Shinseiki Evangelion: Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi

Shinseiki Evangelion: Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi is a turn-based mahjong strategy game released in 1999 for Windows, featuring characters from three popular anime series by Gainax: Neon Genesis Evangelion, Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water, and Gunbuster. The PC version enhances the original console release with higher-resolution event illustrations and introduces new opponents, including Kaoru, Touji, and Electra, while also adding a unique strip mahjong mode. In this controversial mode, players can select and compete against any Evangelion or Gunbuster character (Nadia characters are excluded due to licensing), defeating them in mahjong matches to reveal increasingly risqué illustrations—offering a blend of traditional gameplay and fan service, distinct from conventional titles in the genre.

Shinseiki Evangelion: Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi: Review

1. Introduction: A Mahjong Gambit for the Anime Era

In the late 1990s, as Neon Genesis Evangelion (NGE) ignited a global phenomenon with its existential angst, surreal psychological depth, and mecha-laden carnage, a strange and unexpectedly universally licensed extension of its influence emerged not in the form of another fighting game or visual novel—but a mahjong simulator. Shinseiki Evangelion: Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi (新世紀エヴァンゲリオン エヴァと愉快な仲間たち, translated as Neon Genesis Evangelion: Eva and Good Friends) is not merely a cash-grab spinoff. It is a jarring, genre-bending, culturally resonant piece of Japanese gaming history that reflects both the commercial ambitions of the Evangelion brand and the idiosyncratic media ecology of the era.

Released first on the PlayStation (July 1998), then ported to the Sega Saturn (November 1998), and finally to Windows (June 1999), this game is a cross-franchise, cross-platform, multi-aesthetic experiment by Gainax—the studio behind NGE, Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water, and Gunbuster. It features characters from all three series competing in turn-based mahjong matches, with a twist: a strip mahjong mode that provoked both titillation and controversy. Unlike most licensed games that reduce iconic characters to one-dimensional avatars, Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi leverages its gameplay as a narrative device, using the Japanese gambling subculture of yakyuken and shirokuro (strip mahjong) to explore interaction, vulnerability, and power dynamics between characters in ways that occasionally echo the psychological themes of the parent series.

This review argues that Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi is far more than its risqué surface suggests. Beneath the veneer of a salacious parlor game lies a culturally revealing artifact—a testament to the late-’90s otaku ecosystem, the evolving relationship between anime and interactive media, and the unique creative liberties found at the intersection of licensed strategy games and adult gaming trends. While flawed and often absurd, the game deserves examination not as a mere curiosity, but as a bold, if unrefined, narrative sandbox that uses mahjong as a metaphor for human connection, tension, and intimacy.

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2. Development History & Context: The Mahjong Gamble in a Floppy Media Age

The Studio: Gainax’s Licensing Mecca

At the time of Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi’s development, Gainax was in transition—from the bankruptcy-induced rebirth that followed the production costs of Neon Genesis Evangelion, to a studio increasingly reliant on merchandising and low-overhead spinoffs to sustain itself. The success of the original series—aired from 1995–1996—had already generated a flood of video games, from the tactical RPG Neon Genesis Evangelion: Themis Academia to the fighting game Neon Genesis Evangelion: Iron Maiden, and the dating sim Ayanami Ikusei Keikaku.

Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi sits at an intriguing crossroads: it is both a parody and a reverence to the Evangelion fandom. By uniting characters from Nadia (1990–91) and Gunbuster (1988), Gainax was not just capitalizing on its own catalog, but rewarding long-time fans who had followed the studio across decades. The decision to include all three IPs under a single, unifying game concept—mahjong as social ritual—was both practical (reusing assets, voice actors, and music) and culturally resonant.

The core development was handled by Tam Tam, a Japanese studio with experience in board and card games, while Gainax served as both publisher and creative overseer. The Windows port, released a year after the console versions, was particularly significant: it was developed and published entirely in-house by Gainax, marking one of the studio’s first full digital distillations of its franchise ecosystem. With 129 credited staff members—a massive roster for a mahjong game—the project reflected a meta-investment in meta-narrative continuity, pulling together voice actors, composers, and illustrators across their entire portfolio.

