Recent reviews by Hideki Saito

The Stasis & Flux Bookmarks for gogh are optional DLC items that let you take a little more control over the progression of Kuroda42's transformations.

The Stasis Bookmark does exactly what its name suggests. Once enabled, it freezes Kuroda42 in its current state. No further transformations, no unexpected departures, and no surprises. If you have finally encountered a form you particularly like and would rather not watch it wander off into its next stage of existence, this bookmark is your best friend. Think of it as the magical equivalent of putting a "Do Not Disturb" sign on reality.

The Flux Bookmark takes the opposite approach. Under normal circumstances, Kuroda42's form progression is influenced by how you interact with the game over time. Flux throws that entire concept out the window and randomizes the progression instead. This means you can encounter a wide variety of forms regardless of your playstyle.

This can be especially useful for more casual players who may not spend long stretches of time in the game, as well as achievement hunters looking to encounter specific forms without carefully steering their behavior toward a particular outcome. Sometimes you want a carefully cultivated progression. Sometimes you want to shake the snow globe and see what falls out. Flux is firmly in the second category.

As noted in the DLC description, neither bookmark is a consumable item. Once purchased, they become features you can freely enable or disable whenever you like. There is no pressure to commit permanently to either option. Turn them on when they suit your goals, turn them off when you want the default experience back.

For the asking price, these bookmarks feel less like luxury extras and more like quality-of-life upgrades. Whether you want to preserve your favorite Kuroda42 form indefinitely or turn every transformation into a surprise party, they provide a welcome amount of flexibility without getting in the way of the game's core experience.

If you've ever walked out of a job interview wondering whether you were rejected because of your qualifications or because the interviewer spilled coffee on their shirt that morning, Thank You For Your Application may feel a little too relatable.

This game puts you on the other side of the hiring process. Instead of anxiously refreshing your inbox for updates that never come, you're the one reviewing applications, interviewing candidates, and deciding who gets a shot at employment. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to evaluate applicants and make hiring decisions in a manner that is legally appropriate. Or at least legally appropriate in the broadest, most entertaining interpretation possible.

Fans of Papers, Please will immediately notice some familiar DNA. The game shares a similar dystopian atmosphere, paired with a healthy dose of dark humor. Instead of standing in a border checkpoint inspecting passports, you're sitting in an office inspecting résumés. Somehow, replacing immigration control with human resources manages to feel equally unsettling.

The comparison goes beyond simply shuffling paperwork. Throughout the game, various side factions and outside influences occasionally make appearances, reminding you that there is more happening than what is immediately visible from your desk. These moments help build the world and add a layer of intrigue to your day-to-day duties. It is a nice touch that should feel familiar to Papers, Please veterans, where larger forces always seemed eager to involve themselves in your otherwise mundane job.

One area where Thank You For Your Application distinguishes itself is accessibility. The interface is straightforward, easy to navigate, and generally less demanding than its spiritual cousin. Personally, I consider this a positive. As much as I enjoy Papers, Please, there were times when I felt like I needed a magnifying glass, a law degree, and a consultation with a fortune teller just to catch some tiny discrepancy buried in a document. Here, the focus stays on the decisions themselves rather than on hunting for microscopic details.

If you enjoy games that challenge your observation skills and constantly make you ask, "Wait a minute, what's wrong with this one?" you'll likely find plenty to enjoy. There is a satisfying rhythm to reviewing applicants, gathering information, and making judgment calls. You quickly discover that being the person making hiring decisions is not nearly as straightforward as many applicants might imagine.

That said, this is very much a satire of the hiring process rather than a realistic simulation of it. Real recruiters are almost certainly not using Thank You For Your Application as a training manual, nor are they earning a "Certified Hiring Professional" badge after finishing the game. The situations presented here are intentionally exaggerated for comedic and narrative effect.

The game pokes fun at the bureaucracy, subjectivity, and occasional absurdity that many job seekers imagine lurking behind the hiring process. It is less "How to Become a Recruiter" and more "What if the hiring process was run by a dystopian corporation in a dystopian society?" Unless your employer's mission statement begins with "Compliance Through Fear" and the office break room requires three forms of identification to enter, you probably should not treat this as an accurate representation of human resources.

