If you’ve spent any amount of time online in places where Atlus fans reside over the last two decades, the phrase “play a REAL Shin Megami Tensei game” might bring to mind a forum encounter or two. Of course, the franchise has rapidly grown over the years, to the point where it’s difficult to enumerate them across the vast array of interconnected sub-series - but the aforementioned cliché has long been associated with one particular entry, developer Atlus’s 2003 epic Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne. So, what is it about this particular release that carved out such a permanent spot in the hearts of so many diehard fans?

Aside from a slightly ominous dream sequence, the story begins on a fairly unassuming note - high-school protagonist Naoki Kashima stands at a quiet train station, reading a text message from classmate Isamu Nitta inviting him to visit their teacher in the hospital.

Upon leaving the station, the player is presented with a huge world map depicting the sprawling mass of intricately networked roads and towering buildings comprising the Tokyo cityscape. The scale of everything here is striking - the humans are so small that they’re represented by floating marker icons, yet the city is zoomed in so far that it spans several times the width of the screen. Rambling citizens can be listened in on as they discuss everyday topics: unverifiable rumours, inconveniences, local activism - it’s easy to feel small and unimportant wandering around in such a bustling environment.

At the hospital, Nocturne wastes no time establishing Naoki and his classmates as a fairly typical group of teenagers - their interpersonal dynamics playing off each other as Chiaki discusses an occult magazine she’d picked up out of bored curiosity. The apprehensive Isamu sends the player to investigate the basement as their teacher fails to appear as expected.

All of this effort to depict the lively spirit of the city stands only to provide contrast to the state of the world later on, as this moment is the last we’ll ever see of it. Not even twenty minutes into the game, the hospital’s basement reveals a sinister turn of events unfolding beneath the surface. The teacher they had expected to meet is revealed to be entangled in a plan to invoke the Conception, the total rebirth of the world. With an encouraging parting message, mysterious teacher Yuko invites Naoki to watch as a powerful force rends the sky and relentlessly tears apart the world beneath them.

Waking up in the new world, Naoki is forcibly transformed into a new part-human, part-demon being dubbed the Demi-Fiend. Nocturne immediately begins to make use of simple visual effects to effortlessly drag the player in as its atmosphere becomes increasingly bleak and moody, playing with light and shadow and using warping framebuffer tricks to paint scenes in a nightmarish aesthetic.

Roaming the disturbing halls of the hospital basement, the Demi-Fiend makes his first encounter with a wild demon. Crucially, there’s no tutorial - the enemy makes the first move, and then the player is presented with unobstructed access to the battle commands to finish the fight themselves. It immediately communicates to the player that they are among the first to roam this new world, that there’s nobody to provide assistance from this point on - compounding on the persistent feeling of isolation throughout the game. This quirk meshes particularly well with the fact that Nocturne was the first mainline Shin Megami Tensei title to see a worldwide release - for players outside of Japan, progressing through the game at launch truly was uncharted territory, likely contributing to the lasting impression it evidently left on the hearts of many.

Reaching the surface once again reveals our first look at the new state of the world; damaged remnants of human civilization stand in deserted wastelands amidst an encroaching black void. Drifting citizens previously dotted around the map are replaced with souls, disembodied voices for the player to listen in on.

Nocturne’s many boss encounters from this point on are augmented by a deliberately impactful difficulty curve present throughout the game. An unplanned run-in with one often feels totally hopeless as it wipes your party with no opportunities to fight back - though, the game’s mechanics offer numerous tools to adjust your approach to battles. Switching Magatama, changing out demons, or fusing totally new ones can give the player an upper hand and turn the tides in their favour. This creates a constant loop of overcoming perceived adversity, with the rush of returning and defeating a tough enemy becoming almost addictive as it settles the player into the role of an unassuming individual fighting their way through such a harrowing environment.

The true purpose of this Vortex World is soon unveiled when the Demi-Fiend is able to regain contact with his companions from the previous world. As the only humans left to wander this new land, they are each given an opportunity to develop a Reason, a set of ideals forming their vision for a new world. Those able to gather enough Magatsuhi - the life force supporting all living beings in this world - may summon a Demonic Sponsor to give their particular ideal a chance to manifest.

These individuals first articulate their Reasons to the viewer in a set of stunning cutscenes, materialising idyllic set pieces soaked in vibrant colours and sharing their viewpoints. As high-school aged students, their initial visions are often idealistic and straightforward, stemming from their relative naïvety and limited experience living among society.

Nocturne’s sprawling dungeons continue to become relentlessly more brutal from here on. Terminals allowing the player to save their progress become increasingly few and far between, with healing springs appearing even more infrequently - reaching deep into an infiltration comes with an ever-present anxiety at the fact that any one of its myriad common encounters could spell the end of the player’s journey, dropping them right back to the title screen. The game isn’t difficult per se on its standard difficulty level, but it can be unwaveringly punishing to any mistakes - leaving exposed weaknesses or wasting turns can rapidly prove fatal, even against its weakest adversaries.

Despite all of this, one of Nocturne’s greatest design strengths is its ability to communicate the player’s increasing strength to them without adversely affecting its intended level of challenge. Bosses that once presented arduous battles to the player soon become willing participants of their party, granting access to powerful skills whose names once struck fear in the recipient; previously limited resources become more manageable through stat growth and skill acquisition, allowing the player to traverse a little further than before each time. It compounds to build an impression of courage in the player to face the hostile nature of its world, which vitally also grants a strong sense of relatability to the other humans pursuing comparable goals alongside them.

The importance of this becomes apparent when regaining contact with Naoki’s old companions. Corrupted by power and toughened by the difficulties of their own journeys, the visions of the young adults pursuing Reasons are a far cry from the compassion they once carried.

In one of the surprisingly few Atlus titles to prominently feature character-associated leitmotifs, hearing the familiar chord progression of Chiaki’s theme vacant of its typical bright melody as the camera pans over the ground sullied with the corpses of her mercilessly slain victims immediately communicates the gravity of the situation. The physical and mental fortitude required to survive has twisted everyone in this world beyond the point of return, and any decisions made at this point carry immeasurable weight. Nocturne relentlessly tests the player’s loyalty and resolve, whether they’ll be swayed from their preferred ideals when directly confronted with the hardships necessary to achieve it.

While the Demi-Fiend is ineligible to obtain a Reason due to his prior status as a demon, he isn’t necessarily obligated to align with anyone who does possess one. He is presented with the possibility of ascending the ultimate Tower of Kagutsuchi alone and confronting the final opposition with the sole intention of reverting the world to its undeniably flawed state prior to the Conception.

In spite of its facade as a convenient escape from the ever-intensifying war of ideals encompassing the land, this route presents its own moral implications. The player is still required to confront those that they may have once empathised with, bringing an absolute end to the individual journeys they had dedicated their body and soul to. Their final withdrawals sow doubts in the player’s mind on the responses they had previously given, rejecting others’ pursuits on similar principles as the Demi-Fiend now commits those same injustices on the player’s command. It presents philosophical dilemmas to the player on a scale they’ll likely have never had to consider them on before, confronted by the palpable consequences that feel ever the more genuine the deeper you’ve become immersed in the game’s world.