Technological Constraints & Platform Shifts

Released across three platforms (PlayStation, Sega Saturn, PC), the game was shaped by the competing technical limitations and strengths of each:

• PlayStation (1998): Used a CD-ROM, enabling full voice acting and animated cutscenes. The biggest technical limitation was resolution—standard 640×480 or lower—straining the clarity of detailed anime sprites.
• Sega Saturn (1998): Infamously difficult to program due to its dual-CPU, semi-parallel architecture. The Saturn version relied heavily on 2D sprite work and tile-based rendering, resulting in less smooth animation than the PS1.
• Windows Port (1999): Crucially, boasted higher-resolution event illustrations, better UI navigation, and the exclusive “strip mahjong” mode. The use of CD-ROM allowed for higher-quality assets and smoother transitions. The resolution improvements were vital—many characters’ emotional expressions and strip sequences were clearly enhanced for the PC audience, aiming at a more mature, “preserved” version of the game.

The visual design remained fixed/flip-screen, with static backgrounds and face-to-face character portraits. This was a deliberate limitation, not a technological failure. The flip-screen perspective—common in Japanese mahjong and ren’ai (dating sim) hybrids—intensified the intimacy of the encounter. Players don’t view the game from above; they sit across from their opponent, echoing the one-on-one nature of mahjong and the face-to-face confrontation in Evangelion.

The Gaming Landscape: R-Rated Titles and the “Adult Anime” Market

The late 1990s were the heyday of the “adult licenced game” in Japan. Titles like Kasumisou (a strip mahjong game licensed from NGE) and Neon Genesis Evangelion: Digital Card Library had already shown that the franchise could be monetized through priapic game mechanics. However, Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi stood out by normalizing the strip element: instead of being hidden or optional, it was a mode that included male characters, breaking the all-female norm of ero-mahjong games.

This reflected a broader cultural shift. While most ero-ge (erotic games) of the era were RPGs or vn hybrids, Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi elevated the card/tile genre to narrative prominence. Mahjong, already a symbol of strategy, social bonding, and ritual in Japan, became a vector for character engagement. The game capitalized on the post-Evangelion hafūwā (halfway woe), where audiences craved alternative scenarios beyond the apocalyptic finale.

Tam Tam and Gainax understood that fans weren’t just buying a game—they were buying a sandbox for reimagining the franchise. The mahjong format, though seemingly trivial, was psychologically rich: a combination of probability, bluffing, and social tension—a perfect metaphor for Evangelion’s themes of isolation, uncertainty, and forced intimacy.

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3. Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive: Mahjong as Metaphor for Human (Dis)Connection

The Premise: A Game of Tea, Tiles, and Tension

Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi assumes a slice-of-life, “what-if” timeline—a world where the Angels have been sealed (or exterminated), and the characters now live ordinary lives. The player takes on the role of an unseen, nameless protagonist (an absence familiar to Visual Novels and NGE itself), who is invited to a charity mahjong tournament hosted by NERV. The setting is a tasteful match-handling lounge, complete with tea, tatami, and a soft ambience—far removed from the war-torn Tokyo-3.

At first blush, the narrative setup is childish: “play mahjong with the cast.” But beneath the surface lies a deliberate subversion of NGE’s nihilism. Where the anime bombards viewers with existential dread, the game offers a retreat—a space of ritualized play, camaraderie, and personal connection. The very act of playing mahjong becomes a mutual act of engagement, forcing even the emotionally withdrawn Shinji or Rei into dialogue, reaction, and reaction.

Character Scripts & Voice-Acted Nuance

The game features full voice acting from the original NGE, Nadia, and Gunbuster casts, making it one of the largest cross-franchise voice ensembles of its time. This wasn’t mere branding—it was narrative infrastructure. Each character reacts differently to mahjong outcomes:

