Live A Live Proved to Me Finishing a Game Isn’t the Same as Enjoying It

Warning: The following article about Live A Live contains spoilers.

I had just defeated Odio. My 5 compatriots that I had assembled from across time and I had done it. I had cut down legions of enemies, conquered trials of skill and wisdom to gain legendary items, and faced almost every incarnation of the Lord of Dark. As I looked upon my fallen foe, something struck me in the corner of my eye: Where was Pogo? I knew I had met him. I’d had a little conversation with him, but I left him in that field and when the final battle came, he was nowhere to be seen.

After all those hours spent playing and finally finishing the game, ending with a two-layer boss battle and then a boss gauntlet, I somehow hadn’t achieved the best possible ending. I sat there, unsatisfied. After a few minutes, I just deleted the game. In my quest to save the timeline, Odio had won. The next day, I was at work ruminating on Live A Live when I came to the obvious conclusion. I texted my fiancee and asked her to turn on the PS5. Then, I used the PS5 app to redownload the game. I owed it to the many timelines I surrendered to hate — and I owed it to Pogo.

After several hours of grinding and getting every character their legendary weapon, I arrived at Odio’s lair and defeated him once more, along with his counterparts. Then, like a bad cold, Odio rose for one more encore. I defeated him easily, and when the credits rolled, I was finally content. However, though I felt satisfied because I did it, I didn’t enjoy it.

I had just wanted it done.

And so FOMO and a sense of duty set in

Think of it like this: I felt like Frodo after the One Ring is destroyed. It’s over. It’s done. Good day, sir. There was a time when I enjoyed Live A Live but it had long since passed before that ending. What replaced my enjoyment was a macabre sense of duty. I had come so far, I had achieved so much, and when I realized I hadn’t got the true ending, I snapped. I had grown attached to this narrative, even though the gameplay had frustrated me, so I wanted the best outcome for these characters and this world.

A kind of completionist’s will came over me. I wanted that ending, even if I didn’t enjoy how I achieved it. I look back at my time with Live A Live, and I know I only kept playing it from a combination of FOMO and a sense of duty. It’s a bizarre kind of limbo, something I wonder if other gamers ever have.

I wanted the story of Live A Live to be truly over so that I would never feel the need to return to it. It’s a strange experience to think about. I wanted to finish the game, but I was not enjoying the journey. This experience has made me reevaluate how I look at the games I play. When the sun rose at the end of the credits and the heroes looked over the saved land, they seemed relieved. And I felt that same sense of relief.

Unfortunately, that was all I felt.

I wonder what this all means. Am I falling out of love with games or have my tastes matured? Knowing that I’m not mature, I worry it is the former.