No matter which path the player may choose, Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne proves an experience deliberately crafted to manipulate the emotions of the viewer, dragging them effortlessly into its meticulously crafted atmosphere. It’s not difficult to see why this title has such an enduring impact on those willing to peer beneath its remarkably edgy and esoteric veneer. More accessible than ever now with its 2020 multi-platform remaster, we’ll likely see Nocturne’s influence continue to permeate gaming culture for years to come.

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2007’s The World Ends With You is an unconventional entry among developer Square Enix’s lineup. Alongside the diverse imaginative worlds of Final Fantasy and the fantastical realms of Kingdom Hearts, The World Ends with You boldly stands out with its real-world setting bursting at the seams with simulacra of real-life culture.

Tokyo’s Shibuya district serves as the setting for the title’s narrative, and the Scramble Crossing - the busiest pedestrian crossing in the world - forms its central hub. Shibuya has long been Japan’s premier hotspot for young people following developments in the 1970s, a central district fundamental to the country’s output in art, fashion and music. Square Enix’s main headquarters were situated there at the time of the game’s development.

Inside Shibuya, The World Ends With You’s narrative sees teenage protagonist Neku thrown into the Reaper’s Game, a week-long contest where people who have died in the RG (meaning ‘real ground’, or the real world) must participate in challenges in the UG (meaning ‘underground’, an alternate reality manifesting beneath Shibuya) to secure their right to a second chance at life. Participants must form a pact with a partner in order to survive, as battles with the supernatural (referred to as Noise) require two people to work together in order to fight effectively.

Neku begins the story in the UG with no remaining memories, and no clues as to how he wound up in the Reaper’s Game. He initially copes with the situation by keeping his guard up at all times, refusing to open up to others any more than absolutely necessary for survival - but as he participates in the Reaper’s Game three times over the course of the plot, working alongside a different partner each time, he finds himself growing more open to developing understanding for those around him - a change crucial to the narrative’s core message.

In The World Ends With You’s combat, trends and fashion are everything. Stats in battle are determined by clothes obtained from Shibuya’s many unique stores, special partner abilities are enhanced via rare stickers, and usable skills take the form of collectable pins. Clothes and pins each belong to one of thirteen unique brands - all based on real-world fashion styles.

Their effectiveness is influenced by which brands are currently trending in the specific area you’re in, and in turn, participating in repeated battles in the UG while wearing your brands of choice grants the player the coveted opportunity to influence popularity rankings in their favour - imprinting their own mark on the world around them.

All the various battle mechanics lead to The World Ends With You appearing overwhelmingly complex at times, but the story’s inclusion of the Reaper’s Game is a brilliantly implemented method to smoothen the experience. While a traditional RPG with many intricately woven mechanics might present a barrier to entry to the player interacting with its world, The World Ends With You cleverly circumvents this by shifting the layer of separation. All interactions with its world function exactly the way you’d expect them to - walking around, buying clothes and collectible merchandise from typical retail stores, using your mobile phone to navigate around, check the latest trends and listen to music - with all the supernatural elements isolated to the Reaper’s Game.

If there’s something you don’t understand, chances are strong that your avatar Neku doesn’t either - you’re learning the intricacies of the game right alongside him. This trick goes a long way to enhance the player’s immersion in the world, ensuring Shibuya remains welcoming regardless of their understanding of the Reaper’s Game’s finer mechanics.

While music doesn’t have any direct gameplay benefit, it doesn’t miss out on the close attention to detail that other elements of The World Ends With You received. The title’s soundtrack is astoundingly large for a DS game (too much so for its own good unfortunately, as every song had to be compressed to an extraordinary degree to fit onto a cartridge with a fraction of the capacity of a music CD) and spans a diverse range of genres. The roster of tracks is augmented as each new partner joins - Shiki opens the playlist with lighter pop songs like Deja Vu, Joshua brings a selection of hip-hop melodies like Detonation, and Beat rounds it out with heavier rock tunes like Transformation. Neku’s partners don’t stick around after their respective week, but their corresponding music remains in the random rotation - while we don’t see those characters anymore, their imprint on Neku remains, and hearing those familiar songs is an effective device to keep their memory alive.

The World Ends With You also takes strides to pay homage to its influences, as many of the in-game tracks are purchasable from various CD stores dotted around Shibuya - and viewing the tracks via Neku’s mobile phone provides a brief background on the composition of the song.

Of course, many of the narrative’s core points do dive into the pitfalls of such a rapidly evolving culture. Initial partner Shiki’s character arc revolves around the jealousy developed by existing in a society so deeply rooted in chasing popularity and following trends, as she loses sight of her true self and opts to instead take on the appearance of a friend she once envied in the UG. Revelations relating to the origin of the Reaper’s Game additionally highlight concern surrounding the growing commercialisation and monopolisation of art, and the dishonesty of online influencers.

If deepening its own self-contained recreation of Shibuya wasn’t enough, The World Ends With You ambitiously attempts to bridge the gap by interfacing with the real world, wherever the player may be. Mingle Mode is an innovative precursor to Nintendo’s StreetPass technology, predating the feature by three and a half years. When the player activates Mingle Mode and takes their DS console out with them on-the-go, the game constantly scans for other nearby consoles using wireless connectivity.

Encountering another device grants experience points to put towards leveling up your equipped pins, and meeting another The World Ends With You player allows you to exchange personalised stores stocked with your favourite brands. It makes complete sense for a title that places so much emphasis on social interaction to attempt to bridge outside of the confines of its fictional world, granting the player a very literal opportunity to put its themes into practice.

When taking into consideration The World Ends With You’s core message - quite literally, “The World Ends With You”, the broadness of the world is what you make of it - it becomes clear just how seamlessly every aspect and mechanic behind its world synergises with each other. Relying on your partners expanded on your capabilities in the Reaper’s Game; following trends might’ve made battles easier, but staying true to your own preferences influenced others, increasing the popularity of the things you like (seen either in Shibuya through the popularity rankings, or in the real world through Mingle Mode); spending time with others expanded your tastes in a way that endured beyond the duration of that relationship (seen in the soundtrack’s expansion) - The World Ends With You toys with numerous different concepts, but in the end, everything comes together in service of the narrative’s true purpose. If you want your own world to feel larger, you just have to explore the things already within reach, no matter where you are in the physical world.

The World Ends With You turned 18 years old back in July. While trends and the methods we use to interact with the world might’ve changed, the core psychology driving them has remained static - this ambitious title remains just as relevant as it ever was. There’s still lessons to be learned here, and I think The World Ends With You is a game everyone should at least try - even if solely for the cultural experience. It’s a remarkably immersive experience for an early handheld game, and one that’ll surely stick with me for a long time.

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Notice: article contains major plot spoilers for Rule of Rose, and mild spoilers for Catherine, Persona 5 and Yakuza 0.

