Mechanically reinforces the brutality of MMA within the context of RGG's thematic sensibilities. Flawed combat that utilizes its difficulty curve to make Tatsuya's struggle just that much more worth it. Brushstroke stylization paints a beautiful narrative that places a violence-prone teen through a thorough character arc a lot of people can relate to. Even with some rushed segments in the recent translation, the script's intrigue and emotion are still present. Like Judgment, it's a fundamental understanding of what makes this series tick that allows Black Panther to feel at home with the other Yakuza games.

There's no way I'm gonna lose.

Title: Final Fantasy VII Rebirth: A Masterful Continuation of an Iconic Legacy

As a lifelong fan of the Final Fantasy series, experiencing the magnificence of Final Fantasy VII Rebirth was an emotional journey unlike any other. Serving as a direct sequel to the acclaimed Final Fantasy VII Remake, this installment not only honors the beloved classic but also charts a bold new course, expanding upon its rich lore and characters in ways that are both awe-inspiring and deeply resonant.

From the moment I stepped back into the dystopian city of Midgar, I was enveloped in a world brimming with wonder and danger. The attention to detail in the environment design is nothing short of breathtaking, with each location meticulously crafted to evoke a sense of nostalgia while introducing fresh elements that keep the experience feeling vibrant and alive. Whether I was navigating the labyrinthine streets of Sector 7 or scaling the towering plateaus of the Shinra Headquarters, every corner of the world felt meticulously realized and ripe for exploration.

One of the most striking aspects of Final Fantasy VII Rebirth is its narrative depth and complexity. Building upon the foundation laid by its predecessor, the sequel delves deeper into the intricate web of politics, spirituality, and personal vendettas that define the world of Gaia. The story unfolds with a sense of urgency and gravitas, weaving together the destinies of its diverse cast of characters in a tapestry of epic proportions. Moments of heart-wrenching tragedy are juxtaposed with scenes of triumphant heroism, creating a narrative arc that is as emotionally resonant as it is captivating.

Moreover, Final Fantasy VII Rebirth introduces a host of new gameplay mechanics and features that elevate the experience to new heights. The revamped combat system seamlessly blends real-time action with strategic decision-making, allowing for dynamic battles that are as exhilarating as they are tactical. The inclusion of new playable characters and summonable allies adds depth to the party dynamics, offering players a wealth of options for customizing their playstyle and overcoming formidable foes.

In addition to its engrossing single-player campaign, Final Fantasy VII Rebirth also delivers an immersive multiplayer experience that allows players to join forces with friends and strangers alike in epic battles against powerful adversaries. Whether teaming up to tackle challenging dungeons or competing in intense PvP matches, the multiplayer component adds a new layer of social interaction and replayability to the game, ensuring that the adventure never truly ends.

Overall, Final Fantasy VII Rebirth stands as a testament to the enduring legacy of one of gaming's most iconic franchises. With its breathtaking visuals, emotionally resonant storytelling, and engaging gameplay, it represents the pinnacle of what a modern RPG can achieve. Whether you're a longtime fan of the series or a newcomer eager to embark on an unforgettable journey, Final Fantasy VII Rebirth is an absolute triumph that demands to be experienced.

“Power has always reigned supreme. Some use, while others become the used. Those who hold power are protected by it. Do you know why?”

“Because that is this country’s very foundation.”

Yakuza 4 is rough and sloppy. It’s got a ton of loose ends and demands some touching up. However, its deep and thorough reverence for series’ legacy can’t be overlooked. If you can look past the iffy occasional plotline, 4 is a thorough mechanical exploration of the series and its ideological framework. Broken men accustomed to a broken system, and yet punching their way up through pure meathead tenacity and physical brutality. Vested interest in noble samurai myth, modernized in Japan’s organized crime. Despite their many shortcomings, however, the four men atop the Millennium Tower hold a shared conviction.

