Hello, I am here today to argue that Yakuza: Like a Dragon has damn-near perfect ending. I may need to explainā¦
Okay. So:
Sooooooo many spoilers for the ending of Yakuza 7 here:
Ichiban is an odd protagonist. He is not Kiryu. He is, by all diegetic accounts, a dreg of society raised in equal parts by a brothelās various employees, the Arakawa yakuza family, and his Super Famicom. As an adult, he has a wild naivete that is wholly informed by the basic morality lessons imparted by the Dragon Quest games. His chosen family brother, Masato Arakawa, despite being born in extremely similar circumstances ā down to them both being abandoned and found in coin lockers on the exact same night (this game operates on Parasite levels of ānot subtleā) ā not only got everything he could have possibly wanted from his patriarch father, but grew up to be a raging asshole/governor of Tokyo/chair of Japanās liberal party. Essentially, he had everything Ichi was denied. But despite the sheer, Absurdist forces pushing against him, Ichiban remains steadfast as Camusās āHappy Sisyphusā through every trial given to him before and during the course of this game.
Whatās more is that at every point where these two intersect throughout the gameās plot, I ā as the player ā wanted nothing more than to get clean and simple revenge on this dude. Heās justā¦so incredibly dislikable that itās honestly impressive. But Ichiban never does. He only continues to love this person who has always shown nothing but contempt and disdain toward him. Even by the very end, when you and your crew definitively ruin his ambitions to become the de facto dictator of Japan, Ichiās goal was never to destroy the person himself ā only his abhorrent intentions. Before you can detain him at the scene of the gameās final fight though, he runs off. Where else, but back to the place where both of their respective stories began. At that bank of coin lockers, Masato and Ichiban finally have their real one-on-one conversation that the former had been avoiding the whole time. Abjectly ruined in every possible way, all he has left is his pride and gun with enough bullets left to do something with. Ichi doesnāt buck though. He brings all of that naieve worldview heās carried with him for 40+ years of his life and steps toward Masato, wanting nothing more than to talk him down from his ledge and see that there is a life ā a good life ā waiting for him after he accepts his due punishment and plummets to rock bottom. And Masato, as you would expect, calls out Ichiās proclomations as nothing but bullshit idealist bullshit (honestly, like I did). But Ichiban still holds steadfast. He breaks down every last cubic inch of Masatoās cultivated persona: he reminds him of how the people Masato had killed loved him more than anyone; how Ichi himself ā despite being left to die, despite being left to cover for Masatoās own murder ā wants nothing more than to show his own love for him as an honest to God brother for him. Ichi, through sheer force of will and emotional fortitude, convinces him that that hypothetical good life can be attained. Because if nothing else, he will at least have Ichiās genuine love and affection toward him there as he works his way out of the hole he dug for himself. Masato lowers his gun. Him and Ichiban embrace. Masato opens the very same coin locker he was found in so, so long ago and leaves his revolver inside. He makes a quick call to settle his affairs and truly accepts what lies in wait for him. Ichiban could not be happier.
But then the world that was on pause for this encounter suddenly resumed, and the next thing Masato realizes is that a knife is now in his belly. Its handle is held by a man named Sota Kume, a member of the non-profit activist group formerly run by Masato, Bleach Japan. In cultivating his persona as Governor Ryo Aoki, Masato gave birth to an organization that vaguely resembles something like the Proud Boys ā fervent, angry, and active in their desire to āclean up Japanā, however that mission statement might be read. Upon being revealed as someone who conspired to commit murder, Masatoās former follower ā a very simple man who knows only that his desire is to pursue the aims of Bleach Japan by whatever means necessary ā couldnāt accept this. He finds Masato. He approaches with conviction, and stabs his former role model without hesitation. Ichiban and Masato are left confused, unable to react to what had just happened. The former governorās body is left lying on the ground, barely clinging on to life. And like Masatoās father did 40 years prior, Ichiban carries him, dashing as fast as he could away from the lockers and toward the nearest person who could do anything for him. But unlike 40 years earlier, this time Masato isnāt so lucky.
But even if the world threw another tragically fated curve ball against Ichiban and his family, what matters most is that despite his own, deep-seated cynicism, Masato was finally able to believe in Ichiās love. Just like I was.
The thing that makes talking about this scene so difficult ā besides the mountain of necessary exposition that led up to this encounter ā is the way that the writing, voice acting, visual direction, and motion capture all come together to all reach their own respective climaxes at the exact same time. After a 60-70 hour storyline, this game managed to save all of its raw strength of pathos until the very last minute, and used it to show ten minutes of two extremely similar-yet-different people rediscover each other and the bond that had always been lost to them. I donāt even care that Yakuza 7 doesnāt end with some spectacular bombast like previous Yakuzas reified just before the denouement. Kazuhiro Nakaya and Kosuke Toriumiās performances are so good on their own here, that Iād feel selfish to ask anything else of this game.