DICKENS GOES GANGSTA
Yakuza Kiwami 2's most striking update is the introduction of the Dragon Engine, previously used in Yakuza 6: The Song of Life. Gameplay feels smoother, with fewer loading screens, but above all, it looks phenomenal. The engine pushes the PlayStation 4 hardware to its limits—you can almost hear the GPU groan under the strain.
On a standard PS4, the framerate struggles in crowded areas, particularly on busy streets. Still, the sheer level of detail is remarkable. When the camera closes in, you can practically count the pores on characters’ faces. Effects like soot, sweat, and grime add texture and weight to the models, grounding them in their environment.
We simply see more of Kamurocho and Sotenbori—and we can even explore them in first-person mode. Neon lights, packed streets, cluttered shops: it’s all there. In photo mode, random pedestrians will even stop and strike a pose for the camera. I’ve never been to Japan, but after playing Yakuza Kiwami 2, it feels like I have.
Naturally, things spiral out of control. The chairman is assassinated right in front of Kiryu, dragging him back into “the business” once again. Teaming up with a female police officer—an orphan named Sayama—Kiryu sets out to uncover the truth. What follows is a melodramatic, Dickensian tale of abandoned children and fractured identities in the world of organized crime. And perhaps, just maybe, Kiryu might even find love.
On its own, the story is uneven and occasionally nonsensical. Yet when paired with the game’s atmosphere, combat, and confident cutscene direction, it works. The smaller character moments are far more effective than the grand twists. It’s the kind of narrative that grips you in the moment but collapses under retrospective scrutiny.
Not all characters fare as well. Honestly? I don’t like Haruka. I dislike how she’s written. Though she looks like a child, she often behaves like an emotionally omniscient adult, with sensibilities far beyond her years. It recalls Kirsten Dunst’s performance as an ancient vampire stuck within a child's body in Interview with the Vampire. Other characters feel forcibly inserted into the plot, overcomplicating an already tangled narrative. It often seems as though the writers struggle to justify the presence of every recurring face.
The revamped leveling system is equally welcome. Restaurants finally become central to progression. By exerting yourself—whether fighting or simply running around—you build up appetite. Eating grants large amounts of experience, and discovering effective meal combinations boosts gains further. Grinding becomes less tedious and more experimental as a result.
But that’s almost beside the point. In a world already overflowing with life and activity, it’s the substories that form the true heart of the Yakuza experience. They are what make the series utterly unique.
These side stories carry blunt life lessons, filtered through a warped, often hilarious lens. In one, I expose a fake exorcist—only to encounter a real ghost. In another, I talk a suicidal man out of killing himself, only to push him into a relationship guaranteed to ruin his life. In yet another, I introduce a talented songwriter who can’t sing to a gifted singer who can’t write.
A few minutes of Yakuza Kiwami 2 never tells the full story. You only grasp it by playing the entire game, absorbing its contradictions, excesses, and tonal whiplash. Looking back, you might think: “What the hell was all that?” And that’s exactly the right reaction. It’s a wild ride.
Unlike most narrative games, which build in natural stopping points, Yakuza Kiwami 2 seems determined to keep you inside its world. Downtime is just another opportunity to compete. Resting means falling behind. Friendships suffer under the pressure to be number one, and new alliances are forged only through business.
That is the harsh lesson at the core of Yakuza Kiwami 2. Though they could have been brothers, Kiryu and Ryuji are too alike to coexist. The world has no need for duplicates. Kindred spirits or not, they occupy the same space - and in that space, there can only be one.














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