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I was supposed to play loads of Like a Dragon: Ishin, but I spent two hours in chicken racing instead

Like a Dragon: Ishin keeps the Yakuza tradition of amazing mini-games alive, with a touch of human soul.

“I know the type,” says the Chicken Race Receptionist. “The true gamblers. The stallions at the track. The cocks in the henhouse.”

He is, of course, referring to me: Like A Dragon: Ishin player character, Sakamoto Ryoma. On a quest to find out who really murdered his father, Ryoma has landed in the Japanese capital of Kyo, intent on sniffing out any leads he can in a world full of political intrigue and social unrest, on the cusp of a new age. But all that’s set-dressing. The city of Kyo, it turns out, has a pretty good chicken racing scene. And that’s why I’m really here.

Chicken racing is just one of many mini-games in Like a Dragon: Ishin.

As soon as I walked into the henhouse, I formed a bond with him – this fowl man that sat cross-legged in the reception area. This clerk that smelled softly of feathers and chickenshit. With an enthusiastic grin, he offered to teach me how to race chickens. I think we had a spark.

“First thing’s first,” he explained, “know your birds.” You see, in the ancient art of chicken racing, all the birds are graded – and whilst ‘popularity’ and ‘rating’ will give you a good overall sense of the clucker, these attributes don’t tell the whole story. You need to take distance and condition into account, too. Once you notice how it can affect the results, you’ll see trends in the ratings.

But you need to get into the mind of the chicken, too, apparently. Some birds’ abilities change quite significantly depending on their mood that day. Maybe they’ve got an itchy waddle, maybe they don’t like how their comb is sitting that day. You never know. But you’re going to want to gauge your chicken’s mood before sending it off to the races. “The fastest mare might turn snail if its condition’s in the crapper,” says my new best friend, the Chicken Race Receptionist. “And every lame duck has its day.”

I feel like I’ve been briefed well. I have inspected the birds, and placed my bets. I’ve not gone with the favourite – her condition seemed a little off today, there was a malaise about her – and instead I’ve put a sizeable bet on the second favourite. Let’s see if my new mate has taught me well.

The action is about to start. “All birds are in place," we’re told. It’s the long distance open. Talons are at the ready. “It’s gonna be a close one!” yells the commentator. “It’s all neck and neck!” My chosen chicken, “That Frying Smell” – a gorgeous grey bit of bird – struts out confidently but is quickly overtaken by the favourite, a clucky young upstart called “Apollo”. Suddenly, a no-name schmuck called “Feed Demon” gets out ahead too. Oh no, I thought, this wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

I tell you, I have never cheered as much as I did watching “That Frying Smell” take back the lead from “Feed Demon” and “Apollo”. On the final straight, the chicken I bet all my money on – enough Mon to buy a very nice sword, no less – managed to chase down the brood and come out on top, in a flurry of talons and adorable waddling. My excitement had drawn a crowd; PRs and games media gathered around the screen, all calling out the bad/good pun names of the assorted fowl.

I was rich, I had enough money to buy a new sword – vital for getting revenge for my dear, dead dad – and get a round of sake in for the despondent losers at the track, too. I wanted to make sure these fellas were kept on-side, after all. Whether they’d put money on “Feed Demon”, “Poultry Offering”, “Fowl Temper”, “Featherstorm”, “Flustercluck”, “Thigh Will Be Done”, “King of Wings”, “Tenderfoot”, “Tosan Pride, or ”The Colonel”, we were all here for the same reason; to have a bit of fun, and indulge in some male bonding.

"What did you say about my bird?"

The next day, after a more middling time on the track, our favourite Receptionist looked despondent. I’d accused him of hiding something from me earlier – he wasn’t his usual effervescent self when we walked in the door. Turns out, he’d blown all his money today. All of it, every last Mon in his purse. “I came so close to achieving my dream,” he confessed, “I came so close to being able to afford a whole night in a brothel.”

The next day, I came back to the track. Of course I did, I can’t stay away. The Receptionist looked as sad as before, but it was different this time. He’d been on a streak – and one hell of a streak at that. He was close to achieving his dream, and you could see the lust and longing in his eyes… he just needed to go double or nothing. But, apparently, he always messed up at this point; the last bet is always where he came unstuck. So the choice was on me – he could trust me, now. He knew I had the gift of chicken intuition.

Fun fact, this song is actually about a hen.

“”Wondercrest” or “Tosan Pride”?” The weight of the world was on my shoulders, who do I pick? ‘Tosan Pride’ – the chicken that had undone my own dreams a number of times at this point – or ‘Wondercrest’, a chicken I’d barely heard of? I used my wits, and chose the former. It feels like the game was trying to teach me that “Tosan Pride” was the better choice, after all. And it had been in great condition that day, too. Our man disappears, and I wait. And wait. Until he returns. “I… I won!” he exclaims. My heart, in real life, did a little leap.

He gave me a broken compass by way of thanks, and called me his benefactor. The little friendship gauge ticked up and pinged, full. I’d made a friend, a friend for life. In the midst of this smoky, sweaty chicken coop attended by gamblers and drunks, the seed of friendship was planted, and fertilised with chicken guano.

That’s the joy of Yakuza; that even in the midst of serious, dour storylines, the true beauty of life can shine through. Little moments like this – glimpses of unpretentious friendship in a gambler’s paradise – are the bread and butter of Yakuza. Whether it’s set in a bustling 80s city district, or an 1860s township, there’s something really special about the way the series communicates the intricacies and nuances of adults just trying to eke a bit of fun from the oppressive environments that enrobe them.

I cannot wait to play the full version of Like a Dragon: Ishin, and see this beautiful, unlikely friendship blossom in full.


Like a Dragon: Ishin launches for the PS4, PS5, Xbox Series X/S, and Windows PC on February 21, 2023.

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Like a Dragon: Ishin

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About the Author
Dom Peppiatt avatar

Dom Peppiatt

Editor-in-chief

Dom is a veteran video games critic with 11 years' experience in the games industry. A published author and consultant that has written for NME, Red Bull, Samsung, Xsolla, Daily Star, GamesRadar, Tech Radar, and many more. They also have a column about games and music at The Guardian.
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