Imbued with Koichi Yamadera’s swagger and nonplussed voice lines, Shun Akiyama exists as Kamurocho native. He doesn’t drop in to visit when things get rough, he’s lying around in his office during the dry patches when alleged virtuous yakuza come storming down the street. Akiyama’s seen it all, the absolute height of stature and the nadir of poverty. He’s not above sharing a couple beers with the homeless discarded around West Park. After three mainline games of steamrolling everything in sight as Kiryu, Akiyama is a nice refresher that places the world the men share in a new perspective. Suddenly, even the most petty and minute yakuza feuds become huge headaches. The ebb and flow of crime and commerce in Kamurocho is just something you get used to.

To the confusion of Kanemura’s goons, Akiyama isn’t in it for money. He’s got more of that shit than anyone could ever need. He’s like a god, strolling through the city knowing anyone that fucks with him gets the good old one-two capoeira treatment. Akiyama owes his life to the yakuza. Nishiki’s explosive departure back in ‘05 gave him an extra chance out of the life stripped away from him by the powers that be. And if that wasn’t good enough, good old Arai meted out his brand of justice to anyone looking to rob a desperate homeless man. Shun’s got nothing but respect for Arai – in his eyes, a spitting image of a future chairman. Just as the man gave him the means to pursue greater things, Akiyama’s in love with the idea of offering his own second chances to clients.

Taiga Saejima takes matters into his own hands. No bullshitting around, no asking questions until after things are done. He’s resilient as an ox, and chained down by his eighteen sins carried out all the way back in 1985. RGG Studio plays around with the idea of a good-natured yakuza grunt funneled through 25 years of The System. Saejima doesn’t have the charisma of an Akiyama or a kind of tactical mind like those moving him around as a chess piece, but he exists as an immovable wall. Saejima contrasts with Kiryu and Majima in the utter disgust he views his own legend with. He won’t look back ‘cause he cares way more about helping Sasai out than anything else, but the 18 men he took out haunt him every day. Detached civvies stand around Purgatory, treating him like a circus act – waiting for the tiger’s ferocity to dominate deathmatches. But Saejima is scared shitless of putting down another man ever again. Nobody understands the weight of life more than a man with a conscience that’s taken it.

Majima processes his trauma through his facade of the Mad Dog, an idea further touched on in Zero and Kiwami 2. The immense guilt from leaving his brother behind, and the fear of getting tricked by an asshole like Shibata again shares him shitless. But Saejima doesn’t really have that kind of tool. There’s nothing he uses to help him sleep at night, to him getting drunk on a delusion or distraction to help him sleep would mean he’s forgotten the eighteen lives he believes he’s stolen, even if just for a night.

Guy wanted nothing more than to save his stepsister and make sure she had a proper organ transplant, but ends up signing off his life to the Sasai Family, serving their beck-and-call. Despite always being under someone, Saejima chooses to be that way. He’s no charismatic magnet, but he attracts those around him willing to listen and change. Fundamentally, even if it’s for the sake of someone else, the man faces everything head-on.

Yasuko tells Tanimura his brother wanted to be a teacher. While he’s got no chance these days of being in the education system, Saejima naturally gravitates towards his mentor role. When he’s able to look past his guilt and self-loathing, the man’s able to pour into young men looking up to him. The Sodachi Dojo reinforces this idea and the way he encourages Kido to face shit head on is inspiring.

Tanimura’s a weird guy. If Akiyama is king of the night, running a good chunk of Kamurocho’s businesses, Tanimura’s here for the little nooks and crannies of the city. He knows he’s not a saint, and doesn’t care either. Meandering about day to day, knowing he can strong arm the healthy black market in the city. What’s there to say about him? He’s a dirty cop that fits the similarly coarse setting of the city. Compared to the seemingly morally righteous Arai, Tanimura doesn’t try to back up his shit with any kind of lofty speeches. He’ll empty a mag inches away from your head if it gets you talking. This fictionalized archetype of “bad cop” fits great with the storyline and adds a well-deserved extra dimension to Kamurocho.