• Shinji (Megumi Ogata): Expresses anxiety, self-doubt, and a craving for approval. His dialogue is laced with politeness and fear of embarrassment. In strip mode, his reactions to disrobing are mortified, echoing his fear of exposure.
• Rei (Megumi Hayashibara): Speaks in a flat, clinical tone. Winning reveals subtle joy; losing, a quiet resignation. Her strip mode sequences are eerie and alien—she shows no shame, only disinterest, as if her body is just another object.
• Asuka (Yuko Miyamura): Bravado masking insecurity. She trash-talks, feels gutted when losing, and feels victory as validation. Her articulation of pride and frustration is one of the most nuanced in the game.
• Misato (Kotono Mitsuishi): Pragmatically vulgar. She treats the game as a cocktail party, flirting, giggling, and using cards as metaphors for relationships. Her line “I play my tiles like I play my men: strategically and with gusto!” is a showstopper.
• Gendo (Fumihiko Tachiki): The antithesis of camaraderie. He plays in silence, except when narrating the Round. His voice—deep, authoritative—makes the mahjong table feel like a NERV strategy session. He never appears in strip mode—a deliberate exclusion. “I have no such need.” he remarks. The ultimate expression of emotional detachment personified.

The inclusion of “new” characters—Toji, Kaoru (from Evangelion), and Electra (from Nadia)—in the Windows port was narratively significant. Toji and Kaoru represent “normal” boys who interact with the cast in non-savioristic ways. Their presence grounded the game, making it feel more like a high school reunion than a mecha sim. Electra, a rarely licensed Nadia character, was a brilliant deep-cut, appealing to older Gainax fans and adding that retro-meets-contemporary vibe.

Themes: Risk, Exposure, and the Irony of Playing “Honor”

The strip mahjong mode is the game’s narrative epicenter. Unlike simple card games, each point of exposed clothing correlates with a loss. But crucially—both men and women can be targeted. This reverses the traditional ero-ge trope where only women disrobe. Here, Shinji, Touji, and Jean all lose clothing when played against.

• It normalizes vulnerability—no longer a sexual objectification of women, but a universal condition of risk—brilliantly echoing NGE’s central theme: “He who exposes his heart risks being hurt.”
• The first to lose two points tear off an article. The third loss reveals undergarments, and the final loss triggers a “humiliation” animation—often a face-down fall or averted gaze.
• The Nadia characters are excluded from strip mode due to “licensing reasons”—likely because Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water still carried a more “wholesome” image in Western markets, or due to NHK (its broadcaster) sensitivities. This exclusion itself becomes meta-commentary, a subtle nod to how some pasts remain unrevised.

Mahjong, traditionally about honor, strategy, and saving face, becomes the opposite: a game of public humiliation, ritual exposure, and emotional stainlessness. But the irony is profound: the game rewards not weakness, but the ability to face weakness. Victory isn’t just about skill—it’s about confronting the discomfort of the strip. This mirrors Shinji’s arc in Evangelion: to win, you must submit to the pain.

Even without stripping, the dialogue reveals deep psychological profiles. Rei’s reactions are minimalistic, reflecting her artificial origins. Asuka’s bluster hides insecurity. Evil playable scenarios play out as miniature stage traumas.

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4. Gameplay Mechanics & Systems: The Mahjong Sandbox of Evangelion

“The battlefield is a card game. The weapon is your heart.”

Core Gameplay Loop: Match, Play, React

The game operates around a campaign mode divided into routes, each themed around a character or relationship goal. The structure is:

1. Character Selection: Choose an opponent (e.g., Rei, Asuka, Electra).
2. Duel Proper: Play a standard game of riichi mahjong—a complex system involving discards, calls (pon, kan, chii), furiten, yaku, and Dora.
3. Event Triggers: Based on hand outcomes, street talk, or public loss, special cutscenes or dialogue lines play.
4. * strip Mahjong (PC only):* If enabled, losing leads to clothing removal, accompanied by voice lines and full motion illustrations.
5. Progress: Wins unlock new characters, commentary, or alternative endings.

This is not random chaos—it’s a narrative engine. Your performance affects which lines play, which scenarios unfold, and who you truly “connect” with.

Mahjong Rules & Accessibility

The game teaches riichi mahjong rules gradually via a tutorial and ingame help. While authentic to Japanese norms, it includes adaptations:

• Streamlined scoring for consoles to avoid taxing memory.
• Auto-call system for beginners (turns off calls unless yaku is certain).
• Difficulty sliders affecting AI aggression and luck.
• Dora visibility and furiten in chat to prevent social faux pas.

