Among various review websites, there was one site in particular that spoke very highly of the fishing mechanic in Final Fantasy XIII Versus.
That reviewer even said he had become hopelessly addicted to the fishing feature in the game, completely forgetting about saving the princess or saving the world.
All he could think about now was how to catch more fish.
Later on, some professionals actually came forward to give in-depth evaluations of the game's fishing system. Aside from a few fishing tools and fish species that sounded rather absurd, everything else was extremely solid from a professional standpoint.
These professionals even commented that Gamestar Electronic Entertainment might as well just release a dedicated fishing game. They said they would definitely be willing to pay for it.
Murakami Kazuo was no exception—he too had sunk deeply into the prince's fishing life.
Moreover, he felt no pressure at all to clear the game, because he had already cleared it once. That was enough. Now he was playing purely because he genuinely found the game fun.
Not long after, Gamestar Electronic Entertainment really did announce that they were considering making a more professional fishing-focused game. They weren't aiming to make a lot of money—if it could simply spark interest in video games among people who originally didn't like them, that would be more than enough.
Once these people became gamers, they would also become valuable assets to the gaming industry.
About two weeks after Final Fantasy XIII Versus was released, Murakami Kazuo was sneaking in a bit of leisure time at the office, fishing a couple of rounds in the game.
Fishing in the game could be done anytime, anywhere—more convenient than real life. You could even do it during work hours, which he loved.
But just then, a member of the editorial team entered the office. Murakami Kazuo immediately straightened up and closed the Final Fantasy XIII Versus game screen.
"Is there something you need?" Murakami Kazuo asked, pretending to be calm.
"President, there are some comments criticizing your review article."
"Criticizing my review? Why? What's wrong with it? Which part are they criticizing?"
"It's the Final Fantasy XIII Versus review. You might want to take a look."
Murakami Kazuo frowned.
He had assumed it was one of his reviews tearing into a bad game that was getting backlash.
That wasn't uncommon.
Not every game that looks bad is universally despised.
There are always players who have very unique—sometimes even fanatical—affection for certain games.
Sometimes that affection comes from a specific element in the game resonating deeply with them, stirring up complex emotions. Other times it's nostalgia—players viewing the first game they ever played through a beauty filter. Even if the game itself isn't great, they still have strong feelings for it.
When such people see Murakami Kazuo criticize a game they love, they naturally step forward to accuse him.
Usually, Murakami Kazuo would glance at such comments once and then ignore them. His professionalism was meant to serve the majority of players, and he always added a disclaimer before each review stating that it represented only his personal opinion. If others had different views, they should trust their own judgment instead.
Even with all those disclaimers stacked up, he still couldn't avoid being criticized now and then.
That said, when he reviewed games of genuinely high quality, there were rarely dissenting voices.
"So… do people think the game is bad and that my star rating didn't reach the level it deserved?" Murakami Kazuo asked.
That was possible too. Some people genuinely like bad games, and some fundamentally dislike good ones. As the saying goes, with a big enough forest, you'll find all kinds of birds.
"No… some players think your score was too low—especially the score you gave for the story."
Murakami Kazuo was completely baffled.
The story score was too low?
He remembered giving Final Fantasy XIII Versus a story rating of three and a half stars.
To emphasize the professionalism of his reviews, Murakami Kazuo had started assigning star ratings across multiple dimensions in later articles.
Gameplay, story, audio, overall experience—each was rated separately, followed by an overall summary score.
Final Fantasy XIII Versus was nearly perfect in gameplay, visuals, and sound—four and a half stars across the board. There was nothing to criticize there. The missing half-star was simply because game development is rarely truly flawless.
He was willing to give Cyberpunk 2077 a full score because its content was just packed to the brim. Anything less would have felt unfair.
Final Fantasy XIII Versus was just slightly undercooked—not quite at the level of a perfect score.
Especially the story. It felt fairly standard: some twists, but nothing extraordinary.
In the game, Adan, the main antagonist, has his own suffering—he's a pawn manipulated by the gods. The prince sacrifices himself to save his country and his beloved, guards the throne alone, fights the gods, and ultimately dies.
After seeing so many tragedies like this, it all starts to feel familiar. It wasn't particularly stunning. The Final Fantasy series is full of tragedies—every installment ends badly. There's never a happy ending.
So after finishing that ending, he didn't bother playing further.
He was already very familiar with the Final Fantasy formula.
"Those players say the game's story contains much more content. They think you played too fast and didn't fully grasp it. They suggest you replay Final Fantasy XIII Versus properly—otherwise, the reference value of your review drops significantly."
Murakami Kazuo couldn't hold back anymore. He logged into his review site and checked the comments under his article.
At first, many players said they had been successfully convinced and were planning to buy Final Fantasy XIII Versus.
Some players who cleared the game quickly came back to thank him, saying the game was indeed very enjoyable.
But later on, the tone of the comments shifted rapidly.
That shift happened just yesterday.
Some players claimed they had already played the game for over a hundred hours. Only after that did they suddenly realize how rich the details were—it wasn't nearly as simple as it appeared on the surface.
Put simply, the game offered a multi-playthrough experience. Each early playthrough felt slightly different, gradually revealing more details about the game's worldbuilding.