Yakuza 4, and the series as a whole, is tied together by Kiryu’s conviction. He’s a pretty well-rounded guy by this point, living comfortably as a living legend and carrying on Kazama’s legacy through his orphanage. Kiryu’s inspirational words drive Yakuza 4: even the biggest pieces of shit can come around and learn to confide in others. Hamazaki, the guy who eats duck bones like potato chips and leaves bombs in suitcases, the man willing to surprise poke Kiryu in the gut, can still choose what little he has left of his life to shape a better world. Kiryu and Saejima are similarly bull-headed guys that have gone through it: losing their loved ones and being forced to adjust to a criminal world so incredibly drastically different from their glory days. It sucks, but Kiryu’s seen this shit before. After Yasuko croaks, Kiryu’s the one to push his ass into action.

“Too many people depend on us. Their dreams depend on us.”

Kiryu’s messed up quite a bit. He’s fundamentally split between his second life raising kids and the enormous Kanto criminal organization he pretty much walked straight out of. His routine of slipping in to help out when shit gets real bad and pulling out the whole rest of the year might be convenient, but the incredibly variable nature of his arrivals means the Tojo Clan is slowly dying. Daigo’s more aware of this than anybody else, and the rosy ideals of Kiryu don’t really convince him anymore. After the Hakuho Clan falling apart with Mine’s death, what else is he supposed to do? In his eyes, they’re pretty much screwed. And yet, it’s so incredibly damn important that the way of life we’ve vicariously lived through these past few games is preserved. Kiryu and Saejima need to fight for the Tojo Clan:

“It’s the only proof that guys like us ever existed.”

Yakuza 4 fully comes to terms with the series’ romanticizing of yakuza and places it within a deeply corrupt framework, distilling series tropes of backstabbings and betrayals down to rapid-fire gunshot sequences almost beyond parody. The reality of the yakuza, and the Kamuro police, is they’re deeply sinister and morally bankrupt. Despite it all, we can still aspire to meet Kiryu’s undying conviction.

Enjoyable when viewed as a holistic product and as simply a gameplay loop. Frustratingly, I never got the impression of the game being particularly "punk". Night City's fleshed out just fine, but the commentary on late-stage-capitalism didn't hit as hard as I wanted. Unfortunately I'm the kind of person that primarily plays RPGs for their storylines and I wasn't too impressed with this one. Will probably replay and revisit, especially the Phantom Liberty DLC.

I do appreciate the lack of DRM. Getting the game off GOG was a seamless experience.

After bursting onto the scene the year before into the HD era, RGG Studio (at that time SEGA’s CS1 team) had set up the groundwork for a full mainline entry in their ongoing series. It would chronicle Kiryu’s life and legacy as a character representative of the post-console era of the company.

Three is rough. There’s a million different things that you can pick apart and use to present the game as “objectively bad”. But it doesn’t matter. Three is the beating heart of Kiryu’s saga and the keystone entry that defines who the character is and largely what he’ll live for.

The importance of trust, bonds, and embracing humanity are pounded into your brain.

Mechanically speaking, there is no coincidence that you are hard locked into engaging with Kiryu’s kids and helping them each out with their problems. You can’t skip these segments, you can’t ignore them and move on to the “real plot”, because Morning Glory and Okinawa define why Kiryu keeps going. When Ayako feels she isn’t valued by the rest of the kids, you’re presented with seven dedicated dialogue choices to help them each learn to appreciate her. When Taichi's allergies trigger, you and Rikiya go out of your way to do a faux wrestling match just to inspire him. It’s very intentional and a big part of the emotional foundation of the game.

Kids aren’t quite at the point where they can dive deep into organized crime and feel its consequences, and yet the unflinching trust Kiryu is insistent on giving is a recurring element of the game. He’s entirely open to reviving Kashiwagi’s Honest Living Association to give washed-up yakuza another chance at life. He’s pounding this into Mine and Hamazaki at the end, even if it costs him his life.

What makes Kazuma Kiryu stand out among equally excellent protagonists in this series, the thing that he alone can really stand behind, is the overwhelming fatherly presence he carries. You listen to him speak with conviction and passion, and it makes you want to get off your lazy ass and do some reps. It makes you want to keep living, and rebuild. He lacks the emotional intelligence of Ichiban, and the brains of Yagami, but he’s the only one who can really fill the void of a father figure.

The themes and ideas from Yakuza 3 would carry onto the rest of the series and be explored beautifully. With Kiryu’s conviction being passed on all the way to his successor in Infinite Wealth, it was a great choice to revisit this incredibly important chapter in a series I love.

