Playing through Ghost of Tsushima for the first time in 2019, I remember thinking that Jin Sakai was destined to join other PlayStation luminaries like Kratos and Nathan Drake as mascots of the brand. Stoic and brooding, yet kind and occasionally light-hearted, he fit the mould for a memorable protagonist.
While I’d argue that Cole McGrath deserves to sit alongside his contemporaries, Jin was the first character beyond Sly Cooper to have that kind of cut through for developer Sucker Punch Productions. Together with its beautiful world and engaging combat, Ghost of Tsushima quickly became a tentpole title in PlayStation’s catalogue of first-party titles, making conversations around a sequel run rampant once the public started hitting credits.
Announced during a State of Play last year, Ghost of Yōtei would be that follow-up, though it wasn’t what many were expecting. Leaving our established hero to rest, Yōtei would pick up some 300 years after the events of the first game and take place on an island on the other side of Japan. The public perception was positive, following the reveal trailer, with the promise of an evolved combat system and a stunning new location winning most over.
With that said, there were, and still are, a vocal few who lament the decision to move on from Jin, with those believing that a new lead would result in a rehashed revenge tale that we’ve seen time and again. Yes, Ghost of Yōtei’s story is centred around seeking vengeance, but it’s a companion piece to Tsushima, not a retread.
The opening moments of Ghost of Yōtei give us a glimpse into the simple and happy life of young Atsu. Learning her father’s craft as a swordsmith, studying the shamisen under her patient mother, and constantly attempting to one-up her twin brother, Atsu is shown to be an energetic and driven young woman. Her innocence is only matched by her idealistic aspirations for the future, which makes the ensuing destruction of both all the more devastating.
The murder of her family at the hands of the Yōtei Six gives the game a natural path to follow, as adult Atsu returns to Ezo to claim retribution for her loved ones, but it also establishes the most harrowingly relatable aspects of Atsu’s persona.
While Atsu survived the night, the images of her parents and brother being slaughtered in front of her meant that her childhood died with them We come to understand that she pried herself away from the burning gingko tree she was pinned to before fleeing to mainland Japan, but the mental and emotional scars inflicted on her would be far worse than that of the katana.
By the time we come to control Atsu, 16 years have passed. However, it’s clear from the earliest interactions with vendors and soon-to-be allies that the trauma that Atsu carries had only tightened its grip as the years moved by.
The easy road to portray this anguish would see Atsu acting cold and emotionless to supporting characters, giving players nothing more than a superficial understanding of her plight. Admittedly, her early conversations are filled with a certain uncaring tone, but the unpacking of her mental state throughout the course of the 25-hour campaign presents a multidimensional character with layers of flaws and a desire to live hidden beneath a lifetime of grief and guilt.
Her resolute vow to bring justice to those who have committed such heinous acts of cruelty towards her has become her entire being. Outside of bodily necessities, her entire existence from a formative age has been dedicated to this singular task, not a thought reserved for what her life will be beyond it.
Innocence-stealing traumatic childhood events are, regrettably, something that many can relate to, so I appreciate the care that Sucker Punch takes in depicting their effects. My father passed away when I was 12. At that age, I couldn’t properly reconcile with the emotional ramifications that came with his death. Among the many conflicting emotions I was trying to compartmentalise, the underlying feeling of relief was the most confronting. My dad was ill and hospitalised for his final years, and, while I loved him and grieved deeply when he was gone, that fleeting feeling of relief was the one that plagued me for the longest time.
While I can thankfully say that earnest conversations with family and friends, and the assistance of mental health professionals, have allowed me to heal some of that trauma, there are many who carry emotional burdens with them throughout their entire life, without a moment’s reprieve. And that’s what makes Atsu’s story so confronting, and so real.
As the game plays out, you aren’t asked to thoughtlessly cut down the members of the Yōtei Six like a grocery list; you’re asked a more pertinent question: Will these actions bring Atsu peace?
Taking her blade to her tormentors does more than cross a name from her sash; it forces her to think about what’s waiting for her at the end of the road. Moreover, in standing face to face with these masked demons from her past, she comes to understand that there are flawed, damaged humans behind the façade. Their actions aren’t justified, but they are humanised enough to make Atsu question her obsession, if even for a moment.
I’m not willing to spoil major plot points here to strengthen my case, as that would rob them of their impact, but the latter stages of Atsu’s quest confront her with a truth that she, and many in similar positions, find difficult to reconcile with: it’s harder to heal and move on than it is to succumb to your trauma. This is punctuated by the very real threat of generational trauma and its extremely damaging and cyclical nature.
Jin’s story showed a grown man’s choice to set aside his convictions in the service of redemption, forgoing honour for justice. It’s a strong narrative, particularly when framed within the feudal Japanese setting. Atsu’s quest for revenge is inverted, with her tipping point coming at the beginning of her life, long before she developed the emotional maturity to make sound decisions about her future. By no means do I think one is ‘better’ than the other, but Atsu’s life experiences and tribulations speak to an audience sympathetic to her, and that can be a powerful thing.
I’m not saying that Ghost of Yōtei’s story is flawless; it can be heavy-handed, and it flirts with cliches at times, but it’s earnest. PlayStation’s first-party output has seen its fair share of revenge plots, and I can understand where players might be wearing thin on the premise. With that said, I feel that Ghost of Yōtei found an angle that will resonate with many, even if we would all be better off if it didn’t.
You can read my Ghost of Yōtei review here.