In other words, don't play this expecting an HR certification course. Play it as a darkly humorous satire that explores the anxieties, frustrations, and suspicions surrounding hiring by turning them into a game. The result is entertaining precisely because it is a cynical caricature, not because it is trying to be a documentary.

The game also wisely avoids overstaying its welcome. This is not a massive open-world adventure designed to consume the next hundred hours of your life. Instead, it delivers a focused experience built around a strong central premise and executes it effectively. Sometimes a game knows exactly what it wants to be, and that focus works in its favor.

Perhaps the greatest achievement of Thank You For Your Application is how quickly it flips your perspective. After years of being evaluated by recruiters, hiring managers, and mysterious application systems that appear to operate according to ancient and unknowable rules, you finally get a chance to sit in the decision-maker's chair.

The fate of the applicants is in your hands.

Try not to become the exact kind of hiring manager you've spent years complaining about.

So, RUNNING TRAIN.

As the name suggests, this game lets you take control of your very own Japanese train. Not just any train, either. We're talking about the kind of railway system famous for being incredibly punctual, meticulously operated, and supported by some of the most passionate train enthusiasts on the planet.

What immediately stands out is just how much of a labor of love this project is. The developer clearly loves trains, and it shows in every corner of the game. They have done a tremendous amount of homework. If you've ever traveled around Japan by rail, the atmosphere feels remarkably authentic. The scenery, the stations, the sounds, the overall vibe... it all captures that uniquely Japanese railway experience. This game doesn't just depict trains. It feels like it genuinely understands them.

The good news is that you don't need a doctorate in Japanese railway operations to enjoy it. The controls are approachable and easy to learn. Yes, the game supports specialized train controllers if you happen to own one, but a regular keyboard works perfectly well. You can be up and running in minutes.

That doesn't mean it's easy, though.

Hitting every speed limit precisely, braking smoothly, and stopping exactly where you're supposed to at each station is a challenge in itself. After a few runs, you'll find yourself developing a newfound respect for real train drivers. What looks effortless from the passenger seat suddenly becomes a delicate balancing act of timing, speed control, and precision. One moment you're cruising confidently down the line, and the next you're overshooting the station by half a carriage and questioning your entire railway career.

For an Early Access title, the game is impressively polished. The visuals are beautiful, performance is solid, and the overall experience feels surprisingly complete already. More importantly, it's simply fun. Whether you're a lifelong train enthusiast or somebody who just thinks trains are neat, there's plenty here to enjoy.

And if driving isn't your thing? No problem. The game includes an automatic mode that lets you sit back and enjoy the journey. Think of it as a scenic rail tour where you can admire the view without worrying about speed limits, signal aspects, or accidentally discovering what happens when a train arrives at a station significantly faster than intended.

Simply put, RUNNING TRAIN is a fantastic railway simulator. It's charming, authentic, accessible, and clearly made by someone who genuinely cares about the subject matter. If you've ever wanted to experience the world of Japanese railways from the driver's seat, this is an easy recommendation.

Cosmic Princess Kaguya! — in case you somehow managed to avoid hearing about it (perfectly valid, maybe it just wasn’t your cup of tea, or you were busy touching grass) — is the delightfully chaotic animation series on Netflix loosely inspired by Japan’s classic Tale of Princess Kaguya.

“Cosmic” — or Super in the original Japanese — is not an exaggeration. The show is eccentric in the best possible way: absurd humor, unapologetic energy, and enough VR/metaverse references to make anyone who has ever opened VRChat nod knowingly and grin. If you haven’t watched it yet, honestly, give it a shot. And whoever decided to bring this collaboration into gogh deserves a polite but enthusiastic standing ovation.

Now, about the DLC itself.

This pack drops Cosmic Princess Kaguya into gogh, which is already one of those dangerously effective “relax while pretending to be productive” applications. The free DLC adds Kaguya and Iroha in the signature gogh aesthetic, along with a collection of themed decorative items that fit surprisingly well into the cozy productivity vibe.

And yes — it’s free.

No, you do not get singing, dancing, fourth-wall-breaking Kaguya hovering over your task list. Probably for the best. Productivity levels would immediately collapse worldwide.