It doesn't work.

3 is a game that has a lot of idiosyncracies and quirks to it that allow it to stand out among not just other entries in its series, but JRPGs in general. The limitations and frictive elements reinforce how finite the experience is and encourage engagement with its time management systems. Reload, as I vaguely riffed on with my one sentence review before, largely strips the game of most of the charm and leaves me with a product that is perfectly competent and yet feels deeply artless.

Persona 3 back in 2006 was designed as a fresh reboot with a fresh set of eyes on the series as whole. It's a monumental game for Hashino and Soejima -- while it wasn't their first work on Atlus' games, the duo created something distinctly... theirs. Something about the complete lack of involvement of the original creative names behind the game, including the no-brainer inclusion of Shoji Meguro at minimum, puts a bad taste in my mouth. It's not even that I'm drunk off auteur worship and think a loving product can't be made with new hands. It's that... Persona 3 is not a new product. It's an old one with a lot of significance to Atlus' history.

Reload manages to take a step back on almost every mechanic established in the original as a purposeful statement. One of the most immediately noticeable is the removal of a functional tactics/AI system. Others have highlighted the flaccid, restrictive and ineffective system in the remake and how it's largely not a replacement for the experience on the PS2. Without getting too into details, I'd rather highlight the logic behind its design from Hashino himself.

Hashino: There are a lot of RPGs out there where you can control every aspect of your party members, including what kind of underwear they are wearing… but because we wanted the player to relate to the Hero more than any other character in “Persona 3”, we wanted the other characters to feel like “other people”.

Soejima: It was important to make that distinction. It helped to emphasize the concept of Social Links, and it also allowed us to show off the improved AI. It would have been extra cool if the party members had been completely free of player control, but we knew that would be pushing it a bit too far, so we gave the player control over their equipment at least.

Hashino: It’s true that we got some feedback stating that the party system was “too difficult” to control effectively, but I’ll honestly say that I don’t regret doing what we did with it. I’m glad we stuck to our guns on that one.

You don't have to love the mechanic in the original, there's room for criticism in how it was implemented and established. However, it helps no one to not understand the very purposeful thematic statements Hashino wished to express -- the individuality and independence of your comrades in SEES. Reload does not even attempt to improve upon and evolve these systems, but does away with them as if they're just worthless cruft and "clunk" that needs to be stripped away.

Similar frictive elements have been gutted, such as the fatigue system, the maze-like structure of Tartarus being morphed into wide, open spaces with no intrigue or rat-brain navigation, and a myriad of other changes adjusted for "modern sensibilities". Reload is explicitly designed to model after 5 and the philosophies and approaches that game established.

I think the frustration here comes less from Reload being a bad video game in isolation and moreso how frustrating a precedent it sets. I do not want to live in a world where older properties and works are reheated and find themselves homogenized with recent best-sellers.

Yakuza 2 beautifully parallels the first game and explores the legacy Kiryu left behind in a different light. Its leads are faced with the expectation of peeling past the layers of fear and doubt of their lived experiences and coming to terms with the truth.

The experience is laced with gorgeous cinematic shots and muted lighting, characteristic PS2 bloom and depth of field effects. The soundtrack is grimier and angstier than the original and punches up the combat. Kiryu has the fastest combo speed in the entire franchise here.

Yakuza 2, above all else, shows the value in confiding in emotional growth and living true to yourself. Kiryu and Ryuji will shape their own legends in the yakuza, accepting their mistakes and acknowledging who they are, even if their lives can be taken by a scattered moment of betrayal and violence.

2 reinforces the virtuous and aspirational masculinity of the franchise in a simple phrase from Ryuji: a real man oughta be a little stupid.

The sins of the yakuza are mine. And if I have to, I'll take on every last one.

If Kiryu’s saga established the man as a legend inextricably tied to underground crime, Infinite Wealth is truly able to bind the man to his fate.

Yakuza 5 establishes one point clearly: while he can hide all he wants, while he can even try to erase his identity and wallow in regret, he cannot erase his name.