The year is 2005. While the PlayStation 2’s time in the spotlight may be coming to a close as the gaming community turns their attention to the upcoming seventh generation consoles, Sony’s legendary platform refused to die without adding a few last-minute hits to its already unparalleled game library. One of these titles in the works was the upcoming survival horror gem Rule of Rose, slowly winding down its production at 25-strong indie studio Punchline, funded and published by Sony Computer Entertainment, even garnering the support of the British government at times in an effort to accurately depict the real-life events influencing its setting.

Rule of Rose had a strange premise - aligning with Sony’s goal of nurturing a brand new survival horror IP to compete with the platform-agnostic giants like Resident Evil and Silent Hill, developer Punchline set their sights on the lesser-explored psychological aspects of horror. The end result: a surreal insight into the nature of children when left to their own devices.

This unorthodox story sees the player explore a neglected orphanage inhabited almost entirely by young children - in the near complete absence of suitable adult role models, these children form a hierarchical society governed by a select few elite members known as the Red Crayon Aristocrats. The resulting power dynamic has a deep impact on all of the orphanage’s residents, leading them further and further into a twisted view of reality and moral principles - giving us a somewhat disturbing indication of the darker secrets festering beneath the façade of a young child’s innocence.

The game touches on topics of abuse, trauma, mental health, relationships and sexuality - a potentially startling list given the infancy of the majority of the cast, but Rule of Rose has a clever secret. As the player explores Rose Garden Orphanage as 19-year-old Jennifer, it slowly becomes evident that we are not seeing the narrative’s events, nor the lives of those under the authority of the Red Crayon Aristocrats as they occur - the story as we experience it is simply the product of Jennifer revisiting traumatic childhood memories as an adult.

Obviously, this renders protagonist Jennifer an unreliable narrator by definition - anything we see or hear is directly subject to inaccuracies due to childhood trauma-induced memory loss or merely recollections fading to the passage of time. This allows Rule of Rose to toy with such heavy topics without ever having to resort to explicit depictions to get its point across, as just about everything is left up to interpretation with some gentle guidance - evidenced by the numerous fan theory blogs that appeared following the game’s release. Due to all of this, Rule of Rose is an unusually tame experience for a survival horror title, landing itself a 16+ age rating in Europe with the only descriptor mentioning the violence in the game’s combat.

With Rule of Rose’s development complete, its upcoming release seemed hopeful - a heartwarming success story of an unknown studio granted the necessary financial backing to deliver a unique, hauntingly beautiful experience to expectant fans of the genre. Unfortunately, an unexpected turn of events saw Rule of Rose thrust into one of the most unfair censorship scandals in gaming history on an unprecedented scale.

The affair can be traced back to an unusual source - Italian games forum Games.It, where 17-year-old aspiring game journalist Chris Darril would post his review of Rule of Rose, written after playing through an early copy of the title imported from Japan. His review wasn’t problematic at all, displaying a true appreciation for the game and its delicate handling of sensitive themes - the real threat arrived in an even more unexpected form. Italian readers of Panorama would soon pick up their issue of the popular magazine to be greeted with a large render of major characters Diana and Meg from the upcoming Sony-published title Rule of Rose spanning the front cover with a particularly provocative headline.

Reading the advertised article inside reveals no original journalism, but a series of extracts blatantly plagiarised from Chris’s amateur review juxtaposed with sensationalised interjections on a game they hadn’t played, written specifically to sway discussion on video game violence - a hot topic around that era. This shocking example of poor journalistic integrity set Rule of Rose up as a target for an unprecedented onslaught of legal and reputational challenges. Word quickly reached European Union justice minister Franco Frattini who slandered the game, citing various examples of obscene content as fabricated by the Panorama article. While his appeal to the European ratings board PEGI was met with little success, it sparked a wider parliamentary debate concerning a potential ban on the sale of Rule of Rose as a whole.

No official measures were ever taken, and no bans were put in place, allowing Rule of Rose to proceed with its western release. However, European publisher 505 Games saw the upcoming title as an unjustifiable risk to their brand’s image, cancelling plans for distribution in the United Kingdom, Australia and New Zealand. Aside from these exceptions, developer Punchline were able to get their misunderstood gem onto store shelves, with publisher Atlus taking over distribution in American regions following Sony Computer Entertainment’s abrupt departure from the project.

Unfortunately, the damage was done, and the game met commercial failure upon release. Development studio Punchline soon disbanded, and Rule of Rose faded back into obscurity, despite having such promising circumstances just months prior.

As disappointing as it is to see a potential classic meet such little fanfare at launch, the history of Rule of Rose is an example of the legal systems working as intended, for what it’s worth - despite several powerful figures in European politics pushing for a complete prohibition on sale of the title, no such action was ever achieved. Rule of Rose may have been a victim of severe defamation and gross corporate negligence, it still got its chance at release with no legal barriers at the end of it all. This debacle should have served as a lesson on freedom of expression in fiction, to ensure no works ever met the same fate - and a rapidly growing acceptance of video games as an art form should’ve prevented any events leading up to a disaster like this.

Skipping almost two decades in the future, however, we're met with yet another scandal - one that, in spite of a very small number of voices sparking it, threatens to totally eclipse the tragedy that befell Rule of Rose. In the aforementioned case, there was no central authority to impose restrictions on the release of the game - even a total ban in European regions would’ve required a collective agreement from a number of parties, with many procedures in place to ensure fairness in their policies.

With the decline in physical video game sales worldwide and the ongoing push for digital downloads, one central gatekeeper quietly solidified its position in the supply chain - the payment processing industry.

Visa and Mastercard broke headlines earlier this month when they bowed to activist pressure, forcing digital storefront Valve to remove hundreds of adult-themed games from sale. If you read the initial list of affected titles, you’d be forgiven for averting your eyes from the situation as I did - the vast majority appearing to be little more than cheap parodies prioritising shock value above all else. Still, the idea of monopolistic payment processing companies having their input on what we’re permitted to spend our money on was alarming, and it didn’t take long for its true impact to reveal itself.

Soon following Steam’s wave of removals, another platform took a significant hit. Itch, a digital storefront specialising in making publishing fairer and more accessible for even the smallest independent developers, posted a heavily controversial blog post detailing recent changes to the platform. Due to their more ‘hands-off’ approach to curation, targeted removals weren’t so easily achieved and the company was forced to temporarily prevent all games with adult themes from appearing in the site’s search functions.

Obviously, this initial action came in response to abrupt pressure from the payment processors that the platform depends on, and would’ve fixed itself with time as its administrators combed through the catalogue and individually restored those unfairly removed. However, a more permanent shift soon appeared in the form of a new list of regulations added to the site’s content policy.

Platforms depending on external payment processors have always had vague clauses about content being subject to removal at their discretion, but it’s historically been very rare to see works of fiction targeted by their policies. This published list of prohibited topics is a major statement to the gaming industry that we’ve yet to see the full extent of.

Being a much smaller platform than the likes of Steam, Itch had no choice here - the consequences of losing the service of Visa and Mastercard would have a devastating impact on the platform and the thousands of creators depending on the sales they receive from it. Between distancing themselves from a small percentage of developers violating these terms, or potentially ruining the site’s viability as an option for everyone relying on it - the ‘correct’ choice here is unfortunately obvious.

