like that."
Zaboru made a disgusted face. "If I ever say that, please punch me."
Tupac burst out laughing. "Don't tempt me."
Zaboru laughed as well.
After the laughter faded, Zaboru shifted the conversation slightly.
"There's another thing. ZAGE owns a majority stake in PolyGram you know right?."
Tupac's gaze sharpened. "Yeah, I heard."
"I want PolyGram to become stronger. Not just as an old music company collecting rights, but as a real place for artists to grow globally. Music, videos, game soundtracks, YouTube, Z-Store, eventually digital music through AKAI devices. I think artists who understand the future early will have a huge advantage."
Tupac listened carefully now.
Zaboru continued, "If you ever consider joining PolyGram, or at least working closely with us, I think we can do a lot. Not only albums. Music videos, live events, game collaborations, film projects, global distribution, digital platforms, maybe even your own creative label under the structure if things go well."
Tupac did not answer immediately.
His friends looked impressed, but Tupac himself remained thoughtful.
"That's a big offer," he said eventually.
"It's not a full contract offer today," Zaboru replied. "I'm not here to trap you after one meeting. I'm saying the door exists."
Tupac nodded slowly. "I respect that."
He looked around the bar for a moment, then back at Zaboru.
"I'll think about PolyGram. I don't like being controlled."
"I assumed that."
Tupac smirked. "Good. Then assume I'll fight any contract that makes me feel caged."
For the next hour, the conversation became surprisingly natural. They talked about music, video games, youth culture, censorship, violence in entertainment, artistic responsibility, money, ownership, and how the entertainment industry often loved using rebellious voices while secretly trying to control them.
Tupac was intense, blunt, and occasionally rude, but he was not stupid. Far from it. He asked sharp questions. He challenged Zaboru several times. He wanted to know whether ZAGE would respect artists or simply use them as decoration. He wanted to know how royalties would work, whether musicians would own parts of their contributions, and whether ZAGE would allow controversial lyrics inside games.
Zaboru did not promise everything carelessly.
He answered honestly.
By the time the meeting finally ended, both men had reached a strong understanding.
ZAGE would approach Tupac officially in the future to negotiate contracts for music licensing, possible game appearances, voice work, creative input, and potential collaboration through PolyGram. Tupac did not fully commit to joining PolyGram yet, but he was clearly interested enough to continue talking.
As Zaboru stood up to leave, Tupac also stood and shook his hand properly this time without any testing.
"Next time," Tupac said, "don't come here alone. This place ain't exactly safe."
Zaboru smiled. "You're saying that after making me come here?"
Tupac grinned. "Yeah. I wanted to see if you had guts."
"And?"
Tupac laughed. "You got guts."
Zaboru chuckled. "Good to know."
Tupac pointed at him. "But don't get too comfortable, game king. If your company makes that hip-hop fighting game corny, I'll roast you publicly."
Zaboru grinned. "Fair. If your character in the game fights badly, I'll make him lose to a tutorial enemy."
Tupac's eyes widened.
Then he laughed loudly. "Man, get out of here."
Zaboru left the bar with a satisfied smile.
Outside, Ryan Miller immediately approached him, looking relieved that nothing had gone wrong.
"How was it, Boss?"
Zaboru glanced back at the smoky bar.
Then he smiled.
"Good. He's intense, but he's smart. And he cares about authenticity. That's exactly what we need."
Ryan let out a breath. "So the meeting succeeded?"
"Yeah," Zaboru said. "Prepare the legal and creative teams. We'll approach him again later."
Ryan nodded quickly. "Understood."
Tupac Shakur was only one piece.
But he was an important piece.
After this, Zaboru would prepare to return to Japan.
To be continued.
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