"Wait! What?" Arthur exclaimed, his eyes locked onto the screen, filled with disbelief. "Some jerk messes up Haruka while Kiryu pretends to be dead? What the hell?" He startled as he read an online forum post that seemed to outline the plot of Yakuza 6.
Having just finished Kiwami 2, he noticed that the graphical quality of 3 to 5—despite the remaster—felt like a step back. They weren't exactly terrible, but after experiencing Kiwami 2, everything else appeared outdated—the textures, animations, and even the combat.
He pondered, "How did it all decline from there? Did they lose sight of what made the game great?" Arthur was a devoted fan of the series, frequently participating in forums, watching gameplay videos, and delving deep into the game's lore. The Yakuza series, with its gritty underbelly, flawed yet heroic characters, and emotional depth, had always captivated him. Yet now, in his small, dim room, he felt overwhelmed by frustration.
Slumping back in his chair, he leaned his head back and gazed at the ceiling, searching for something to reclaim the magic he'd felt during Kiwami 2. He came across Yakuza 6, using the same Dragon Engine—though it seemed inferior to Kiwami 2—yet this was Kiryu's last story.
"This plot! Haruka gets hurt and falls into a coma, while Kiryu fakes his death to provide her with a 'normal' life and emerges from hiding to find her one-year-old child... What happened to the genuine emotions?! What happened to the streets?!" Arthur murmured bitterly, not caring if anyone overheard him.
He was deeply entrenched in the game's world—its combat, the bonds formed, and the profound sense of duty—and he sensed that something vital was lacking in the newer installments. A rawness, a grit that he had grown to cherish was now missing, replaced by flashy graphics and a watered-down narrative.
"Why did Kiryu have to leave like this? Damn," Arthur sighed, his eyes heavy. "Everything has changed. It's all just corporate junk now."
Frustrated, he shut the window and opened a forum post on the lore. As he was about to scroll down, a sudden pain surged through his temples. "What the—?" His body jolted, the world around him spinning chaotically. He clutched his head, attempting to stabilize himself, but it only worsened. The room began to distort, colors blending together as his vision blurred.
"Ugh, no… no… no—"
Before he could finish the thought, everything went dark.
***
When Arthur's vision returned, it wasn't the familiar dimly lit room he knew so well, nor was he seated in front of his gaming setup. Instead, he found himself lying on something cold, hard, and rough beneath him. His clothes felt unfamiliar—grimy, ragged. His hands, though smaller than before, were scraped and bruised. Slowly, he pushed himself up, confusion surging through his mind.
His surroundings were nothing like the small apartment he had spent countless nights gaming in. He was in some kind of alley, a narrow, dark passageway with trash piling up on either side. The sounds of the city echoed faintly in the distance—the honking of cars, the chatter of people—but it was all muted. The air smelled of sweat, metal, and the faint stench of alcohol.
"What the hell…?" Arthur muttered, his voice sounding younger, more strained.
He instinctively placed a hand to his head, feeling the weight of something hard underneath his messy hair. But there was no time to focus on it—he needed to figure out what the hell was going on. He stumbled to his feet, disoriented.
It was then, like a fucking truck—memories poured into his mind, memories that weren't his. Fragmented visions of a life lived on the edge—brutal street fights, the constant hum of danger, the grim faces of people he didn't recognize, and a sense of belonging that had always felt both too familiar and entirely foreign at the same time. He saw a name flash before him, a name he recognized: Ryuji Kanzaki.
"Ryuji... Kanzaki?" Arthur muttered to himself, blinking rapidly as if trying to wake himself from some kind of nightmare. But the more he tried to grasp the situation, the more it became clear. He was Ryuji Kanzaki—a 12-year-old kid stuck in the back alleys of Kamagasaki, an orphan struggling to survive in a place where survival meant either making deals with dangerous people or getting crushed by them.
His heart pounded in his chest as his thoughts raced. Kamagasaki—he knew that name. He had read about it in books, watched documentaries about the infamous district in Osaka during the bubble economy era, where the underworld was a real force and poverty ran deep. But he never imagined he'd end up here—in the middle of it all.
A sudden jolt of pain shot through his head again, but this time, it wasn't as disorienting. It was like... muscle memory. His body—a body that now felt alien to him—was instinctively adjusting. His fists clenched, and his legs steadied, as if some hidden force within him had unlocked. His mind screamed with a realization. His new body was built like a fighter, one that had spent countless hours on the streets, learning how to throw a punch, how to take a hit, and how to survive in the brutal world of gang violence.
But this wasn't his body. Arthur wasn't a 12-year-old street kid. He was a 19-year-old gamer. He wasn't supposed to be here, and he definitely wasn't supposed to be him.
Before he could process further, the distant sound of footsteps echoed down the alley. A group of rough-looking men, dressed in mismatched, tattered clothing, were making their way toward him, their eyes scanning the street. Their faces were hardened by years of struggle, but one in particular—a man with a scar running down his cheek—stopped when he saw Arthur—or, rather, Ryuji—on the ground.
"Well, well," the scarred man sneered. "Look who we have here. Little Ryuji. Thought you could run from the gang, huh?"
Arthur's pulse quickened. The memories of Ryuji Kanzaki—his role in the orphanage, the small-time gang fights, the debts he owed—came rushing back in fragments. He had no idea how he had landed in this body, but one thing was clear: he needed to survive.
"I… I didn't run," Arthur—no, Ryuji—stammered, trying to put on a brave face, but his voice cracked. "I was just—just getting some air."
The scarred man narrowed his eyes. "Is that so? The boss said you were getting too big for your britches, and now you're out here in the middle of the night looking for trouble? We can fix that."
Before Arthur could react, the man lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him off the ground. The other men laughed, enjoying the spectacle.
Arthur's hands trembled for a second, but then something within him clicked. He wasn't the scared 12-year-old anymore. His instincts—Ryuji's instincts—kicked in. He pushed against the man's grip, twisting his body in a way that shouldn't have been possible for someone his size.
"Get off me!" Arthur shouted, his voice filled with a mix of fear and defiance.
In that instant, his body responded. With a sudden, swift motion, he jabbed his elbow into the man's ribs. The scarred man stumbled back, gasping for air, eyes wide in shock.
For a moment, everything froze. The gang members stared, unsure of what had just happened. Arthur—no, Ryuji—stood there, chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief at the strength that had just surged through him.
What the hell was going on?
The scarred man slowly stood up, his eyes narrowing. "You're dead, kid."
Arthur's mind raced. There was no way he was going to be able to fight them all. He needed to think—fast. His fingers twitched, remembering the ways he had seen fights play out in the games he loved so much. If he could just...
"Run," he muttered to himself, and before the men could react, he darted into the darkness of the alley, his heart pounding in his chest. His legs moved faster than they ever had before, as though some unspoken force was driving him.
Kamagasaki was no place for someone like him—but somehow, Arthur realized, it was the only place he could survive. He wasn't just some gamer anymore. He was Ryuji Kanzaki, a kid trying to make his way through a world of violence, desperation, and broken dreams. And no matter how much he hated it, he was stuck here, in a place where the only way out was to fight.
And for the first time in his life, he wasn't just playing a game. He was living it.