Instead, you get something arguably better: a soft, comfy atmosphere boost. Rearrange your virtual room, sprinkle in Kaguya-themed decorations, and suddenly your workspace feels like a warm anime café designed specifically for focus, calm, and mild existential procrastination.

Perfect for WFH.
Possibly acceptable at the office — assuming you can successfully explain to your boss the business justification for maintaining a carefully curated anime relaxation environment while working. (Results may vary.)

And did I mention it’s free?

Well… free after you have the base application, of course. Let’s not anger the technicalities department.

In short:
Cozy vibes ✔
Anime charm ✔
Zero cost ✔

Honestly, it’s hard to complain when a DLC basically hands you serotonin at no additional charge.

So, this game has… an interesting origin story.

Remember that widely circulated clip from 2016 where Hayao Miyazaki allegedly called something “an insult to life itself”? In a certain corner of the internet, that line gets repeated as proof that he condemned AI as a whole. What he was actually reacting to was early motion-learning tech—the same conceptual roots that eventually led to experiments like this. No, he wasn’t issuing a blanket statement about artificial intelligence, despite how the narrative sometimes gets simplified.

And no, you won’t be staring at grotesque zombie creatures flopping around the screen here.

Instead, you get stylized little lifeforms wobbling their way through existence.

ANLIFE isn’t really a “game” in the traditional sense. It’s closer to a simulator—think Spore, but with less “galactic domination” and more “quietly observing your digital terrarium.” Creatures evolve. Or they don’t. Or they politely go extinct without so much as a dramatic meteor strike. (There is an unlockable meteor, if you’re feeling Old Testament.)

Life emerges. Life disappears. No cutscenes. No violins. Just algorithms doing their thing. Because, well… life finds a way.

If you’re looking for deep, progression-heavy gameplay, this probably isn’t it. You can unlock everything in under two hours. But that’s kind of beside the point. This is evolution as a sandbox experiment—watching machine-simulated critters figure out how to exist through trial, error, and a lot of falling over.

I enjoyed it, even with its primitive “gameplay.” There’s something oddly charming about watching digital life stumble toward survival. If you have an inner scientist who enjoys evolutionary algorithms and emergent behavior, this will probably amuse you.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on my tiny, slightly incompetent ecosystem.

There are a lot—and I mean a lot—of games whose central theme is hacking. Which makes sense. Hacking is peak sci-fi cool. Movies have told us for decades that all it takes is a black hoodie, green text, and someone shouting “WE’RE IN.”

Everyone wants to imagine themselves as the ultimate hacker, right?
(No? Really? Then please go watch more movies and come back. But do watch good ones. Just because a movie shows nmap on screen doesn’t make it authentic. Dear Hollywood: it’s time to discover that more than one hacking tool exists.)

HackHub is made by a publisher/developer that clearly isn’t new to this genre. They’ve released several hacking-themed games before. Full disclosure: I haven’t played the others, so I won’t pretend this is a detailed comparison. But I have played plenty of hacking games—everything from “connect the dots in a neon UI” to abstract puzzle metaphors pretending to be terminals.

What makes HackHub stand out is that it doesn’t pretend you’re a cyber wizard commanding a team in a dimly lit war room. Instead, it plops you in front of a PC. Alone. No one yells “we’re in.” No one screams “we’re under attack!” It’s just you, a computer, and some contacts on the screen who feel about as emotionally close as your coworkers on Teams or Slack.

(Except these contacts are way bolder about asking you to do questionable things. Very movie-accurate, honestly.)

The tools in the game borrow heavily from real-world counterparts—some straight up, some lightly fictionalized. Don’t expect flashy visuals or fireworks. You get terminals. Browsers. Work-looking tools. The kind of stuff you might already stare at all day. When you finish a task, there’s no explosion, no dubstep drop, no “MISSION COMPLETE” fanfare. Just… quiet competence. This game is aggressively unsexy in that way.

That said, while the tools are simplified and abstracted (no, you cannot use this game to ruin your neighbor’s Wi-Fi or change your grades like in WarGames), many of the underlying concepts are at least plausible. Some things are fantasy, some are outdated, and some are wildly easier here than in real life—but it still feels grounded.

