Introduction

Umihara Kawase: Shun - Second Edition is the game that asks you to commit to an awkward relationship with a fishing line and then rewards you for not panicking. Originally arriving on PlayStation in 1997, Shun is the second in a series that begins with a sushi chef getting lost in increasingly surreal aquatic environments. The 'Second Edition' is mostly the same clever, twitchy platformer fans loved, with the notable omission of in-game advertising that used to remind you the world is a product placement waiting to happen. If you like your platformers with precise physics, a touch of obtuse level design and the feeling that a rubber band is judging your life choices, this is worth a look.

Gameplay

Shun keeps the series' DNA intact: fields (levels) hang off one another like a particularly cruel filing system and each door promises a deeper, stranger folder. Fields are self-contained playgrounds with solid and moving platforms, spikes, ladders, and small hostile sea-life whose primary ambition is to rearrange your plans. Doors are never where you'd expect, and the true objective of the game is to work out routes that get you to one of the final exits - ideally with grace, but also ideally without dying more than the local fauna. The core mechanic is a fishing line that behaves like a physics lecturer who refuses to simplify things. You can throw the line at nearly any surface; it hooks, takes your weight, and turns you into a pendulum with opinions. From the hook position you can swing, lower yourself, pull up to higher ledges, and deliberately stretch the line to catapult yourself across gaps. The line also functions as a weapon: hook an enemy and reel it in for points and the odd sense of moral superiority. Kawase stores captured fish in a pink rucksack which doubles as a one-up. The presence of that rucksack is the only in-level collectible the series bothers with; the rest is pure spatial problem-solving. Shun's PlayStation move to a pseudo-3D side-on plane introduces more angled and jutting blocks than the Super Famicom original. That means the game's carefully cruel geometry got a little more complicated; platform edges are less unambiguous and judging exactly where to hook becomes part of the puzzle. The line physics in Shun are slightly tweaked: shorter overall, but springier and more elastic, which makes for faster, snappier movement and a higher potential for both triumph and spectacular, triangular-fish-related failure. Importantly, the PlayStation version largely avoids the occasional slowdown that the Super Famicom sometimes suffered from, so your input and the rope's response feel consistently honest. Mastery is the game's quiet carrot. Simple controls - run, jump, climb, throw line - mask an uncompromising physics model. The satisfactions come from learning advanced techniques: rocket jumps that use the line as elastic potential, micro-tensions and releases to pivot past spikes, and the notoriously elegant one- and two-step rocket jumps that transform a desperate flail into a choreographed escape. Shun rewards curiosity and repetition; fields have many routes and finding shortcuts can reduce a run from five minutes to something that feels like cheating the level designer out of a modest grudge. Speedrunning is not an afterthought here; it feels built into the bones. The Second Edition tweak is mercifully simple: it removes in-game advertising that cluttered some releases. That's the sort of small mercy that matters when you're threading a pixel-sized gap and a poster for soup tries to judge your commitment. Otherwise, Shun retains the series' preference for exploration over hand-holding. Expect a steep, but fair learning curve. Expect your early sessions to look like a bad relationship montage set to the sound of fish mocking you. Expect later sessions to feel like a private conversation with the rope in which you both agree to behave.

Graphics

Shun's visual choices are quietly pragmatic rather than flashy. The move to the PlayStation allowed designers to introduce angled blocks and more complex level geometry, which changes how you read space; that was an explicit design choice, not a midlife crisis for the art team. Backgrounds and level art are competent and occasionally charming, with digitized photographic backgrounds in earlier entries giving the series a slightly uncanny collage feel. Nothing here competes with contemporary bombast, but it doesn't need to: clear foreground sprites and readable hazards are the sign of a team that knows its game is built on precision, not spectacle. The rope animation is the star of the show and is treated with the respect it deserves. It's responsive and elastic in a way that makes you immediately aware of momentum. On the original Super Famicom the rope sometimes strained the hardware and caused slowdown; the PlayStation Shun largely avoids that, and the Second Edition retains the snappy physics while adding the angular level design that complicates every hook and swing. Enemies are simple and to the point: they exist to get in your way and to provide something to reel in when you need a small, triumphant score boost. Visual clutter is minimal, which is exactly what a game that runs on precise timing should aim for.

Conclusion

Umihara Kawase: Shun - Second Edition is not trying to reinvent platforming. It's trying to be an excellent argument for why a single, weird mechanic can carry an entire game if you treat it ruthlessly well. The fishing-line physics are both the punishment and the reward; they will make you feel clumsy and then inexplicably graceful. The PlayStation move to a 3D side-on world adds pleasingly awkward geometry and the Second Edition's removal of in-game adverts is a mercy you won't appreciate until you're three deaths into a particularly delicate section. If you want a platformer that treats you like a competent but slightly deluded physicist, Shun will be a patient teacher. If you prefer tutorials that hold your hand while a narrator explains your emotions, you should probably look elsewhere. For everyone else: expect sharp, deliberate levels; a rope that will judge your decisiveness; and a small, persistent amusement in seeing a sushi chef use a fishing line in ways social scientists have not yet approved. It's charming, challenging and, most importantly, fair - which is a polite way of saying it won't forgive you, but it will let you come back and prove it wrong.

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