As we saw with Rule of Rose all the way back then, once again it’s the smallest creators with no ability to fight back that suffer the most from these judgements, and are most frequently used as an example to the industry. Large corporations such as Visa and Mastercard can easily live without the small amount of revenue generated by these more niche communities - but look a little closer, and you might uncover the giants they wouldn’t dare alienate.

All three games pictured have been published in the last five years by SEGA, a long-time juggernaut in the gaming industry, and they demonstrate content that clearly falls within the categories of content prohibited for independent developers on platforms like Itch and Steam. While these depictions do serve a clear purpose in their games’ narratives, they certainly shouldn’t be considered immune to criticism either - but this demonstrably isn’t how they’re perceived by profit-driven middlemen like the aforementioned payment processors.

The message sent here is clear: discussing sensitive topics is a right reserved only for those who generate enough revenue to deserve it. Independent developers, including the survivors of abuse and trauma who often turn to the medium to tell their stories, simply aren’t given the same benefit of the doubt. There’s no room for interpretation - if Visa and Mastercard don’t see you as a viable asset, you do not have the right to explore these themes in your work.

A week later, solo game developer Cara Cadaver spoke out against Steam’s ruling on her upcoming game, VILE: Exhumed. VILE was set to be a visual-novel-esque adventure diving into “themes of sexual content, violence, and abusive and harmful language” - but Steam’s recent debacle led to a total ban on the game, citing the specific rule violated: “sexual content with depictions of real people”. This may appear to be a valid reason to withhold the title from sale, but the truth is somewhat unsettling - the ‘real person’ involved was Cadaver herself, opting to use photos of herself in place of the game’s protagonist to inject a more personal connection into the narrative.

Cadaver rightly refused to back down, opting to explore alternative options to tell her story the way it was meant to be depicted. She’s unfortunately only the first in what is likely to be a series of independent creators told that their stories don’t align with the moral views of a select few corporations that nobody would normally consider to be facilitating their distribution. It’s a significantly worse dilemma than the circumstances behind Rule of Rose, as this time it becomes clear that a few central entities have quietly positioned themselves as the ultimate monitors for all paid content published on the internet, reserving the right to threaten the livelihoods of anyone whose works they consider unacceptable - even those that contain zero legally objectionable content.

Only time will tell the full impact of this precedent - whether a wider apathy towards corporate censorship will lead to a crackdown on even the largest players in the gaming industry, or even if it will begin to manifest itself into other forms of entertainment. For now, all we can do is make our voices heard - let Visa and Mastercard know that we’re capable of exercising our right to decide for ourselves which legal content we wish to engage with. I just hope that we can eventually return to a time when freedom of expression in art didn’t come with a monetary price tag - a right that Rule of Rose evidently didn’t secure as tightly as we’d hoped.

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Notice: article contains images potentially unsuitable for viewing at work.

Debuting on the PlayStation 2 in 2008, developer Atlus’s Persona 4 is a Japanese role-playing game featuring a murder-mystery storyline rooted in psychological concepts. Its basic premise is fairly simple on the surface - protagonist Yu Narukami and his friends (later dubbed the Investigation Team) discover an alternate world only accessible to certain people inexplicably granted the power to pass through televisions. They soon come to realise that this ‘TV World’ is linked to the bizarre serial murder case in their hometown, which has already resulted in the unexplainable deaths of two victims.

During a particularly long introductory chapter, we’re introduced to the town of Inaba - inspired by Japan’s real-life ‘Fuefuki City’ and named after the myth of the ‘Hare of Inaba’, the first of many allusions to Japanese mythology and Shintoism throughout the game. Inaba is presented as a historically quiet, rural town suddenly undergoing a major shift in the months prior to this story’s beginning - being thrust into the modern era by the advent of widespread internet access, a sharp uptick in media attention as a result of the topical serial murder case, and the recent arrival of major department store chain Junes threatens the future of its community’s once beloved shopping district.

Alongside the town, we’re also given our first introductions to many of the game’s major characters, receiving glimpses into the personalities, relationships and dynamics between the majority of the main cast, even those that become relevant much later into the plot. However, if you’re already forming images of these characters in your head as you’re watching, you might be falling for one of Persona 4’s most cunning tricks.

See, while Persona 4’s main theme is ‘truth’ - and it’s easy to spot the links to its murder-mystery plot - some of the narrative’s most interesting insights into the topic come about when it’s using ‘truth’ as an avenue to explore its secondary theme - ‘identity’. As a franchise named after the psychological theories of Carl Jung, explorations into notions of identity are nothing new to the Persona games - however, the technicalities behind Persona 4’s plot place it in an interesting position to deliver a unique spin on the topic.

Soon after the death of the serial murder case’s second victim, our Investigation Team embarks on their first full expedition into the TV World, and they quickly discover the true circumstances behind the two murders - if someone is left in this alternate world, they will eventually come to face a physical manifestation of their ‘shadow self’. Shadows aren’t a new topic to the series, again borrowing from the works of Jung, and are typically summarised as the opposite of a persona. While a persona encapsulates all the aspects of the psyche that a person may present to the people around them, a shadow refers to the aspects of their personality that they subconsciously repress within themselves.

This is where the true secret of Persona 4’s narrative materialises - the player doesn’t learn until much later, but the TV World actually exists within the collective unconscious; a world created as a byproduct of the subconscious thoughts of humanity. Eventually, it’s spelled out even further that this also extends to the shadow selves faced inside that world - they are not merely products of a person’s own suppressed feelings or desires, but also a manifestation of the negative traits projected onto them by the public.

Our first full example of an encounter with a shadow self soon arrives, as a pattern is quickly discovered - the town’s rumoured Midnight Channel, a late-night TV show said to be only visible by staring into an unplugged television on rainy nights, appears to be foreshadowing the next victim in the serial murder case.

Pursuing this line of thinking leads the team to the next potential disappearance - their classmate Yukiko Amagi. Yukiko was prominently featured in the opening chapter, but in truth, you’ve caught her at a really unfortunate moment. She’s the daughter to the owner of one of Inaba’s major attractions, a traditional Japanese hot-spring inn named the Amagi Inn. Just as pressure starts to build up on Yukiko to prepare herself to inherit the business, disaster strikes as word quickly spreads that the murder case’s first victim had been staying at the inn on the night prior to her untimely death. The resulting surge in visitors takes a harsh toll on all the staff, but Yukiko in particular as she becomes the primary target of unwanted media attention.

And so, it’s very easy to form a profile of the kind of person Yukiko might be - a young woman suffering under the burden of tradition and her family’s wishes, desperate for an escape from the life forced upon her. As expected, another disappearance occurs in the case, and it’s exactly who the team had predicted - Yukiko Amagi is reported missing.

Following a non-ideal first impression, the story’s hero Yu leads the team as he sets out to attempt to rescue his new acquaintance. Once again, she’s been thrown inside the TV World. Putting many questions as to the culprit’s methods aside, they begin to ascend to a castle’s top floor where Yukiko is trapped, already in the midst of a confrontation with her shadow self.