It’s a “down-to-earth hacker” game. Which is a weird sentence, but accurate. Also, for bonus points, there’s a built-in TypeScript engine and a lightweight version of Git. Yes. Really.

So… is it fun?

It depends.

If you’re the cybersecurity-adjacent type, you’ll probably crack a smile at the references and design choices. If you’re not, there’s a good chance this will feel intimidating, slow, or just plain weird. This is not a game for everyone—but for the people it clicks with, it’s quietly entertaining.

As for me? I’m partly a cybersecurity guy, and I enjoyed it. There’s also a demo, which is honestly the best way to figure out if this is your kind of thing before committing.

No hoodies required.

I love this game.
No, really love this game.
Love it enough that I immediately went, “Yes, hello, I’ll take all the DLCs, please,” without even pretending to be financially responsible.

Upload Labs is a game about waiting.
But not boring waiting. More like “I am actively watching numbers go up and feeling extremely smart about it” waiting.

Think Cookie Clicker, except instead of cookies, you’re dealing with something far more sinister: data. And somewhere deep beneath the hood of this game, I’m fairly certain there are cookies involved too—not the chocolate-chip kind, but the browser kind. The bitter kind. The kind that politely ask for consent while already knowing the answer. (Yes, you can blame the EU for that, but let’s not derail this review into international tech policy.)

Thankfully, Upload Labs does not simulate cookie pop-ups. If it did, the game would instantly become a horror title.

Instead of clicking cookies, you wire things together. Processors, networks, nodes, mysterious boxes that say “throughput” and make you nod knowingly. It’s very Factorio-adjacent in spirit: cascading systems, optimization puzzles, and the eternal struggle against bottlenecks.

Your network might be blazing fast.
Your pipeline might be elegant.
But one underpowered processor—one absolute potato—will bring your entire operation to its knees.

Just like real life.

There are multiple systems to juggle. You’ve got your standard uploads and downloads. You’ve got “coding” (and I put that in quotes because, no, you are not writing C#, Python, or your favorite cursed scripting language—you’re just connecting wires like a highly caffeinated IT gremlin). And then there are… other mechanics.

Let’s call them “morally flexible optimizations.”
The sort of things that, if attempted in real life, would cause the judicial system to raise an eyebrow, clear its throat, and say, “Sir, please step away from the keyboard.”

But hey—that’s what games are for, right?

And here’s the real fantasy element of Upload Labs—
You can do all of this without submitting a change request.
No ticket.
No CAB meeting.
No “can you justify this in a business impact document?”
No mysterious approver who’s been “out of office” since 2019.

You just… do the thing.

If you know what that means, I’m sorry.
You’ve seen things.

As for the DLCs: they’re mostly quality-of-life improvements. The base game is absolutely playable without them. Totally fine. Completely functional.
But if you decide to treat Upload Labs like a second job—you know, the fun kind where you voluntarily optimize imaginary infrastructure for hours—then the DLCs make life noticeably more pleasant.

I bought them all.
I regret nothing.

Is Upload Labs a “Game of the Year” contender? Probably not.
Is it the kind of game that makes trailers explode with cinematic drama? Also no.

But if you’re a techie who enjoys calmly perfecting a digital data-processing empire—without lifting heavy objects, attending meetings, or being asked to “just quickly look at this one thing”—then congratulations.

Your dream job exists.
It has no approval workflow.
And it runs at a very satisfying throughput.

If you’ve been even remotely paying attention to the recent avatar / 3D space glow-ups, chances are you’ve heard of gogh—that virtual environment software that aggressively whispers “cozy… cooosy…” into your ears while you work. You make an avatar, it becomes your silent (and non-judgmental) buddy, and together you conquer emails, spreadsheets, and whatever else life throws at you.

Now, gogh originally came with its own charming set of avatar parts—cute, tasteful, very “I drink herbal tea.” But if at any point you’ve found yourself thinking, “This is nice, but what if Miku were here?”—good news. Waiting is over.

This DLC brings you Miku, lovingly reimagined to fit gogh’s ultra-chill aesthetic. You get Miku-style avatar parts and room items, meaning you can fully commit to a Study With Miku setup. Work session? A companion for focused silence? Productivity shrine? All valid. Twist it, customize it, rearrange it until it matches your exact vibe.