"This is a multi-playthrough story? Isn't that basically like a roguelike dungeon system?"
Murakami Kazuo found that hard to believe. Large-scale games usually don't need to do this. Just tell the story well in one playthrough and that's enough.
"President, should we confront these comments?"
"No need. I'll go back and play Final Fantasy again."
Murakami Kazuo closed the comment section and reopened Final Fantasy XIII Versus on his computer.
At this point in this playthrough, he was already midway through the story. He had rushed through the game before, and there were indeed many things he hadn't examined closely.
That was partly because he knew Final Fantasy so well—he understood the series inside and out, its tone and structure—so he made his judgments after a fast clear.
But now, looking at the comments, he decided to experience it properly himself.
He really didn't believe Gamestar Electronic Entertainment would put that much effort into the story.
Could Final Fantasy XIII Versus really be different?
It shouldn't be.
Murakami Kazuo turned off the fishing option in the game and began replaying Final Fantasy XIII Versus seriously.
This was his second playthrough.
In the second playthrough, you could inherit certain things from your previous clear, including some items that were normally only obtainable in the late game.
When he had these items in hand at the very beginning, he suddenly discovered that some characters in the story would trigger dialogue that hadn't existed in the first playthrough.
These dialogues didn't seem to affect the main story flow.
But the more you thought about them, the more unsettling they felt.
For example, before setting out on the road to the wedding procession, an item obtained late in the first playthrough triggered a conversation with the car repair shop owner.
That conversation branched into what felt like a story hint or a narrative fork.
The shop owner told the protagonist that, according to legend, using this item in a certain area would summon an unexpected creature—one that would help the protagonist solve a major problem.
If he had taken that item to the area during his first playthrough, it should have had the same effect.
In other words, many of the second-playthrough dialogues felt like guidance—guidance toward a way for the protagonist to save everything.
Murakami Kazuo's eyes widened slightly.
He suddenly realized that the game's guidance system in the second playthrough was far more complex than in the first.
It wasn't just item-triggered dialogue.
In the first playthrough, there was a boss whose attacks were accompanied by a constant countdown timer.
If the player failed to defeat it before the countdown ended, a forced story event would trigger—the boss would self-destruct, obliterating an entire region.
That region would become permanently inaccessible, turning into a dead zone.
Even if you forced your way in later, there would be nothing interactive inside.
However, in the second playthrough, because the player character was much stronger, the boss could be killed too quickly.
That would trigger a completely new story event.
The protagonist would successfully disable the boss's self-destruct mechanism before the countdown ended, saving the region from destruction.
The area could then be revisited later, offering new items and unlocking main story content that had never appeared before.
All of this could easily be missed in the first playthrough without any guidance.
In an instant, Murakami Kazuo felt as if a whole new world had opened up before him.
It suddenly felt like he had completely wasted his previous playthrough.
He even wanted to apologize to the players who had criticized him in the comments.
He really had played too fast and overlooked far too many details.
Still, even with all that, he wasn't ready to change his story rating just yet.
Three and a half stars. At most.
No higher.
But now, he was filled with anticipation—anticipation that something even more novel and interesting awaited him.
He even went out of his way to look up guides online.
He didn't want to miss what he had missed before.
Gradually, as Murakami Kazuo gained a deeper understanding of the game's story, he realized that the worldbuilding and narrative were completely different from what he had initially imagined.
On the surface, the game tells a legend of several gods uniting to fight the Sword God and restore peace to the world.
In the end, the protagonist also confronts the Sword God, defeats him, and dies alongside his beloved.
But beneath that surface story lies a much deeper layer.
Behind the so-called gods exists an entity known as the Creator God.
The Creator God controls life and death, and this world also has an inverse counterpart—an inner world.
That inner world is where the dead reside.
There is a god who governs death there.
Life and death maintain a certain balance within this world.
The so-called Sword God is actually the Creator God of the living world, attempting to break the barrier between life and death and enter the realm of the dead.
His goal is to confront the God of Death, kill them, and completely abolish the rule of life and death—granting himself eternal life.
This revelation elevated the entire story to a whole new level.
Murakami Kazuo became more and more immersed.
He never would have imagined a plot development like this.
No one had told him.
Even Gamestar Electronic Entertainment themselves deliberately avoided explaining any of this.
They simply waited for players to dig it up on their own, to find the answers they sought.
The gameplay itself hadn't changed much, but with the new narrative context, everything felt different.
It was exhilarating—a thrill of discovering new stories and new lore.
Murakami Kazuo finally understood why people had criticized his evaluation of the story.
He hadn't truly grasped it. He had only taken a superficial taste before ending his experience and passing final judgment.
Honestly, the game hid its depth a bit too well. It was practically digging a pit for itself.
But since it was Gamestar Electronic Entertainment, he chose to forgive them.
After all, there was only one such unique company in the world—it was only natural for them to be a little willful.
From then on, Murakami Kazuo played far more carefully, abandoning his initial desire to rush through the game.
At the same time, he temporarily locked his original review article, preventing others from viewing it, and left a message stating that his evaluation had been biased.
He said he would re-upload a new review after fully re-experiencing Final Fantasy XIII Versus.
And so, he started over—and played through several more playthroughs.