Upon reaching her, the player is faced with two Yukikos, the real Yukiko, and a fake Yukiko conveniently displaying all the traits the player had been misled into believing about her - an ungrateful princess trapped in her castle, just begging for someone to come along and free her from the life she’s been forced into.

Shadow Yukiko proclaims to be revealing hidden truths about Yukiko, but in reality, the majority of the traits it embodies are conclusions that the player had already reached on their own. Therefore, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that what we’re really seeing here is Yukiko indirectly confronting the views held by the people around her - including the player themselves - and highlighting the impact that the prevalence of those misconceptions has on her emotionally.

This is the first of many instances where Persona 4 meticulously curates the information presented to the player in an effort to manipulate their own mentality, only to challenge that mindset later on. These tricks play a major role in making the ‘shadow self encounters’ more engaging on a personal level, without requiring any active interaction from the player - while still feeling totally natural if you’re not specifically looking out for them.

In fact, it becomes clear that Yukiko herself even misunderstands the source of her shadow’s traits, and she can be seen attempting to convince herself that they really were her ‘true’ feelings - sentiments that she must take action on in order to be more ‘true’ to herself. Obviously, this is a decision that Yukiko later comes to regret, even prior to learning the truth behind the TV World.

Skipping ahead in the investigation, the target of the third rescue operation presents an intriguing twist on the formula used thus far. The most recent victim Rise Kujikawa is interesting because she’s actually the character that the player has been exposed to the longest - being introduced even before any prior victims.

Rise Kujikawa, otherwise known by her stage name Risette, is a celebrity. While players may have had reservations about passing judgment too harshly on characters they’ve directly interacted with over the course of the game, such restraint doesn’t come quite so naturally when presented with a manufactured personality like those of TV stars and pop idols that you’ll never expect to meet.

Persona 4’s TV imagery really starts to come into play here. Television broadcasting is notorious for exposing its viewers to a constant stream of personalities, often in a performative sense, and promoting the formation of parasocial relationships over incomplete understandings of the people behind them.

Due to Rise’s unexpected hiatus and sudden move to her quiet hometown of Inaba, her ardent fans and the local media are abuzz with rumours, leaving them scrambling for scraps of information on her personal life. Most turn out to be wildly off-base as is to be expected with celebrity gossip, but as they closely correspond with the player’s limited knowledge of Rise as a person, there’s no real choice but to accept them as fact for now.

As is tradition by this point, Rise becomes the latest victim in a string of unexplained disappearances. The team finds her in the TV World, yet again confronted by her shadow self.

Once again, Shadow Rise is an embodiment of everything we’ve been able to learn about her up to this point - a successful idol having risen to the top through a constant appeal to male sexuality, abruptly growing tired of her avid fanbase and abandoning them, leaving behind more questions than answers.

The only difference this time around is that this personality was never a secret - Risette is a character willingly played by Rise over the years - the only surprise left to her is just how far the gap has widened between her celebrity persona and her ‘true’ feelings. It immediately becomes clear that she had lost control over how people viewed her, and as a result, lost sight of who she truly was as an individual.

Assumptions of and speculation into the everyday lives of TV personalities and public figures has become a deeply ingrained facet of human culture in modern society. It’s rare to see such a literal depiction of the ‘two faces’ of a celebrity, and seeing this behaviour confronted so directly is a compelling way to provoke thought into the realities behind the lives and scenarios we see portrayed in the media.

With Rise’s unusual circumstances also comes a unique viewpoint into the notion of what a ‘true self’ personally means to her. After some contemplation, she arrives at the conclusion that it’s OK to have different sides to yourself - to play a character, to fulfill a role, to fit a personality - and portraying yourself in multiple ways isn’t a declaration of one’s authenticity. The vitally important part is that you must remain aware that you’re doing this in order to prevent losing sight of who you really are.

This insight might bring clarity to the behaviours of not just celebrities, but anyone we meet - surface-level observations never provide us with the full picture of who someone might be as a person. The importance of keeping an open mind in regards to aspects of people that we might not discern at a glimpse becomes a vital attitude to keep in mind for further developments in Persona 4’s narrative.

Returning to the issue at hand, the rescue of Rise marks the team’s third successful operation… or does it? Immediately following the news of her safe return home, the plot takes a swift turn as another corpse appears in Inaba, leaving behind a crime scene closely resembling those of the first two victims. Soon after the news breaks, a suspect emerges, inexplicably claiming responsibility for all the incidents thus far.

Anyone with an ounce of critical thinking skill will see right through him here - and they’d be correct. In truth, Mitsuo Kubo’s only crime was a copycat murder intended only to draw attention to himself - the unexpected twist arrives when residents of Inaba appear fully satisfied in accepting Kubo as the sole culprit in the case.

Let’s take a look into the state of Inaba at this moment in time. Following immense pressure on the local understaffed police department, a rushed statement is released pinning full responsibility for the serial murder case wholly on Kubo - news breaks on TV, and the community’s anxiety surrounding the case immediately settles down. Talking to the local residents additionally reveals a number of other small changes occurring in the small town - most notably, acceptance of Junes has risen.

Many who previously feared the impact the new department store would have on their local shopping district now welcome its arrival - there’s a notable shift in the value placed on ‘convenience’, a topic that quickly becomes a recurring theme from now on. Citizens will point out the dwindling customer bases of their favourite local businesses, while praising Junes’s selection and pricing in the same breath - displaying a general apathy toward the corporatisation of their community, as if it were always an inevitability.

By this point, the player has invested significant effort in revitalising Inaba - even beyond rescue operations and investigating the murder case, Persona 4 offers a variety of opportunities for the player to support the town. The game has deep roots in Shinotism, a Japanese religion historically characterised by a heavy emphasis on community, and there’s no better example than the fox inhabiting Inaba’s timeworn shrine.

In spending time with the fox, the player is given a series of wishes left by hopeful visitors to the shrine, with the incentive that they may return to leave donations if their wishes come true - these involve quests ranging from small errands like finding a lost wallet or helping a child make friends, to larger endeavors like catching a coveted fish for an elderly fisherman or helping out a retired small business owner after Junes’s unbeatable selection brings his shop’s patronage to a halt.

Gradually, all these little assignments build up to give the player a more personal involvement in the town they’ll spend the year in over the course of the game. Further developments in the serial murder case have much wider repercussions on Inaba’s populace, so this connection assists in providing weight to the challenges they’ll face and decisions they’ll make over the coming few months.

Developments in the case provide no time for questions right now though, as the Midnight Channel warns of yet another disappearance - “Detective Prince” Naoto Shirogane. Naoto has made frequent appearances during the team’s investigation, regularly presenting himself as an arrogant, condescending character seeking to hinder your search for the truth at multiple stages of the journey.

If you’ve been paying any attention at all, it’ll be evident that nobody in this narrative is to be taken at face-value. However, Naoto’s disappearance flips the script yet again, because a number of insights into his personality are observed from people you’ve come to trust - a quirk that later becomes vital to the discussion of the subject matter later presented by Shadow Naoto.

