Throughout the events of Promise Mascot Agency, I was Pinky’s ride. Anywhere that she needed to go, I had to ferry her in my crappy little truck. As a matter of fact, I was responsible for the transport of any and every mascot that stumbled through the doors of the Promise Mascot Agency and came under my employ. When Kofun needed to go to a nearby graveyard, I was the guy for the job. When Trororo needed a lift to the local adult store, I begrudgingly told him to hop in. Be it by land, air, or sea, it became my responsibility, and mine alone, to make sure everyone got where they needed to go.

Promise Mascot Agency is a game filled to the brim with chores and mundane tasks like this. As I traveled across the isle of Kaso-Machi, drifting in and out of decrepit villages and farm fields, I found that Promise Mascot Agency’s cast was filled with folks in need of some assistance. The English teacher who worked unpaid overtime shifts to put on a night school at her underfunded workplace. The nearby mechanic with an insatiable curiosity for the occult, and no time between his job and family. If a shrine needed to be swept, I was there with a broom in a split second. Whether it was the local barkeep in a gimp suit, the streamer-turned-farmer, or of course, the disenfranchised youth, I was there with an olive branch to extend.

Promise Mascot Agency probably sounds like a convoluted game. It is. In one breath, it is a title about an ex-yakuza–handsomely voiced by the same actor behind Kiryu in the Yakuza games–driving around a countryside, rounding up seemingly endless collectibles and upgrades, and sending living mascots (like a giant crying tofu block) out on jobs via a simplistic management system and card-based minigame. In the latter, you must play support cards with differing strengths and weaknesses as a mascot performs a job in order to beat a troubling interference that arises and assure the job is a success. In another breath, it is a full-throated exercise in the lengths of compassion and empathy. It is rarely sleek and sexy about it–Promise Mascot Agency doesn’t feature over-the-top set pieces or hide slick new super moves to reward the player for completing its long list of chores. But real, tender empathy for your fellow man rarely does look so good, and Promise Mascot Agency’s unglamorous honesty is something I’ve come to admire from one of 2025’s best and brightest games.

Continue Reading at GameSpot Throughout the events of Promise Mascot Agency, I was Pinky’s ride. Anywhere that she needed to go, I had to ferry her in my crappy little truck. As a matter of fact, I was responsible for the transport of any and every mascot that stumbled through the doors of the Promise Mascot Agency and came under my employ. When Kofun needed to go to a nearby graveyard, I was the guy for the job. When Trororo needed a lift to the local adult store, I begrudgingly told him to hop in. Be it by land, air, or sea, it became my responsibility, and mine alone, to make sure everyone got where they needed to go.Promise Mascot Agency is a game filled to the brim with chores and mundane tasks like this. As I traveled across the isle of Kaso-Machi, drifting in and out of decrepit villages and farm fields, I found that Promise Mascot Agency’s cast was filled with folks in need of some assistance. The English teacher who worked unpaid overtime shifts to put on a night school at her underfunded workplace. The nearby mechanic with an insatiable curiosity for the occult, and no time between his job and family. If a shrine needed to be swept, I was there with a broom in a split second. Whether it was the local barkeep in a gimp suit, the streamer-turned-farmer, or of course, the disenfranchised youth, I was there with an olive branch to extend.Promise Mascot Agency probably sounds like a convoluted game. It is. In one breath, it is a title about an ex-yakuza–handsomely voiced by the same actor behind Kiryu in the Yakuza games–driving around a countryside, rounding up seemingly endless collectibles and upgrades, and sending living mascots (like a giant crying tofu block) out on jobs via a simplistic management system and card-based minigame. In the latter, you must play support cards with differing strengths and weaknesses as a mascot performs a job in order to beat a troubling interference that arises and assure the job is a success. In another breath, it is a full-throated exercise in the lengths of compassion and empathy. It is rarely sleek and sexy about it–Promise Mascot Agency doesn’t feature over-the-top set pieces or hide slick new super moves to reward the player for completing its long list of chores. But real, tender empathy for your fellow man rarely does look so good, and Promise Mascot Agency’s unglamorous honesty is something I’ve come to admire from one of 2025’s best and brightest games.Continue Reading at GameSpot  Read MoreGameSpot – All Content