If Ichiban’s previous game established anything, it’s making clear that you can truly rise up from any odds if you put your mind to it. Rehabilitation is possible, and if a washed-up 42-year-old former yakuza can take down the governor of Tokyo, so can anyone else.

7 establishes this guy’s ideals, and rather than him simply follow the footsteps and mistakes of his predecessor, Ichiban’s natural familial lovingness and talent for leadership are given a purpose by Kiryu.

The infinite wealth of experiences both we and Kiryu have gone through, the countless trials and tribulations, the visceral deaths and betrayals, it all defines who he is. Kiryu is deeply frustrated with who he’s become, but he can’t run away. He’ll take the sins of the yakuza with him, the lived experiences, the brutality, the violence. It’s his burden to carry, and it’s Ichiban’s to shape a better Japan in his stead.

Infinite Wealth’s enormous berth of side content, extravagant set pieces, rock solid character writing, and sense of scale cement it as the greatest work RGG Studio has created. Some iffy pacing and rough edges cannot hold back the beautiful storytelling that wraps the story of one of the most inspirational protagonists of the genre in a bow.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezWWBPbwBvo

Revisiting on Steam Deck has enhanced the experience closer to its beautiful 15fps average. Drakengard 3 is a really good summation of Taro's outlook on games as a medium -- the aggressive irreverence for structure and our relationship with violence.

Zero is just as vicious as Caim or any other genre protagonist if you're willing to grind your ass off in those games. The difference is she is largely trying to correct and bring together her mistakes and sense of identity. The idea that she's even remotely a good person is gone, and all that remains is a desire to set the world right. The ultraviolence and her borderline sadism and overt sexuality set a uniquely conscious tone to the work that the medium often doesn't achieve with female characters. Mikhail reconciles with his identity in a similar way and is able to help Zero end her nightmare.

The cast alongside her sucks, however, and I can't understand how people can sit through their trite horny dialogue for hours. 3 is an incredibly rough and coarse game, and despite my mild hate boner for the way it's designed, I'm happy it exists.

Rain unflinchingly crashes down and streaks of the city of night’s lights span the environment like a giant Christmas tree. Pockets of violence in poorly-lit alleys, excess amounts of sex and indulgence are right there on display. Trash coats the streets – between the literal garbage and mindless yakuza looking to brutalize civvies. The PS2 adds a thick blur and bloom that toes the line between feeling shit-faced drunk and nostalgically hazy.

It’s winter in Kamurocho.

Toshihiro Nagoshi felt REALLY strongly about getting his project across to SEGA. With an ensemble cast of SEGA R&D developers having worked on a wide range of experiences, they were tasked with communicating the viscerally human experience he envisioned back in the fall of ‘05.

Ryu ga Gotoku was an ambitious title, especially to be cranked out in such a short time span. With a pretty chunky budget, and a fresh engine with all of its tooling having to be built from the ground-up, it seemed like an insurmountable task. But, at the end of the day, the game came out and really pushed SEGA into the 21st century. I like to think that binding the whole group together, keeping the project coherent and passionate, were the unflinching ideals of Kiryu himself.

Yakuza’s a real treat if you’re like me and love Japanese crime novels and movies. It’s in a lot of ways a Takashi Miike pastiche, with the extreme silver screen brutality of his films being translated to cinematic heat actions Kiryu can pull off. Hase Seishu, a prolific yakuza crime novelist, played a big role in punching up the script – putting some extra age on Kiryu and Date. Yakuza 1’s roots are in the rich atmosphere of that late 90s/early 2000s film culture, and the studio wanted nothing more than to present a slice of that experience on the PS2.

Kiryu’s combat is unrefined and characterized by its slow, meaty punches and kicks. The typical beat-em-up smash, crack, and crunch is taken to an 11. The heat system rewards engaging with the combat system with cinematic finishes characteristic of a martial arts flick. The slowness and sluggishness of Kiryu forces him to take things slowly, being mindful of proper zoning and positioning as walls of thugs come for his head. He’s strong, yeah, but Yakuza is able to avoid him feeling superhuman.