Even if you consider yourself open-minded, it’s a lot easier to slip into prejudice and uninformed preconceptions if they become common beliefs among those in your social circles - requiring active thinking to avoid these pitfalls, an effort that Persona 4 regularly tests if you’re truly making or not.

Unsurprisingly, Kubo’s arrest had zero effect on the case, and yet another prophesied disappearance occurs - Naoto Shirogane appears inside the TV World. Apprehending his shadow self reveals exactly what you’d expect to see.

Shadow Naoto’s charade doesn’t last long, and once everyone is present to see, its tone starkly changes as it begins to reveal deeper secrets on Naoto. The truth is, Naoto isn’t a man - or even the typically appropriate age to work in such a field. In reality, she’s just another member of the masses struggling under the weight of discriminatory workplace culture, and her abrasive personality is a direct result of numerous attempts for her efforts to be taken seriously despite an inability to fit into a professional field dominated by older men.

At this sudden revelation, the player may begin to subconsciously consider the environment they’re playing a part in sustaining. While it’s unlikely that they’re actively contributing to discriminatory behaviour, it’s these attitudes that lurk among the population and go widely unchallenged - even when we as individuals may believe that we oppose them. You’re left to consider how easily you slipped into these viewpoints, and the impact this mindset regularly has on the people around you. It’s a powerful critique on a wider societal issue that feels uniquely suited to Persona 4 in its execution.

Rescue operation number five proceeds smoothly, and our newest team member wastes no time in proving her usefulness. Naoto admits that, driven by desperation, she had independently discovered the pattern behind the missing persons cases and intentionally put herself in harm’s way - all for a chance at learning the truth herself.

Another successful rescue doesn’t discourage our relentless criminal, though. The Midnight Channel commences broadcasting again, giving us a peek at our next victim - this time a startling shift from prior abductions, the 7-year-old Nanako Dojima - protagonist Yu’s cousin, and a dear friend to the whole team. In our first operation with an actual detective contributing to the cause, Naoto hastily springs into action, organising the facts and leading the team on their most vital mission yet.

Her impressive swiftness proves to be a major advantage, as our Investigation Team arrives at the scene just in time to finally catch the culprit red-handed. This brings us to the story’s main climax, leading into an extraordinary number of events happening in rapid succession. To summarise - Nanako Dojima, a young child still overwhelmed with grief at the loss of her mother, is abducted by our notorious kidnapper. Learning of this incident, her father - police detective Ryotaro Dojima - springs into action, forsaking the bureaucracy of his incompetent workplace to pursue the suspect himself. A violent car chase ensues, and Detective Dojima is left in critical condition, still oblivious to the location of his only remaining family member.

While the culprit is able to escape to the TV World, his truck leaves behind many clues as to his methods, and a notebook containing personal information on all the prior victims provides undeniable proof of his involvement. Another successful expedition sees the team return safely with victim Nanako, alongside a new suspect - ex-council secretary Taro Namatame.

Optimism begins to rise surrounding the outcome of the case, as Namatame’s capture leaves few loose ends to be tied before the crisis burdening Inaba can finally be brought to a close. However, things take a turn for the worse when Nanako unexpectedly passes away from medical complications, becoming the first new casualty related to the case in seven months. Realising that the suspect’s methods are unlikely to yield enough solid evidence to hold up in court, grieving father and detective Ryotaro Dojima impulsively escapes his hospital room to confront the man responsible.

Dojima is quickly escorted from the hallway by hospital security, and those staff becoming occupied leaves the door to suspect Namatame’s hospital room as a major blind spot, a circumstance that the team promptly decides to take advantage of. Discussions on how to proceed are interrupted by a loud thud - quickly confirmed to be the sound of the suspect trying to flee via a large window.

Left unsupervised in the company of the man behind it all, the stakes dramatically rise. Namatame cowers in fear, seeming incapable of displaying any remorse for his crimes. Running out of options, Naoto - the detective responsible for getting us this far - proposes a solution they’ll never be able to take back.

At the idea of throwing our suspect into the TV World, the conversation quickly devolves into age-old moral clichés - does killing a murderer really make us any better than him? Is death truly the worst punishment for such unforgivable crimes? Saddled with all the swirling emotions of anger and resentment in both the player and the Investigation Team alike, the group begins to take sides.

In the midst of this heated dispute, the game finally offers the player an option to intervene - beginning with the option to interject with “Wait a second here…”. Should they choose to do so, they begin walking the path to presenting another viewpoint for discussion - is he even at fault here? If the player is successful in picking the correct options to calm the group down, the truth starts to come out - we can’t say for sure. While Namatame may have been caught in the act at the scene of the crime, there’s still many unaddressed pieces of evidence that just don’t fit the notion of him being the true culprit behind everything.

Persona 4 yet again tries to catch the player out here. It’s the same trick we’ve seen used time and time again already over the course of the story, and yet when applied to a different set of circumstances with a much more tangible emotional weight behind them, the game might just succeed again in proving how easily manipulated a person can be. The ethical and moral challenges should’ve never been the first step, and the necessary inquiries into the full truth had been forsaken in pursuit of an ill-advised sense of justice.

Had the player been misled into killing Namatame - or even faltered in their conviction at any point - it’s entirely possible for the game to come to an abrupt end here, leaving them at an unsatisfying conclusion with no insight into the future consequences of their actions. Proceeding on the correct path, however, we’re once again met with interference as a doctor finally returns to the room and forcibly escorts the team outside.

While we wait for another opportunity to question the suspect, there’s a few questions quietly alluded to in the meantime. Word of mouth regarding recent events rapidly spreads through the distressed community of Inaba and a collective sense of anxiety is once again clear to see among its populace. These residents don’t share the same yearning for the truth that the Investigation Team do, they desire immediate solutions, they want a return to their daily lives without the lingering threat of a violent criminal on the loose.

With that in mind, is it really the correct option to reject their wishes in pursuit of the ‘real’ truth? Our suspect is still the one throwing victims into the TV World, regardless of his motive. The murders and disappearances would come to a stop following his arrest, which is all the community needs to hear right now. With the connection we’ve formed to this town and all the efforts we’ve put into revitalising it - is it right to throw it back into turmoil?

It all comes back to the topic of convenience, and the value we place in it. The idea of Namatame being the sole culprit can certainly be considered a ‘convenient truth’ - it’s not completely a lie, and while the ‘full truth’ is yet to be exposed to the public, will Inaba’s community recognise the importance of unraveling all the remaining little mysteries when they could instead have real solutions right now?

Regardless, there’s no moves to be made just yet. Namatame is in no condition to answer questions, and his methods leave behind no valid evidence to build a case against him. Another night passes with many enigmas left to solve, and the next day presents one more chance to shed light on the truth.

Following a night’s rest to regain his composure, suspect Taro Namatame becomes noticeably more conducive to participating in a discussion. Desperate for answers, the team reassures him that they’re the only ones capable of understanding his story - and the only ones willing to consider his viewpoint as a potential truth.