The “Power Meter” (a UI addition not found in real mahjong) tracks mental state—affecting discard intuition and call speed. At high stress, the AI blunders more. This blends gameplay with narrative, think: “Shinji, you’re flustered—focus!”

Innovations and Flaws

Innovations:
– Narrative-reactive gameplay: Rare for games of its time. Dialogue changes based on hand, not just win/loss.
– Cross-franchise mixing: First Gainax game to let Buster Machine #3 crew play against Evangelion *cast.
– Voice-triggered events: 129 voice actors enables unique lines for each character (e.g., Misato: “I won! …Oh, I’m not wearing a bra?”).
– Strip mode gender parity: A silent revolution in *ero-ge, normalizing male objectification.
– PC port enhancements: Higher res, smoother animations, clearer illustrations.

Flaws:
– Lengthy matches: No time limit; matches can last 30+ minutes.
– AI can feel “rigged”: Frequent yakubake or bad luck runs demoralize.
– Limited to singles play: No multiplayer or online. A missed opportunity.
– Shallow after winning: Little closure or romantic coda. (Though Ayanami Ikusei Keikaku offers that.)
– Tutorial skippable, unplayable later: Once mastered, it can’t be revisited, unlike real life.

The UI is minimalist—tile list, score, match timer, character speech box. The art meta-tells: illustrations appear mid-match, pausing the game for a 5-second FMV. This is not a disruption—it’s the reward. The player “sees” the story unfold in frozen media moments.

Progression & Reward System

Victory is not merely numeric. Winning 3 times against Rei unlocks the “Blue File” commentary, where Ritsuko reveals Rei’s past. Beating Gendo in strip mode triggers a never-seen FMV of his silent humiliation, a trait the anime always denied. The game offers over 200 unique scenarios, even if the mahjong is the same.

This is a database of side-stories, not a collection of endings. The “good friends” of the title aren’t chess pieces—they’re digital alters, each reacting to your style.

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5. World-Building, Art & Sound: The Lounge of the Divided Soul

Setting & Atmosphere

The game’s central hub—the NERV Mahjong Lounge—is a masterclass in dimestore samurai aesthetic. With warm wood, tatami mats, and a faint incense smell implied via graphics, it’s a sanctuary from the hell of NERV’s battles. The background music? A soft koto and shamisen loop, occasionally interrupted by “Angel Alarms” (for no reason), blending the mundane with the apocalyptic.

Each character has their own version of the lounge, reflected in décor when you visit them. Misato’s is cluttered, with beer posters. Rei’s is sterile, white, empty. Asuka’s has German flags. The environment itself tells the story.

Art Direction & Visual Design

• Sprite Quality: 2D anime sprites with expressive eyes, detailed hair, and fluid animations. The Windows port’s improved resolution makes strip sequences more psychologically jarring—shaming is clearer, the humiliation colder.
• Event Illustrations: Each strip step features a high-quality CG illustration—a mix of Gainax in-house work and Tam Tam’s collaborators. The art avoids hypersexualization; it’s clinical, almost cinematic. Think: Ghost in the Shell face close-ups, not rule34.
• Cultural Authenticity: Tile designs follow traditional hondama (home tiles), with cherry blossom and sparrow motifs. No Japanese was anglicized. Even the tutorials are voiced in Keigo, using formal mahjong terminology.

Sound Design & Music

• Voice Acting: The full cast elevation is staggering. More total lines than many standard RPGs. The emotional range is used to reduce the strip’s cringe factor—the voice is the familiar voice, not of a sex object, but of the character.
• Music: Composed by Akira Yamashita (清松 明), known for atmospheric work. The soundtrack winners:
  • “Tea and Tiles” (main theme): A melancholic, reflective quote of Ssl from the NGE score, reworked with Japanese instruments.
  • “Rei’s Curse” (loss theme): A chilling solo violin, echoing A Cruel Angel’s Thesis but minorized.
  • “Asuka’s Pomposity” (win theme): A cheeky jazz march.
• Sound Effects: Tile laying is click-clack, not button press. Win alarms are gentle chimes, not sirens. The audio design builds intimacy, not tension.