The experience was and still is ephemeral in its airtight pacing, uniquely mid-2000s grit, and healthy dose of first-game jank. Even then, Yakuza’s formula was so damn good it kicked off a franchise.

Soon after Yakuza 1 opens, we’re given a brief scene in Serena – despite Kiryu’s gruff demeanor and the tough guy attitude needed to collect loans and pummel people into submission, he’s an open book around people he considers family. Reina tends to the bar while Kiryu and Nishikiyama flank Yumi in the chairs. The scene’s entirely silent, but you can get the impression there’s an unspoken, rich history that Kiryu’s lived through. 1995 feels like a tiny glimpse into the everyday life of Kiryu – the story could have easily focused on the many fights he’s been in before that point that built up the Dragon of Dojima, but instead he’s humanized.

And despite it all, there’s a feeling that none of it’s gonna last. Nishiki brings up his dying sister, as a perfect representation of how this peace is on borrowed time. Kazama reminds him to visit Sunflower Orphanage once in a while…

…and it happens. Dojima lays his stubby fingers on Yumi, and Nishiki and Kiryu seal their fates.

Kiryu’s spent a whole game bonding with those around him, shaping other men in his life to become better fathers. His journey isn’t one of developing raw strength, he’s got plenty of that. No, it’s about being able to break the vicious cycle he’s been trapped in. Taking blows for his oath brother, pretty much signing off his life to the yakuza for good, and being appointed the fourth chairman of a massive Kanto organization is enough to define a legend. But, Kiryu’s able to fulfill the wisdom of the dragon on his back by simply living happily on his own terms. He’ll define his own path, his own idea of strength, even if it means starting things fresh with an orphan set on a similar path to his own. Kiryu can pursue happiness, he can unflinchingly look towards his own future, because he’s able to address his past and face it head on. The pain is overwhelming, crippling, but it’s a part of living.

The waterfall legend of the koi, and its uncompromising desire to reach the top and become a dragon, can’t be ignored. Nishiki isn’t happy. There’s not a point in the story where he isn’t dealing with some turmoil. Everyone walks all over him. His sister died, in his eyes, to his own powerlessness. His childhood crush won’t even look at him. He’s fundamentally limited by his feelings – his frustrations and personal limitations.

And so, he’ll try and change his destiny. He’ll step on whoever he wants, do any kind of underhanded tactics, if it means he can hit the top. It’s past the point of no return, and he wants it all.

But… what’s there? What awaits Nishiki at the top? For whose sake is he continuing to push on?

To live is to not run away

The original Yakuza, the game that transitioned Sega out of the in-house console era onto the PS2, opens with this line. It embodies the spirit of the entire franchise that would come to be. Yakuza’s spirit was that of the romanticized Bushido code mixed with the rich atmosphere and contemporary setting of Yakuza crime movies. What distinguished Kiryu from the real-life yakuza was his way of life: his tenacity and insistence on walking the path laid out for him.

Yakuza 0, as a tenth anniversary celebration, looks to explore that tenacity, that insistence on looking past the inflating yen of the late 80s, and direct Kiryu and another man with a common conviction—Goro Majima—toward their personal truths.

> Through this whole ordeal, I saw a lot of people try to set things right. It blew me away, man. Not just yakuza. Civilians too. It really drove home just how green I still am.

The streets of Kamurocho in ‘88 were dirty and grimy. There’s a bed of trash coating the sidewalk, and gaudy lights and excess are laid out everywhere. It’s the kind of environment that breeds monsters willing to tear each other apart, tooth and nail, for a spot of land about the size of a doghouse. Perfect space for a 20-year-old Kiryu, aimlessly following the whims of others and vaguely following his adoptive father’s footsteps.

