Pasokon Retro is our regular look back at the early years of Japanese PC gaming, encompassing everything from specialist '80s computers to the happy days of Windows XP.
The mysterious snack-hoovering gap between holiday celebrations and getting back to normal is a great time to clear out the personal cobwebs, set your sights on a few goals, and try a little self-improvement. If the streets around my home are anything to go by, most people seem to think that starting the year right means getting a lot of fresh air and exercise, jogging around until you're nothing but a bag of sweat encased in lycra.
Nope. No. No way. Have you seen outside? It's got things like "weather" and "other people" in it, and I can't even quick load my way out of a bad dialogue choice if I bump into someone. What I wanted to do this January was:
- Stay warm and inside at any cost
- Jolt my mind out of its novelty cheese board induced haze without having to chug an entire jug of coffee first
Testing my [in]considerable intellect against a puzzle game seemed like the obvious thing to do, but none of the obvious choices really got my heart fluttering. Neatly stacking shapes and matching colours felt a bit too familiar—I wanted to play something fresh, something I'd have to devote my full attention to.
Which is why I ended up playing Sabnack, a 1991 PC-98 think 'em up (available digitally!) that contains an unusual fusion of ideas. I have to get a specific item to a goal by manipulating various objects in a tricky handcrafted stage. That sounds like it could describe basically any puzzle game; the difference in Sabnack is that I'm also acting like I'm the star of an action RPG at the same time. Weaving through hordes of enemies and directing magical knights to fell my foes is just as important as carefully solving the latest problem.
In theory, it's simple. Alf, who, thanks to his red hair and heroic demeanor looks an awful lot like he got lost on his way to audition for Ys, has to find the petrified fairy on each stage, revive them with a swish of his magical cape, and then safely escort them to the exit.
It is, of course, never that simple. It's not even that simple in the very first stage.
One of Sabnack's unique quirks is that anyone Alf brings to life stays in whatever position they were in, relative to him, when he first caped in their general direction. If they were above him when he brought them to life, they stay above him as he moves around.
If the formation I've found myself in can't fit through a small gap, or hasn't got the right ally in the right place, or even if it's something as simple as the exit being to the left when the fairy's stood to his right, then I have to find another way around—or something I can push my stubborn new friend into, shunting them into a newt spot or even forcing them to detach entirely, temporarily turning them back into immovable stone.
I hoped the game would gently remix this core idea for a few early stages, making sure I felt confident with it before moving on. Instead the second stage introduced monsters so deadly I'd fail if I touched them even once. Not long after monsters started marching straight towards me then ominously pacing back and forth if they got caught behind a line of trees or similar obstruction. To get past them alive I had to use Alf's tasty heroic body to tempt them over to one side, and then quickly dash in the opposite direction. The behaviour of these tiny sprites brought Resident Evil 2's walking nightmare Mr. X to mind, both of them utterly relentless opponents who wouldn't stop tormenting me until one of us was dead.
I can't remember the last time a puzzle game made my heart race like I'd just cleared a horror game chase sequence. And I'd barely started!
That unexpected rush of pure adrenaline turned out to be just what I needed in January, shocking me into a strange sort of fear-fuelled focus. I knew that these enemies were deadly, but I could now see that they—and all the others—were always bound by their own strict set of rules. Some can only move when I do, while others always turn right when they hit a wall, or can only move horizontally, allowing me to safely stand right next to them. Whatever form they come in they're always a little slower than Alf too, the compact stage design daring me to bravely squeeze through a small gap that may only exist for a brief moment of time.
After some practice, plenty of restarts, and more than a few bouts of creative swearing, I started to make some real progress, not only completing stages that once looked impossible, but thoroughly clearing the maps of enemies before confidently strolling to the exit in record time. I was unstoppable. I was invincible.
I was swiftly undone by my own inflated ego thanks to a sudden change of scenery.
Sabnack's RPG-like setting isn't just for show. Like all the best adventures, doing well only means I'm plunged into even more danger, the green grasses and blue waters of the opening areas replaced with grimy graveyards teeming with ghouls and narrow passages leading to bone-filled pools. I suddenly felt very small, well aware that everything I thought I'd mastered was about to be twisted into something different and deadly.
And just a little hopeful, too. Like any other fantasy story, Sabnack treats a new place as a chance to introduce new allies, in this case spell-flinging sorcerers capable of damaging enemies from afar. If it was just another '90s RPG, they'd be a new friend by my side. If it was one more puzzle game in my collection, that would mean I had a new strategic tool at my disposal. But Sabnack's always a bit of both, and that turns even something as mundane as One New Guy into something that feels brand new, even in the cold light of 2025. I soon started looking forward to finding their stone statues around the death-filled maps, wondering what sort of monsters we'd have to face together, and if I'd be able to use their unique abilities to clear the latest conundrum.
It'd be tough. And tense. And I had no doubt I was about to spend a not-insignificant amount of my month yelling at my screen in frustration, or weirdly scared by the way something just a few pixels high moved.
But it was still better than jogging.