Allowing Namatame’s story to come to light reveals a shocking truth that had gone unseen - as it turns out, our main suspect fell victim to the exact same tricks as we did. In reality, if he is to be believed, the first two disappearances resulting in the victim’s death were not his undertaking. He merely happened to spot the same pattern that set the Investigation Team into motion - the rumoured Midnight Channel foreshadowing the first two murders. Armed with this knowledge and all the grief of his beloved Mayumi’s passing, Namatame deludes himself into believing his newfound ability to enter TVs is a gift to grant him the power to prevent further tragedies, and sets in motion a plan to track down the next victim.

Unfortunately, it works out. Yukiko Amagi makes an appearance on the notorious Midnight Channel, and he uses his family’s delivery business as a means and a cover for his first ‘rescue’ operation, throwing the victim into the TV himself. Due to the actions of another party - the newly formed Investigation Team - following the same trail, Yukiko makes her way out alive, visibly unharmed. Perfect, he proclaims, as in Namatame’s eyes his new gift had allowed him to safeguard a young woman’s life - and so begins a peculiar case burdening the town for months, nurtured by two parties unwittingly participating in a large-scale game of cat-and-mouse, both acting only in the best intentions.

Despite Namatame’s scheme being the more harmful plot in reality, at a more abstract level it’s almost a perfect mirror of the journey the player had taken at this point - placing all their faith into rumours and happenstance, carrying out a dangerous plan without a clear understanding of the circumstances. The relatability between the player and the suspect at this moment in time is palpable, standing in stark contrast to the day prior when prematurely ending his life had been a serious consideration.

Final warning for major Persona 4 spoilers. The next stages of the investigation reveal the story’s true antagonist.

With this new information in mind, the team sets their sights on uncovering a new suspect - the original culprit, the person responsible for the first two murders. Eight months have passed since then, the trail has grown cold, and the group’s original plan to question Inaba’s residents once again regarding sightings of suspicious persons turns up very little new information.

Following a meeting over dinner at the local Chinese diner, compounding all the small fragments of information gathered over the course of the case turns out to form a vague profile, and the player is given the comprehensive list of potential options to pick a suspect from. There’s no repercussions for picking incorrectly, but with further consideration, one otherwise unassuming person does appear capable of fitting all the necessary criteria - police detective Tohru Adachi.

Sure enough, upon confronting Adachi, his friendly facade drops as it becomes apparent that he knows exactly why you’ve arrived to visit him. Foolishly, our culprit drops us our first concrete evidence - and when cornered, swiftly escapes through a TV.

Pursuing yet another suspect into the TV World leads us to uncovering an unsettling predicament. Culprit Adachi has been possessed by Ame-no-Sagiri, the Japanese mythological god of fog - a recurring visual metaphor throughout Persona 4. Commanding suspect Adachi’s body, Ame-no-Sagiri details the consequences of our relentless search for the truth - the TV World is beginning its gradual fusion with reality, starting by saturating Inaba with a dense fog.

This fog presents the biggest challenge yet for Inaba’s community. Rumours and fearmongering regarding the fog’s chemical makeup and side-effects rapidly spread among concerned residents, with those most detached from reality beginning to anticipate the end of the world. The sight of them represents a major setback for the town, forcibly pulling its populace back into a state of frenzy when they had been so close to peace just days prior. Regardless, the decisions have already been made, so the only option for the team now is to defeat Adachi.

The true culprit’s confrontation inside the TV World reveals a previously unseen side to him. Beneath all the supernatural elements involved, Adachi is an absolutely perfect fit for Persona 4’s narrative, as he’s one of the most ordinary characters among the cast.

The 27-year-old police detective illustrates his fairly typical backstory - he followed the standard path in life, studied diligently through school, attended college, landed a respectable job, and generally did everything anyone expected of him. However, the satisfaction in life he’d been promised simply never materialised - he felt trapped in a dead-end career, living alone in a plain apartment, stuck in an unceasing cycle of making it through each day in anticipation of a future that’d never arrive.

What makes this confrontation so effective is that it’s highly likely that the player knows an Adachi in their real life, or sees part of themself in him - a person who’s well-adjusted by all appearances, living indifferently through each day in the life that had been set out for them, while harbouring a deep sense of loneliness and boredom hidden within themselves. While it’d be irresponsible for the game to insinuate that the player’s friend, co-worker or family member - or potentially even the player themself - might be one step away from committing a tragedy, it’s easy to see why the possibility was so enticing to the Adachi of this story - an unassuming man with an unopposed attitude of casual misogyny and self-centeredness suddenly granted a completely untraceable method to kill whoever he desired.

Adachi’s two victims were a result of the exact circumstances you might’ve expected. The first is Mayumi Yamano, famous TV presenter and romantic interest of previous suspect Taro Namatame, as she’s left in our culprit’s protective custody. Newly aware of his ability to erase evidence and guarantee no consequences, he decides to make unwanted advances on Mayumi.

Immediately following the confirmation of Yamano’s death, Adachi decides his next victim in a spur-of-the-moment decision - Saki Konishi, high school student and discoverer of Yamano’s body, arrives at the police station for questioning. Overcome with jealousy at the sight of a high-schooler who seemed to have found enjoyment in her life, Adachi heedlessly begins to harass her.

Without placing undue blame on anyone in particular, Tohru Adachi serves as an extreme example of the unsavoury attitudes that might be lurking beneath the surface in ordinary people as a result of a wider unwillingness among society to address the mindsets we’ve developed. Throughout Persona 4 so far, the game has repeatedly promoted active thinking into the everyday sentiments that we typically take our understandings of for granted - and the otherwise unremarkable Adachi makes a perfect vessel to explore the tangible impacts they have on society.

Defeating Adachi in battle sees Ame-no-Sagiri take control of his body once more, this time detailing its involvement in the existence of the Midnight Channel. It presents the idea that human nature doesn’t value truth, and we long for the ability to see only what we wish to see, and believe what we wish to believe. Much like regular television broadcasting, the Midnight Channel was created to facilitate this - only in a more direct manner, as it effectively served as a window to the human subconscious. We saw the victims appear on that channel solely due to the media planting those images in our minds, and they lingered there as we subconsciously longed to see more of them.

Declaring Ame-no-Sagiri to be truly wrong here proves to be a difficult task - Persona 4 has proven time and time again by now that we may be more susceptible to manipulation and false preconceptions than we’d like to admit. Whether it’s from the TV and the mass media, or if it’s simply from the people around us - picking and choosing the facts we want to believe has always been an easier route through life than pursuing the full truth at every opportunity.

This confrontation is Persona 4’s most overt presentation of the narrative’s core themes and messages, and one that serves as an anchor interconnecting all of the various topics discussed thus far. Adachi and Ame-no-Sagiri strongly parallel each other here - the former being a more grounded insight into the effects of society’s mentalities on a single person, while the latter acts as a more abstract representation of the greater issues behind them.

Hazardously proclaiming that humanity has the potential to live without the distractions of the comforting false images, the Investigation Team bravely challenges the god. Ame-no-Sagiri accepts their invitation, and reveals its true form for one final battle.

