1) Back in a time when the term “game center” didn’t even exist yet, a dimly lit coffee shop run by my father’s older sister received one of the early Space Invaders cocktail arcade cabinets—long before the game exploded into a nationwide phenomenon. Inside that dark café, I can still remember the glowing CRT pixels floating beneath the glass tabletop, the mysterious low-frequency background music, and the unforgettable sound effects each time an invader was shot. 2) When I was an elementary school student in the 1970s, video games were surrounded by prejudice and social stigma. Teachers and PTA members would patrol arcades looking for students. If you were caught, you could be forced to stand before all 600 students during the school’s morning assembly and publicly apologize in the schoolyard. 3) There were classmates in college—people who happened to share classes with me, though they were never really my friends—who had already secured positions at major corporations. With smug smiles, they would say things like, “Turning your hobby into your job is foolish,” or “You were even captain of an athletic club at such a prestigious university, and you still want to work for a video game company? (laughs)” More than the games themselves, it was the environment surrounding them that shaped who I became. Living in that environment, I refused to be looked down upon by people who dismissed games—adults who judged students only by academic credentials or athletic achievements. So I proved myself by excelling in both. I made sure that those who looked down on games had nothing left to say, whether the measure was grades or sports. People may not expect it, but I started yacht racing at fifteen. I reached the podium at Japan’s National Sports Festival, consistently ranked among the top five in the All Japan Championships, and even raced at the front of Japan–U.S. international competitions. The desire to silence people who insisted that pursuing what you truly love as a career is somehow wrong—or who made bizarre claims such as, “Once you get your dream job, that’s the finish line, so you’ll stop trying”—became one of the fundamental inspirations behind the very theme of conflict itself. As a matter of fact, I once had a manager who genuinely believed exactly that. He said, “If you put someone in the position they want most, they’ve already reached their goal, so they won’t grow anymore.” What nonsense. Isn’t the real reason simply that you never truly loved what you were doing? Then again, for people who never genuinely loved games in the first place and only wanted promotions and social status, a job title really is the finish line. Looking back, I can honestly say that today’s version of myself was forged through fighting against people who never grew, who suppressed what others genuinely loved, and who always chose to stand on the side that condemned video games. I only wanted one thing: to be somewhere I could play games without anyone getting angry at me, and to live my own life by creating the games I loved. That was all I ever thought about. And I can proudly say this: I have never once lost to the people who tried to pull me away from games by dressing up their arguments with one excuse after another.