Kiryu’s philosophy and way of life is slowly being brought to the surface. Every surprise attack he gets from Kuze, every slimy wishy-washy opinion from Awano, and every piece of shit thing a yakuza takes the liberty of doing to those he cares about pushes him over the edge. There’s a level of reverence 0’s Kiryu plot has towards the character’s legacy as a whole – filling in some of the missing pieces of characterization that understandably couldn’t be explored in the original ‘05 game.
Kuze specifically is masterfully crafted as a benchmark for how Kiryu is doing, and his level of resolve. He’s a stubborn old man that tries to constantly beat Kiryu down through raw strength reminiscent of his boxer days. He’s the crown jewel of Kiryu’s antagonists in his simplicity and brutality. Tachibana was able to confide in a young Kiryu, but it took his death for a switch to flip in the kid’s head – he’s going to stop the lieutenants with his own two fists even if it costs him his life. Walking away, the old man’s able to acknowledge Kiryu as fit for the job.

Shibusawa isn’t nearly as competently written as Kuze, but his ability to challenge Kiryu’s beliefs and sense of direction by highlighting the futility of honorable yakuza and Shintaro Kazama’s disregard for the idea forces Kiryu to make a personal change – he’s no longer his oyabun’s puppet but wants nothing more than to carve out his own fate.
As he gets his last drink in at Serena, Kiryu throws on a gray suit: it’s not a pure white, but black isn’t particularly fitting either. It’s grounded by a passionate, burning red collared shirt underneath.


> Watchin’ you, I figured out just how important hangin’ on really is.


Soutenbori is similarly drowning in excess, but a level of sophistication comes from the sprawling cabaret scene and laid-back food-focused economy of Osaka. The indulgence of the settings hides the truth: it’s a jail for a Majima in his mid-20s, treated like a toy, and referred to as “Shimano’s project."

Yakuza 4 sets the groundwork for Majima as more than comic relief but establishes him as a broken man using the facade of the Mad Dog to get through to the next day. There’s a certain level of reverence both Majima and the story itself share in regards to the alleged “slayer of 18," Taiga Saejima.

Majima’s arc has a lot of highlights, one of the most prominent being the parallels drawn between a young, recently traumatized Goro and a young girl limited by her psychosomatically triggered blindness. Makoto grounds Majima’s story and forces him to punch above his weight and be shaped into more than just a hitman. The implication in Yakuza 4’s cutscene where he and Saejima prepare to gun down the Ueno Seiwa clan is that this isn’t their first time doing something like this. Saejima himself has done some dirty shit and no way his sworn brother hasn’t tagged along.
Unfortunately, Makoto is frustratingly passive throughout most of the story. She is entirely aware of this, but this self-awareness doesn’t really sway me over to loving her character. It doesn’t help that her big statement of independence is where she foolishly puts her life at risk in front of a cabal of hardened yakuza.

Sagawa is excellent and stands as a checkpoint for Majima to look at as he grows and experiences the storyline. He’s always right around the corner, taunting Majima and being a stick up the guy’s ass. It’s unfortunate that no one else really has the staying power he does consistently throughout the narrative. Lao Gui feels like a last-minute addition that is hamfistedly Majima’s final boss.

Goro Majima’s story is one that pushes the guy into his own twisted way of life – even if he pushes everyone away from him and destroys his ability to be engaged with seriously. As a mad dog, nobody can throw him into a bullshit scheme. No one can trick and deceive him, nobody can pull out weird underhanded tactics, and no one can ever toss him into an alley and gouge out his eye.

Majima is not Kiryu. I wish this could have been further reinforced throughout Zero. This might be a bit of a hot take, but I genuinely wished Majima had taken out Lao Gui with his own two hands. Sera bullshits him with weird excuses like “Makoto wouldn’t want to carry that weight”, knowing full well the girl still resents the Dojima Family deeply and openly expresses a desire for their destruction. Majima’s big poignant moment could have been giving Lao Gui a quick gash to the head with a knife, refusing to take orders from anyone he doesn’t feel like. Majima didn’t have a Nishiki-type figure to stop him at the moment – Saejima is in jail. I was really hungry for the more unstable, vicious Majima we see in Yakuza 1, and the lack of these moments in the main story make it hard to believe the guy organically transitioned into that older iteration.

While Zero continues this exploration beautifully, its characterization of Majima doesn’t quite strike the balance of moral grayness in his earlier iterations with the more archetypal heroism of past RGG protagonists—he's forced to be a Kiryu-type in substories, side content, and at points in the main story.

