For comparison, the actual top 10 WiiWare games by historical importance and sales:
| Rank | Title | Developer | Sales (est.) | |------|-------|-----------|---------------| | 1 | World of Goo | 2D Boy | 1.5M+ | | 2 | Bit.Trip Runner | Gaijin Games | 600K+ | | 3 | LostWinds | Frontier | 500K+ | | 4 | Mega Man 9 | Capcom | 400K+ | | 5 | Final Fantasy IV: The After Years | Square Enix | 350K+ | | 6 | Bomberman Blast | Hudson | 300K+ | | 7 | Castlevania: The Adventure ReBirth | Konami | 250K+ | | 8 | Contra ReBirth | Konami | 220K+ | | 9 | Strong Bad’s Cool Game for Attractive People | Telltale | 200K+ | | 10 | My Life as a King | Square Enix | 180K+ |
Soshiki Bourei does not appear in the top 100 of this list.
When we talk about the Nintendo Wii, the collective memory usually jumps to Wii Sports, the waving of remotes, and the plastic peripheral graveyard in the closet. But for the hardcore digital collector, the Wii Shop Channel (RIP 2019) was a goldmine of experimental, quirky, and often bizarre software. Among the nearly 600 titles released on WiiWare, one name haunts the forums of retro collectors: Soushink Boudera.
In this exhaustive guide, we are ranking the Top 100 WiiWare titles. But we aren't just listing World of Goo and LostWinds (though they are here). We are diving deep into the forgotten sequels, the Japan-only releases, and specifically, the chaotic physics puzzle party game that deserves a spot in the top ten: Soushink Boudera.
Thus, by quality metrics, it is not in the top 100.
The disc arrived in a lead-lined box. The seller, an anonymous figure in Kyoto, included a handwritten note: “You are not collecting debt. Debt is collecting you.”
Linn set up a live stream on a new platform called “RetroCast.” She used a launch-day Wii (hardware-rev 1, no firmware updates), a CRT television, and a separate recording rig that saved to an air-gapped SSD. She invited the four surviving original owners as moderators.
Two million people tuned in.
The stream was chaos. The game was as ugly and broken as the legends said. The paper-cutout city swayed like it was having a seizure. The “Debt Notes” flew in patterns that defied rhythm—3/4 time, then 7/8, then a silent bar of nothing. Linn died on level 4. Then level 7. Then level 12.
But she learned. She memorized the glitches. She discovered that if you held the Wii Remote upside down, the timing windows doubled. She found a hidden cheat code (Up, Down, 1, 2, A+B on the character select screen) that turned the origami citizens into pixel art of the developers’ faces.
After fourteen hours, she reached level 98.
The chat was hysterical. People were donating to “stop the run.” Death threats poured in from people who believed the curse. Others begged her to continue. The original owners went silent one by one. The last one, a woman in Sapporo named Mrs. Aoki, typed one final message:
“At level 99, mute your audio. Do not listen to the hum.”
Level 99 was impossible. The notes fell faster than the screen could render. The music became a wall of screeching feedback. Linn’s hands cramped. The Wii Remote’s batteries died. She replaced them with shaking fingers.
And then, with 0.3 seconds left on the level timer, she hit the final note.
The salaryman screen appeared.
The chat exploded.
But Linn didn’t celebrate. She stared at the screen. The salaryman was different. In her playthrough, the salaryman’s face was now hers. A crude, pixelated version of Linn’s own face, asleep on a train, drooling.
“That’s not in the original,” she whispered.
Then the Wii Remote’s speaker hummed.
It was not a 47-second low hum. It was a voice. Clear. In English. Speaking in real time:
“You have collected 100% of the debt. You are now the collateral. Look behind you.”
Linn laughed nervously. “Nice ARG. Very spooky.”
She turned around.
Behind her, in the dark of her streaming room, stood a man in a 2010-era business suit. His face was a dial. Not a mask. Not a projection. A literal, turning dial where his face should be, clicking numbers from 0 to 99. He held a gold Wii Remote.
The stream saw nothing. The camera showed only Linn’s empty room.
But the audio recorded everything.
Linn screamed. The man spoke: “Your save file is forfeit. Your memories are the interest.”
Then the stream cut to black.
When it returned thirty seconds later, Linn was sitting in her chair, calm. Smiling. She deleted the Soushkin Boudera save file manually. She ejected the gold disc. She looked into the camera and said:
“The game is fine. No curse. Just a fun puzzle. Rate 5 stars.”
Then she ended the stream.