From my perspective, Miyazaki is a rather unique, yet extremely serious game developer. His career did not begin in the game industry. In fact, he didn’t become a game developer until he was almost thirty years old. Even among developers of my generation (those of us born in the 1970s), I think it’s remarkable that someone who wasn’t even a game developer during the dawn of the polygon era eventually became one of Japan’s most representative game creators. (In other words, compared to the rest of us from the same generation—including myself—his career path is exceptionally unusual. Most notably, unlike many of us, he was not working at one of the major development studios that held a significant technological advantage during the early polygon era. That, more than anything else, is what makes his path so unique.) Next, regarding my impression of Dark Souls. People often focus on its difficulty as a game, but I believe Miyazaki’s true creativity shines through in the world he created. (By the way, I personally think Dark Souls has fairly simple action mechanics, and I don’t actually consider it to be an especially difficult game.) If you look into my own career, you’ll see that I was personally involved with the Dark Souls series and Elden Ring as the General Manager overseeing both production and marketing (Just to clarify, I wasn't part of the development team itself. My involvement was simply as the General Manager of the publisher-side department overseeing production and marketing). From that perspective, I can say that Dark Souls didn’t suddenly become a massive success overnight. It was the result of everything Miyazaki and his team had built up through their previous titles. Today, he receives offers from all over the world, but when I think back to the days when he and his team were struggling the most, many of those offers seem like they’re coming from people who only know who they are today. Some of them almost feel like complete reversals in attitude. Well, that’s just my personal perspective. Personally, I had grown tired of people who would simply compare games by saying things like, “That title cost X billion yen to make and sold Y million copies,” and then use nothing but those numbers to judge them against other games. There were so many people who couldn’t appreciate the journey or the growth of the developers themselves. Anyone can look at the current numbers—they’re available to everyone. Whenever I heard those kinds of opinions, I always thought, “That’s exactly what you’d expect from someone who’s never actually developed games.” What surprised me even more was that, even if people couldn’t properly evaluate that journey, almost nobody even seemed interested in trying to understand the process of how those developers gradually reached where they are today. (I'm NOT talking about the fan community). Now, going back to Miyazaki, there are two things about him that have always stayed with me. The first was back when I was developing Summer Lesson for VR, around the time it was generating a lot of buzz. One day, he came to try an early build of Summer Lesson along with people from several other game companies. While everyone else was laughing, chatting, and having fun with it, Miyazaki alone played it with incredible seriousness. Then, after everyone had finished and started discussing their impressions, he remained completely silent, staring intently at the preview monitor, deep in thought. Everyone became curious and finally asked him, “Miyazaki, what are you thinking about?” He suddenly smiled and said, “Oh… I got completely absorbed in thinking about what I would do if I were making this, and what kind of game I’d create.” What he talked about after that was, in the best possible sense, completely insane. It was one of those rare moments when I caught a glimpse of what I’d call his “mad scientist” side—his deeply serious, obsessive approach to creativity. The other thing that left a strong impression on me was that he generally dislikes video interviews (including live streaming). I once asked him about it by email, and he replied with quite a long explanation. After reading it, I completely understood where he was coming from. Simply put, he doesn’t like watching himself moving around on video. (Psychologically speaking, it’s actually a bit more complicated than that.) But there was another reason. According to him, there are naturally many people in this industry who know games far better than he does. Whenever he listens to those people speak, he realizes that his own understanding is still shallow, and it makes him feel that he’s not yet in a position to be the one talking about games. I mean… it’s common for well-known developers to say, “I still have a long way to go.” But whenever someone like him says that, my reaction is always, “Come on… if you say you’re still not there yet, then the rest of us won’t feel qualified to talk about games at all.” (laugh) Anyway, that’s one of the reasons why video interviews with Miyazaki are extremely rare. And conversations with him on camera—especially long-form discussions with another developer—are even rarer. They almost don’t exist at all. By the way, the other game developer in that photo is Masahiro Sakurai. If you ask me, he’s basically: “A Saiyan who genuinely believes he’s just another ordinary human.” Every now and then, when the rest of us are struggling with some problem, he’ll say something that sounds exactly like Goku saying, “Well… why don’t you just fly?” And I’ll reply, “Because we humans can’t use Flight Technique.” Then he just stares at me with a completely puzzled look. To put it in terms of Demon Slayer, I’d describe him as: "Like Muzan Kibutsuji casually showing up at a drinking party where all the Hashira have gathered, genuinely believing he's just another ordinary guest". That’s the kind of person he is.

Back in September of last year, when we decided to bring Roger back, I sent the team a YouTube link to “that famous video” because I wanted us to recreate it. Some of the younger team members had never seen it before. I wasn’t personally involved in editing this video, but I heard yesterday that around springtime the team was actually hesitating over whether to include the recreation because they were running out of time. Apparently, Nakatsu’s final direction was, “We absolutely have to do it.” To be honest, I had already given up on it myself. I thought, “They probably won’t do that gag anymore. They’ve probably forgotten about it.” So when I saw it yesterday, it genuinely made me smile. I thought, “Ah, they actually did it!” Great job to both the team and Nakatsu.

It’s nostalgic for me! At the time, I quietly believed that Guilty Gear deserved to reach the stage of becoming its first million-selling — even double-million-selling — title. I approached Arc’s president and proposed that we handle the publishing. In the end, that became a reality in many regions, and GG Strive turned out to be the biggest success the series had ever seen. It’s a title that remains especially memorable to me as well.

Basically, we’re always happy to welcome visitors who have some experience in the game industry (Well, even some really passionate fans might get a chance to visit the studio), and we have people dropping by to check out the studio almost every day. Since we’re still in the early stages and there isn’t much confidential information around yet, we don’t really need tight security either. The problem is that many of the people who come for a visit end up desperately wanting to join the company lol I suppose it’s because the environment is great, and apparently we all look like we’re genuinely enjoying what we do and having fun.

You know those video game tunes that get stuck in your head for days after you casually play them for just a few minutes? I happened to play these two yesterday without thinking, and now their music has been looping in my head ever since. (1) (2)