Upon its defeat, Ame-no-Sagiri reinstates the barrier between reality and the TV World, restoring peace once again to Inaba’s distressed community. The imposing god fades away, leaving behind Adachi as his original human self. The team celebrates their victory in Inaba’s refreshed, sunny streets, and time passes until the day that our hero Yu must return to the city.

In typical fashion for the modern Persona games, the player is given the opportunity to tour the town one last time and make their farewells to the characters they’ve formed bonds with over the long journey. Once all is said and done, it’s time to return home and finish preparing to catch the train tomorrow.

Adachi’s arrest has proceeded smoothly, false suspect Namatame’s name is cleared, and Ame-no-Sagiri no longer threatens the future of Inaba. It’s now time to take your well-deserved happy ending, take that train home and watch the credits roll.

…Did you really think Persona 4 was done tricking the player? No, of course it isn’t. The aforementioned prompt isn’t just a confirmation that you’re ready to proceed with the ending, it’s a quiet test of whether you’ve really taken the narrative’s lessons to heart.

If you’d have made a mistake any time prior to this, even those that result in a false ending, it’s somewhat obvious that you’ve made a significant error. Assuming that you didn’t overwrite your save data following the credits, it’s easy to return and make a different decision - but not this time. Selecting ‘Yes’ sends you to a completely inconspicuous ending that appears in no way out of place for a Persona game.

Now, all those questions that served as purely hypotheticals are flipped on you, the player, with real consequences this time. Was it the truth you really desired, or are you simply satisfied with the outcome now? Is it right to once again risk the serenity you finally secured for Inaba for the sole purpose of leaving absolutely no stones unturned?

If the answer to any of these questions leaves you in contemplation for any amount of time, you might just notice we’re still missing crucial information. Why did the TV world exist, anyway? Why were Yu, Namatame and Adachi the only ones able to access it? Who started the rumour of the Midnight Channel? Taking one last trip to the Junes foodcourt, the Investigation Team’s base of operations for the last year, we discover that the rest of the group had been independently pondering those same questions.

This cryptic method to achieving the true ending is one that’s been widely criticised over the seventeen years since Persona 4’s initial release, and for valid reasons - nobody wants to hear that they didn’t really beat the game that they had dedicated their last few weeks of free time to. However, given the purpose of its inclusion in the narrative, I personally believe it to be a brave design choice that demonstrates a rare faith in the player to understand what they truly wanted out of the story - after all, if you’re satisfied with the conclusion you reached, what’s so wrong with the journey ending prematurely?

The conclusion reached by the team is that something must’ve occurred the day that Yu arrived in Inaba, as the lengthy murder case began suspiciously soon after. Shockingly, an investigation into the events of an unexceptional day over eleven months ago actually leads us to yet another otherwise inconspicuous figure - the town’s gas station attendant.

Upon confrontation, the attendant’s tone sharply changes, and she reveals her true form - another Japanese mythological god, Izanami.

The tale of Izanagi (represented in Persona 4 by the manifestation of Yu’s initial persona) and Izanami (represented by the attendant) is a major part of Japanese mythology, said to be the origin of Japan as a country. In short, the myth describes Izanami as having passed away due to complications in childbirth, and her grieving husband Izanagi pursuing her into the underworld to retrieve her. Izanami informs him that he cannot see her as she is already too deep into the process of her death, but her foolhardy husband is undeterred by her insistence. Following Izanami into the darkness, Izanagi sets his comb alight to reveal the shocking image of his wife’s corpse rotting away before his eyes.

Persona 4 twists this story to bookend its narrative, from Yu’s awakening to Izanami’s defeat, allowing it to closely parallel the player’s journey to the truth and the consequences faced by recklessly pushing further at each roadblock. Pursuing the game’s representation of Izanami abruptly plunges Inaba back into a deep fog as the team prepares for their final excursion - for real, this time.

Our final trial, Izanami, reveals the method by which she allowed the three subjects access to the TV World. Posing as the gas station attendant, she selected three people passing through based on three desired traits - Namatame representing despair, Adachi representing emptiness, and finally Yu representing hope. She created the TV World to facilitate her game, discreetly informed the three participants of the Midnight Channel, and spectated as they played their parts in a bid to discern the true extent of humanity’s desire for the truth.

All three performed as anticipated, but in reaching Izanami, one shone distinctly more brilliantly than the others - the player’s avatar, having surpassed her expectations by flawlessly clearing every obstacle and evading every false conclusion along their journey. In defeating her, we learn the true consequences we would’ve faced if we hadn’t pushed this far. With Izanami still remaining, the world could’ve paid the ultimate price - her game could’ve transpired all over again, anytime, anywhere, with no guarantee of the outcome without the Investigation Team’s presence.

It’s the ultimate conclusion to Persona 4’s narrative, finally assuring the player that they made the right choices. All those decisions you made in pursuit of the ‘full’ truth, even those with immediate repercussions in the short term, were indisputably justified by the results achieved when observing them as a whole.

The game once again directly involves the player in proving the value of its message - not only in regard to its central theme of truth, but also in an abstract sense more widely applicable to our everyday lives. The correct paths in life, both on an individual and societal level, are rarely the easy, ‘convenient’ options often sold to us and making impactful, lasting changes often requires active consideration and temporary disruptions.

If you’re playing Persona 4 Golden, the 2012 expanded re-release of Persona 4, you’ll be additionally rewarded with a little treat here - an exclusive glimpse into Inaba’s future following the long-term effects of your unwavering efforts. Fans of the original release have voiced criticisms over this addition, stating that they preferred when the future was left ambiguous - but in the context of the narrative’s deep connection to societal issues in the real world, I personally appreciate it as a little insight as to ‘what could be’ if we all took its messages to heart.

Wrapping up the story for good this time, the player is treated to an ending they can feel proud of, knowing that they’ve done everything in their power to secure a future for Inaba.

In hindsight, it’s remarkable just how well Persona 4 has aged. It clearly isn’t afraid to date itself, with aging technology such as CRT televisions and feature phones featured so prominently in its imagery, its distinctly 00’s pop-infused soundtrack, and the somewhat dated looking graphics - but I believe it’s the prevalence of these nostalgia-evoking elements that serve to effortlessly transport the player back to a time when TV news and online forums held more relevance to everyday society. This ‘time capsule’ effect allows us to walk away with something of a more abstract meaning from the realities of life back then.

It’s an under-appreciated aspect of the game that I hope developer Atlus understands the importance of as we grow closer to the release of Persona 4 Revival, the highly anticipated remake expected around 2027, to ensure that it retains a similar power to continue provoking conversation into its topics as the original releases have done for so many years now.

My first experience with Persona 4 didn’t come until mid-2022, but even in that short time this story and its characters have formed a special connection to me as a person - and I hope this article helped the game mean a little more to you too, whether you’ve played it before or not. I’m grateful for anyone reading this far, and I hope you’ll join me in anticipation of Persona 4 Revival giving this classic a renewed chance to shine once again.