Man, let me tell you about my relationship with Triangle Strategy. When this bad boy landed on my doorstep back in '22, courtesy of my 'I-might-play-this-someday' pre-order phase, it promptly became shelf decor. I admired the box art, sure – gorgeous HD-2D visuals screaming classic Square Enix charm – and the promise of deep tactical combat had me nodding appreciatively. But dive in immediately? Nah. That immediate FOMO feeling? Totally absent. It felt like homework I'd eventually get around to, nestled between faster, flashier titles.

The battlefield where my expectations got utterly wrecked. Look at that tactical beauty!

Fast forward to me finally cracking it open, thinking, "Alright, let's just sample a mission or two, get a taste of the combat." Famous last words, folks. This game didn't just grab me; it suplexed my entire gaming worldview through a table. I went in expecting Final Fantasy Tactics 2.0, pure gameplay bliss. What I got was a masterclass in political intrigue that had me glued to my Switch like it was dispensing pure caffeine. I usually treat game stories like loading screens between the real fun – enjoyable enough, but ultimately just the stuff I mash 'A' through to get back to the action. Or so I thought.

My plan was simple: savor the crunchy, turn-based tactical goodness. Positioning units, exploiting terrain, carefully managing TP for abilities – that sweet, sweet SRPG nectar I crave. "More of that sweet Tactics Ogre/Final Fantasy Tactics vibe in a fresh setting? Sign me the heck up!" The story? The tale of three nations in Norzelia duking it out over salt and iron? Yeah, cool backdrop. Give me the gist so I know who to bonk on the head with my lance, and I'm golden.

Boy, was I in for a reality check. I had vastly underestimated the sheer, unadulterated volume of dialogue and political maneuvering Triangle Strategy throws your way. We're talking Game of Thrones-level scheming, minus the dragons (mostly) but with all the backstabbing and moral quandaries. Lengthy cutscenes? Multiple between every single battle. Optional world map events showing parallel storylines? You betcha, like FF9's Active Time Events on steroids. Suddenly, the battles felt like the intermission between the main event – the story. And the craziest part? I was absolutely lapping it up. I became utterly invested.

• I read every damn lore document. Those optional books scattered around? Devoured 'em. Give me more about Norzelia's history, its grudges, its weird obsession with salt!

• I watched every single optional scene. What's happening with that shady merchant in the other kingdom? What's the enemy general feeling before the fight? Tell me everything.

• I agonized over choices. The Scales of Conviction mechanic? Pure genius stress. Convincing my party members felt like high-stakes diplomacy, not just ticking dialogue boxes.

Why did it hook me so hard? It wasn't some epic save-the-world-from-a-god plot. It felt real, raw, and relatable. This was a story about loss, sacrifice, the brutal cost of war, and the impossible choices leaders face. It humanized everyone, even the 'bad guys'. Before battles, Serenoa could survey the field, talking to terrified villagers whose homes were about to become a warzone. This wasn't just set dressing; it hammered home the stakes.

Me, internally, during every story decision. The tension was unreal!

Then came the moment. A desperate battle, waves of enemies crashing down. The 'solution' presented? Activate a devastating super-weapon... that would also obliterate a chunk of the town and its civilians. My gut reaction? "Hell no!" Not out of some strategic calculation, but because I cared about these pixel people and their homes. Choosing the harder path, fighting tooth and nail through that grueling battle felt right. It cemented my connection to Norzelia. Turns out, that refusal nudged me towards the best ending, a fact I learned later. But in that moment? Pure conviction.

Okay, okay, the combat! Let's talk turkey. It is fantastic:

• Strategic & Varied: Each map presents unique challenges. Elevation matters, elemental weaknesses are crucial, flanking is key.

• Accessible Depth: Not overwhelming like some hardcore SRPGs. Systems like follow-up attacks for adjacent allies add layers without being obtuse.

• Character Focus: Limited skill trees per character? Yeah, but it forces you to master their unique roles. The roster is wildly diverse:

  | Character Type | Name Example | Cool Ability |

  | :------------------- | :--------------- | :--------------------------------------- |

  | Silver-Tongued Rogue | Corentin | Charm enemies to fight for you temporarily |

  | Acrobatic Trickster | Julio | Throw distracting decoys & zip around |

  | Stoic Tank | Erador | Draw enemy aggro & absorb punishment |

  | Elemental Nuker | Frederica | Rain down massive AoE fire/ice damage |

• Rewarding Experimentation: Trying different tactics and abilities nets you more Kudos (currency for upgrades). Mix it up!

The real magic, though, was how Triangle Strategy rewired my brain. Out of left field, it became one of my top games of the decade. More importantly, it taught me the immense value of slowing down and embracing the narrative journey.

Even the upgrade screens felt meaningful after buying into the world.

Proof? I replayed Fire Emblem: Three Houses afterward. Previously, I'd kinda rushed through support conversations and monastery stuff, eager for the next tactical showdown. Post-Triangle Strategy? I was all in on tea parties 🫖, digging into Bernadetta's crippling social anxiety, uncovering Dimitri's trauma. The characters weren't just units; they were people with stories that mattered. The battles felt richer because I understood the stakes on a deeper level. A genuine gaming epiphany, delivered via a game I almost left gathering dust. So yeah, sometimes the game you least expect hits you right in the feels and changes how you play everything else. Who knew fake politics could be so damn compelling? 🤯