I’d like to share that I’ll be leaving Bandai Namco at the end of 2025. With the TEKKEN series reaching its 30th anniversary—an important milestone for a project I’ve devoted much of my life to—I felt this was the most fitting moment to bring one chapter to a close. My roots lie in the days when I supported small local tournaments in Japanese arcades and in small halls and community centers overseas. I still remember carrying arcade cabinets by myself, encouraging people to “Please try TEKKEN,” and directly facing the players right in front of me. The conversations and atmosphere we shared in those places became the core of who I am as a developer and game creator. Even as the times changed, those experiences have remained at the center of my identity. And even after the tournament scene grew much larger, many of you continued to treat me like an old friend—challenging me at venues, inviting me out for drinks at bars. Those memories are also deeply precious to me. In recent years, I experienced the loss of several close friends in my personal life, and in my professional life I witnessed the retirement or passing of many senior colleagues whom I deeply respect. Those accumulated events made me reflect on the “time I have left as a creator.” During that period, I sought advice from Ken Kutaragi—whom I respect as though he were another father—and received invaluable encouragement and guidance. His words quietly supported me in making this decision. Over the past four to five years, I’ve gradually handed over all of my responsibilities, as well as the stories and worldbuilding I oversaw, to the team, bringing me to the present day. Looking back, I was fortunate to work on an extraordinary variety of projects—VR titles (such as Summer Lesson), Pokkén Tournament, the SoulCalibur series, and many others, both inside and outside the company. Each project was full of new discoveries and learning, and every one of them became an irreplaceable experience for me. To everyone who has supported me, to communities around the world, and to all the colleagues who have walked alongside me for so many years, I offer my deepest gratitude. I’ll share more about my next steps at a later date. Thank you very much for everything. 【Postscript】 Although I will be leaving the company at the end of 2025, Bandai Namco has asked me to appear at the TWT Finals at the end of January 2026, so I expect to attend as a guest. For 30 years I kept saying, “I’ll do it someday,” and never once performed as a DJ at a tournament event. So instead, I will be releasing—for the first and last time—a 60-minute TEKKEN DJ-style nonstop mix (DJ mix), personally edited by myself, together with this announcement. Listening to it brings back many memories. Thank you again, sincerely, for all these years. ‘TEKKEN: A 30-Year Journey – Harada’s Final Mix’ by Katsuhiro Harada 1 is on #SoundCloud# December 8, 2025 - The Final Day of TEKKEN’s 30th Anniversary - Katsuhiro Harada [日本語版 (Japanese version)] このたび、2025年末をもちまして、私はバンダイナムコを退職することにいたしました。 長く携わってきた『鉄拳』シリーズが30周年という大きな節目を迎え、ひとつの区切りとして最もふさわしい時期であると考えたためです。 私の原点は、日本のゲームセンターや、海外コミュニティの小さな講堂やコミュニティセンターで、まだ小規模なトーナメントをサポートしていた時代にあります。 アーケード筐体を自ら運び込み、「鉄拳もぜひ遊んでみてほしい」と声をかけながら、目の前の参加者と向き合った日々。 あの場で交わした言葉や空気が、私という開発者の核を形作りました。 時代が変化しても、あの経験が自分の中心にあります。 そしてトーナメントシーンが大きく成長した後も、皆さんは旧知の友人のように私に声をかけ、会場で対戦したり、バーで『一緒に飲もう』と誘ってくれました。 それらもまた、大切な思い出です。 ここ数年間、私生活においては友人達との死別があり、仕事においては、私が尊敬する多くの先輩方の引退や逝去に触れてきました。 そうした出来事の積み重ねが、私に『開発者として残された時間』について考える契機を与えました。 その過程で、私がもう一人の父親のように敬愛する久夛良木健さんにも相談し、貴重な助言と励ましのお言葉をいただきました。 この言葉もまた、今回の決断を静かに後押しするものとなりました。 そして、この4〜5年をかけて私の担ってきたすべての業務やストーリーや世界観、そして責務をチームに段階的に引き継ぎ、今日に至ります。 振り返れば、VR作品（サマーレッスンなど）や『ポッ拳』、ソウルキャリバーシリーズをはじめ、自社他社問わず数多くのプロジェクトに携わる機会に恵まれました。 いずれのプロジェクトも新しい発見と学びに満ち、かけがえのない経験となりました。 これまで支えてくださった皆様、世界中のコミュニティの皆様、そして長年ともに歩んできた仲間たちに深く感謝申し上げます。 次の歩みについては、改めて皆様にお伝えいたします。 これからも、どうぞよろしくお願いいたします。 +あとがき 2025年末をもって退職致しますが、2026年1月末のTWT FINALには顔を出してほしいと会社からお願いされていることもあり、FINALにはゲストとして顔を出すと思います。 これまで30年間『いつかやるよ』と言い続けてやってこなかったトーナメントイベントでのDJですが、その代わりとして“最初で最後のDJ風60分ノンストップ鉄拳ミックス（私による初編集DJ mix）”も、今回のポストに合わせて公開します。 ‘TEKKEN: A 30-Year Journey – Harada’s Final Mix’ by Katsuhiro Harada 1 is on #SoundCloud# 様々な思い出が蘇ります。改めて皆さんありがとうございました。 2025年12月8日 - 鉄拳30周年最終日 - Katsuhiro Harada