My first play through of Fading Afternoon fell apart when I forgot to take out a construction boss for the head of my family. This event (or lack thereof) took place right at the moment that I felt like I "got" the game and had gotten into a rhythm with its core loop of fighting, healing, assassinating. It was my second such infraction, due in part to the game's opaque approach to objective priority (along with just about everything else). I was forced to sit through a cutscene of my character cutting off his own finger in an attempt to save his honor, and was expelled from the family. Two in-game days later my character succumbed to his illness in a hospital bed. From the time of that cutscene until the credits rolled, I could not help thinking "this is unfair." I was upset with games obtuse mechanics. I was upset with my fictional Yakuza boss for not being clearer. I thought often about assassinating the boss and taking over the family for myself. Each time, however, I was stopped in my tracks by the thought that it is not what my character would do. I realized that my brief, frequently frustrating experience with this barely defined (now ex-)yakuza had a profound empathetic effect on me. As my character lay dying on the floor of a hospital turned morgue, I began to consider the rest of my experience through the lens of this newfound empathy for Gozuki. I realized that the feeling of everything falling apart right when you finally find your footing is the feeling of a person imprisoned during the prime of their life scrambling to pick up the pieces as they barrel inexorably towards death. Yeo is a singular developer who is able to capture complex emotional collages of nostalgia, regret, melancholy, and despair into the space of a side scrolling brawler. I cannot wait for this game to beat me again.