The grind of the bubble

Zero is in love with the legacy of the franchise, and as a last-ditch effort to encourage newcomers, it pushes the player into engaging with its side attractions. As this isn’t my first time experiencing the game, it really got on my nerves.

Majima’s Cabaret Club Czar starts off as a fun minigame that espouses traditional Yakuza protagonist beliefs of fair play and fair treatment of women. It takes the awful cabaret hostess minigame from Yakuza 3 and 4 and flips it on its head, making it an enjoyable bite-sized experience you can knock out in 3-minute intervals.

The different women you interact with are really likable and fun to be around. Their presence is made clear through the cabaret “practice” dialogue you go through with them, and the outings like pool, disco, and karaoke feel very emblematic of the era. I think my favorite hostess was Ai.

It follows a very predictable pattern that side content tends to follow in these games in the same vein as Yakuza 5’s racing. You’ve got five big bads that each answer to an even bigger bad, and after beating the shit out of each of them, they join your side. While you can see the progression from a mile, you’d have to be a real cynical person to not get even a grin out of the interactions.

The problem is, like most of 0’s side content, you’re pushed into doing an entire session of the mechanic starting the game out, and if you want to meaningfully level up your skill tree and remove its blockages, you really have to thoroughly and consistently engage with it. CCC is grindy, and if you’re not doing it on the side, you’ll have to just dedicate days of your life to catching up if you want to really level up the game’s styles.

You end it with the Mad Dog awakening, which is less a thematic parallel and more a gesture of fan service.

Looking at Kiryu’s Real Estate Royale, things are a lot worse. While CCC was a minigame that demanded your active attention, Real Estate Royale is entirely passive and expects you to dedicate real life time to it. The subplot with your two coworkers and the Five Kings is a less engaging version of Majima’s. Real estate is far more inflexible to different players’ preferences on how they engage with side content. The expectation is that the user would be tending to real estate on the side between the plots, but not only does this fundamentally break the airtight pacing of the main story, but it’s far too common for players to be too engaged to care for the extraneous bits of a completely disconnected narrative. There’s also an irony in the core mechanic being real estate and accumulating absolute mountains of money that eclipse anything the main story is fighting over.

RER also expects you to accumulate a lot of money through purchases of various properties in the seedy Kamurocho underbelly. If you haven’t figured out the common fan strategy of cheesing Mr. Shakedown and getting multipliers off your collection of money, you’ll have to manage by grinding the real estate mechanic itself, gambling on janken half-naked wrestling games, and hopefully running into a couple Nouveau Riche enemies.

At the end, you’re greeted with the legendary Dragon of Dojima style, but about one-third of its usual speed thanks to Yakuza 0’s heat meter system.

That brings me to combat.

Zero’s combat in some ways tries to clean up the extravagant and incredibly long heat moves and over the top nature of Yakuza 5, the last mainline game with the traditional fist-to-fist brawler combat. The multiple style approach from the samurai spin offs Kenzan and Ishin was implemented here and in theory it’s a great idea. You have different approaches to handling combat scenarios and different flavors of enemy. However, the experience is held back entirely by an asinine decision – tying the heat meter’s increases to an increase in speed. This means if you have an empty heat meter, you’re incredibly slow. This happens quite a bit entering fights after having drained your heat on a previous encounter or boss fight, and it makes it increasingly more difficult to even land a hit in.

The point of Heat is to reward the player for staying on top of combat fundamentals by granting them the ability to pull off high-damage spectacle. It was nailed as early as the first game, but somehow they managed to take a step back in Zero? Like I mentioned above, Dragon of Dojima becomes a completely unviable style in this game simply because of how it’s clearly not designed to be played at .75x speed. The style you busted your ass for isn’t really worth using at any point in the game.

A true love letter

Despite it all, Yakuza 0 is an incredibly competent love letter towards the Yakuza franchise as a whole. Its consistent tone, airtight pacing, and avoidance of over-the-top twists characteristic of this franchise helped push Yakuza into the modestly successful franchise it's currently become in the West. Without this game, me and a lot of other people wouldn’t even know it existed. Zero raised the bar for maturity in the series’ storytelling and the games that would follow took the lessons from Zero to great success.