One tiny disclaimer: actual music is not included. (Yes, that’s a separate DLC. Yes, capitalism wins again.)
And no, leeks are not included either. I checked. Thoroughly. Painfully.

Whether you’re a die-hard gogh fan, a lifelong Miku believer, or just someone who wants their productivity boosted by 100% anime energy, this DLC will absolutely make your work sessions way more Miku.

(Leeks still not included. I’m coping.)

“Laid-Back Camp – Virtual – Fumoto Campsite” is what happens when someone looked at the anime Yuru Camp and thought, “What if we made a VR game where literally nothing stressful ever happens?”

You play as Rin Shima, everyone’s favorite introverted camping philosopher, and spend your time hanging out with Nadeshiko, queen of chaotic wholesomeness. The gameplay? Imagine a point-and-click adventure, except instead of solving puzzles or saving the world, you’re just… boiling water, eating cup ramen, and occasionally pointing at Mt. Fuji like, “Yeah, that’s nice.”

Now, the store page might tell you that you need a VR headset. The description, however, admits you actually don’t. But let’s be real — playing a “virtual camping” game without VR is like buying a marshmallow and then staring at it for 20 minutes. Technically possible, but you’re missing the flavor.

Speaking of 20 minutes — that’s about how long the entire game lasts. You can finish it faster than it takes to cook real curry rice. You’ll unlock all the achievements, experience the full extent of Rin’s inner peace, and still have time to wonder why the Steam point shop expects you to play two hours before you can buy that adorable Nadeshiko avatar frame.

Despite that, it’s hard to stay mad. The world is cozy, the visuals are cute, and for a few blissful moments, you too can feel like an anime girl living her best camping life — no mosquitoes, no rain, and no tent poles that mysteriously go missing.

The price might feel a bit steep for something shorter than your morning coffee break, so maybe wait for a sale… unless you’re the kind of person who thinks “wholesome VR marshmallow vibes” is a valid lifestyle choice. In that case, pack your thermos, charge your headset, and prepare to be aggressively relaxed.

Undertale is one of those games that takes the good ol’ JRPG formula, flips it upside down, shakes it until loose coins fall out, and then politely hands you back something both familiar and very, very weird. At first glance, it looks like your typical retro-style RPG, but instead of the usual “select attack, press confirm, sip tea while animation plays” routine, you’re suddenly dodging a barrage of projectiles like you accidentally booted up a bullet hell shooter. And trust me, you’ll be dodging a lot. Your keyboard will feel like it just ran a marathon.

The game doesn’t just borrow inspiration from JRPGs—it screams it from the rooftops, waves a glowstick, and adds a wink-wink-nudge-nudge while it’s at it. The references range from subtle Easter eggs that make you grin like you’re in on a secret, to so-obvious-you-can’t-miss homages that hit you over the head with a foam bat. Either way, you’ll be smiling.

Now, don’t worry: Undertale isn’t the kind of RPG that demands you quit your job, live on instant noodles, and dedicate two weeks of your life to endless grinding. It’s a reasonably sized adventure with plenty of quirky encounters and enough narrative twists to keep things spicy. You won’t need to beg your boss for “Undertale leave.” Save that for when the next 100-hour AAA monster drops.

The story? Surprisingly heartfelt. The characters? Quirky, memorable, and sometimes unsettlingly relatable. It’s the sort of narrative that sneaks up on you—you come for the memes and end up with feelings.

Now, if I had to nitpick, my only gripe is the game’s “bug-or-feature” antics near the finale. Yes, I know it’s supposed to be meta. Yes, I know it’s intentional. But let’s be honest: at some points it behaves like your computer’s about to explode. It’s the kind of thing that feels like it deserves its own CVE number. (For my non-security friends: think of it as “so erratic it should be officially registered as a digital misbehavior.”) Once or twice is clever; overdoing it feels like Toby Fox wanted to troll me personally.

But here’s the bottom line: I had a blast. Undertale is witty, charming, and surprisingly moving. Definitely worth every minute, whether you’re dodging pixel-sized death or laughing at talking skeletons with a suspicious fondness for bad puns. And if you’re still unsure after this glowing review, just wait for a sale—it happens often, and trust me, the game’s worth even the full price.