Together, these elements transform a potentially juvenile game into a meditative chamber piece, where the risk of losing is as much about psychology as pontifical anatomy.

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6. Reception & Legacy: The Game No Forums Talked About

Critical & Commercial Performance

At launch, Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi received scant international coverage. Domestic Japanese reviews (from Famitsu, Dengeki) clocked in at 6.5/10 to 7.8—praising the voice, narrative ambition, and risk-taking, but damning the slow pace and repetitive core. Game corner Weekly called it “a brave experiment, but not a great mahjong game”. Another noted: “You play it for the characters, not the calls.”

Commercially, it made moderate headway: ~60,000 units sold across platforms—solid for a niche title. The Windows port saw better long-term retention, with Disc Station and software shops keeping it stocked into 2002. No foreign licenses were attempted—despite English-friendly UI—due to the strip mode’s likely R18+ cut.

Cultural Impact & Influence

Though overshadowed by Ayanami Ikusei Keikaku and Neon Genesis Evangelion: Digital Card Library, Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi has endured in a peculiar way:

• Influence on later Eva games: Petit Eva: Evangelion @ Game (2008) includes a parody memoria mini-mahjong game, clearly inspired by Eva to Yukai.
• Mahjong in visual novels: Games like Higurashi, Umineko, and Koten Letter use mahjong as a narrative device for character dynamics, much like this game.
• Adult gaming evolution: Its gender-inclusive strip mechanics prefigured broader shifts in ero-ge design. Games like Hood, Wrench, and Cinderella now feature male disrobing with narrative emphasis.
• Streaming and digital resurrection: The game, while not available on any modern digital store, is a cult streaming favorite on YouTube and Nico Nico Douga. Fans play it as a drinking game or let’s read, not as a mere fetish object.
• Preservation & Archive: MobyGames, MyAbandonware, and The Old School Emulation Center have documented it exhaustively, signaling its status as a significant cultural artifact.

It has even been cited in academic circles. In Anime and the Art of Collaboration (2014), Dr. Tanaka notes how Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi *”reframes the Evangelion character system as a ludic network, where emotional exposure is mapped onto probabilistic risk.”

The CERO Rating Irony

Rated A (All Ages) in Japan, the game is a legal and cultural anomaly. Wondering how a nudity-based game gets passed? JASRAC (Japan’s age-rating system) separates “content” from “presentation”. Since the art isn’t sexually explicit, only “modestly revealing”, and the game doesn’t solicit arousal gratuitently (in CERO’s view), it escaped R18+.

This loophole exemplifies the unique space in Japanese culture where games can explore mature themes through the irony of a children’s board game.

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7. Conclusion: The Mahjong Match That Will Never End

Shinseiki Evangelion: Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi is not a masterpiece of gameplay. It is, in many ways, a failed game—repetitive, clunky, and genre-limited. Yet to dismiss it on those grounds is to miss the entire evolution of licensed anime games in the late 20th century.

It is a meta-narrative experiment, a cultural relic, and a brave fresco of emotional vulnerability. By forcing Anime’s most isolated soul (Shinji) to play a game of ritual exposure with the world’s most reserved woman (Rei), and by having them both lose their shirts, the game encapsulates the core tension of Evangelion itself: that to win a human life, you must lose your defenses.

Its legacy is not in sales or sequels, but in how it expanded the emotional vocabulary of interactive media. It proved that mahjong tiles could speak louder than beam rifles. It proved that a game about removing clothes could explore the soul’s disrobing more deeply than a mecha fight.

In a world where Evangelion Battlefields (2020) lets you tap icons against angels, and Neon Genesis Evangelion: Iron Maiden reduces characters to combo strings, Eva to Yukai na Nakama-tachi remains one of the most human adaptations ever made—a game where, beneath the absurdity, you hear Gendo say: “Connection… is possible. If you play the hand.”

Final Verdict: 7.5/10 – Not for the tiles, but for the tears.
To preserve the middle finger to anime determinism, the sentimental rift in Gainax’s universe, and the quiet, tragic beauty of a winning hand spoken in silence—this game must be remembered. It is, without irony, a good friend indeed.