STAND BY YOUR BULLY
This is one review I’d rather not write, because I’ve rarely seen potential wasted so thoroughly.
Lost Judgment has one genuinely strong asset: its story. That story alone just barely lifts the game into what I’d call “decent” territory. Almost everything else is either flawed, inconsequential, or such a distraction that the game would be better without it. Even the narrative itself isn’t perfectly executed—the themes are often stronger than their delivery—but the underlying dramatic ambition is undeniable.
I’ve enjoyed most of Ryu Ga Gotoku Studio’s output over the years. Their Yakuza-series is a must-play. But this is the first time I sincerely wish they would abandon their trademark open-district formula, because here it actively undermines the narrative. As a player, you’re stuck in a lose–lose situation: beeline the main story and you expose its repetitive exposition and structural weaknesses; embrace the open world and you introduce tonal whiplash and pacing issues that deflate the drama entirely.
All things considered, this is the studio’s weakest game among those I’ve reviewed—rivaled only by Yakuza 4, which suffered from similar issues, though to a lesser degree. Ironically, Lost Judgment tells a far better story, which makes its shortcomings hurt all the more.
The game is a sequel to 2018’s Judgment, and once again follows lawyer-turned-private-detective Takayuki Yagami and his ex-yakuza partner Kaito. The spin-off retained real-time action combat after the main Yakuza series switched to turn-based mechanics in part seven—a decision that disappointed some fans, though not me.
This time, Yagami travels from Kamurocho to Yokohama to help old acquaintances who’ve opened their own detective agency. They’re investigating high school bullying, a case that soon intersects with a molestation trial Yagami has already concluded back home, involving a police officer accused of groping a woman on a train.
As the investigation deepens, it becomes clear that Yagami’s interference is unwelcome. The more he digs, the more dangerous the situation becomes—not only for himself, but for those close to him. While the story is often clumsily told, with excessive repetition and over-explanation, its treatment of bullying and suicide is handled with unusual care. Several scenes are directed with remarkable sensitivity and will stay with me for a long time.
One such moment shows a bullied student on a school rooftop, desperately gesturing for a teacher to remain silent—to not expose his hiding place. She complies, helplessly. It doesn’t save him. He’s later found dead by his father, having taken his own life rather than endure the fear any longer.
This is devastating, real-world material, and when Lost Judgment is at its best, it reaches a level of emotional gravity I’ve rarely seen in games. Frankly, the main story deserves to exist in a completely different game—one dedicated solely to its themes, without the baggage of open-world distractions. Instead, Ryu Ga Gotoku Studio insists on stuffing it full of the usual urban chaos: mini-games, combat encounters, wacky side stories, and genre whiplash. The result is tragic. I couldn’t help feeling both sad and angry.
The problem is compounded by the game’s assumption that players will constantly drift away from the main plot. To compensate, the script hammers the same story beats into the ground. If you focus on the main story, you’ll hear every plot point repeated ad nauseam. With minimal dialogue choices, the experience often devolves into passively reading and listening—less interactive storytelling, more visual novel padding. Long stretches consist of little more than walking from cutscene to cutscene through broken-record conversations.
The detective gameplay, sparse in the main quest, offers only the illusion of agency. Tailing, interrogations, lockpicking, chases, and crime scene investigations are all heavily scripted and trivially easy. You can’t fail meaningfully. An interrogation won’t progress until you select every correct topic. A crime scene won’t end until the required evidence is found. Lose a suspect during a chase and you’re forced to retry until you succeed.
Ironically, the most inventive gameplay appears in a massive side activity centered around high school clubs. Yagami works undercover as an advisor, participating in dance battles, drone fights, boxing, skateboarding, and more—each with its own simplistic mini-game. Some of these stories are genuinely amusing.
But they exist in total isolation from the main narrative. Engaging with them freezes the primary plot entirely, replacing it with long grinds toward incremental progress bars and paltry rewards. With so many such activities, the tonal inconsistency becomes unbearable, and the emotional weight of the central story collapses.
Outside of school, you’re still juggling two cities full of distractions: arcades, gambling, shogi, mahjong, drone races, a bizarre VR board game, retro SEGA Master System games, forgettable side cases, and an underwhelming dating sim. It’s all technically competent—and entirely misplaced.
Yagami himself doesn’t help. He’s a dull, overly righteous protagonist whose unwavering moral certainty clashes badly with the game’s unfocused structure. In a story full of moral ambiguity, he never doubts himself, never falters, and is never wrong. He succeeds at everything, effortlessly—a textbook “Mary Sue,” spared the label largely because he’s male. He feels fundamentally miscast, better suited to a tightly written drama than a sandbox of tonal chaos.
Thankfully, he’s surrounded by a strong supporting cast. One particular antagonist ranks among the most compelling video game villains I’ve encountered, with motivations that are disturbingly understandable. Returning characters from the first game are shoehorned in somewhat awkwardly, but remain entertaining nonetheless.
Combat, when it appears, is mechanically excellent but dramatically pointless. Yagami retains his tiger and crane styles and gains a nimble new viper stance, capable of knocking enemies unconscious without excessive harm—a politically considerate touch when dealing with school delinquents. Unfortunately, combat is far too easy. Endless healing items, overpowered heat actions, and weak enemy AI ensure that no fight poses any real threat.
Worse, many story-driven fights are absurdly contrived. You’ve seen this trope before: the hero tracks someone down to deliver vital information, the person refuses to listen, and instead of simply talking, a fistfight ensues so the plot can continue afterward. It’s lazy, transparent, and increasingly irritating.
Ryu Ga Gotoku Studio seems terrified of stepping outside its own design boundaries. What if they made a game without an open world? Without endless side activities? Without combat at all? Their fear may be understandable—but it cripples Lost Judgment.
The game ultimately flirts with a troubling idea: that society is ruled by bullies, and survival depends on choosing which one to follow—the law, the police, vigilantes, jocks—while the truly vulnerable are always crushed. It’s an unsettling theme, and perhaps an intentional one.
At the very least, Lost Judgment made me think deeply about real-world issues, which is more than can be said for most games. The ending is powerful, even if it’s buried beneath hours of bad design.
So is it worth it? Or would you be better off watching a 90–120 minute film on the same subject—say, Lucas (1986)—instead of committing 50 hours to this bloated experience?
I’ll leave that to you. But this is me telling one of my favorite developers:
You had something special here, and you squandered it.
You haven’t lost me yet—but go back to the drawing board.
Be better.
Comments
Post a Comment