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Crouching Lizard Step aside, Pikachu. The 'King of Games' has stolen your crown in Japan and is poised to conquer America The white dolphin heads to battle. She is a water-borne soldier who can swim to swift escape but has inadequate fighting skills. Her opponent materializes: the Armored Lizard. Damn! My dolphin is no match for its steely jaws and impenetrable skin. Next, I set loose the Blade Fly, whose razor pincers make for nasty weapons. I prepare for a fight. But this enemy is too clever: he has set a hidden trap that swallows the fly. "Game over," says Hiroaki Namikata. "You suck." I consider wringing his neck but decide this would upset his mom. "You'll get better in time," Hiroaki says, as he slurps down his lemon soda. We're playing Yu-Gi-Oh, the game that has replaced Pokémon as Japan's No. 1 fad and is expected soon to enter the global lexicon. Yu-Gi-Oh, which means "King of Games," stars a seemingly normal boy named Yugi who gains extraordinary powers when playing a card game. The boom began when it was introduced as a plot twist in the Yu-Gi-Oh manga-comic series, which then spawned an actual card game, as well as Game Boy and PlayStation software, an animated TV show, action figures, pencil boxes and countless other money-sucking doodads. Yu-Gi-Oh is already a $2 billion industry; it caused a riot at a Tokyo games convention and has been banned from Bangkok schools. Its U.S. kickoff is slated for the fall. Hiroaki, an outspoken eight-year-old, has gathered two other Yu-Gi-Oh freaks at his family's condo in Chiba to challenge me in electronic battle. By wiring our Game Boys together with a cable, we assess one another's "cards" and send our own characters off to war. Each of the 700-some characters has unique traits and powers, which are rated by points. Illusionist No-Face, for instance, is a magician who can instantly shift appearances. His 1,200 points of offensive strength are no match for the 1,400 of the Mecha-Falcon, but the magic man's 2,200 defensive points far outnumber the jet-powered bird's 1,200. Got it?
But Yu-Gi-Oh is not such a hit with parents. Nearly everyone likes Pokémon's cute figures, but Yu-Gi-Oh's dark story lines, leggy girls and terrifying monsters make Satomi Namikata, Hiroaki's mother, cringe. As her young daughter hugs a talking Pikachu, the best-recognized Pokémon character, mom frets: "The rules are so complicated and the drawings so scary that I'm sure Yu-Gi-Oh is meant for teenagers." Which is exactly why younger boys love it. The craze isn't limited to fad-mad Tokyo; in a large toy store on the southern island of Shikoku, every Yu-Gi-Oh card and Yu-Gi-Oh Game Boy game is sold out. "I get swarms of kids from the elementary school next door," says Mitsuaki Muraoka, the shop's manager. "On weekends, parents come in with pieces of paper on which they've written the word yu-gi-oh." Since Konami introduced them in 1999, the company has sold 3.5 billion cards; 7 million computer games have been sold since its release in late 1998. With the U.S. launch due before Christmas, Konami is predicting a 65% jump in Yu-Gi-Oh-driven profits over the next two years. It's the cards and not the video game that still drive Japanese kids' interest. "The funny thing about these games is that they have reminded kids how fun it is to play with each other, instead of at home alone with a video console," says Macoto Nakamura, a Tokyo game designer. Are interactive games promoting interactivity of the retro, Old Economy kind? Could be: the toy fad currently sweeping Japan is Bei Blade, an updated version of spinning tops. go to page #2 click here |