My father opened a small shop
In 1986, my father opened a small used-game shop in Toyohashi, Aichi. It was a meeting place more than a store — a room where kids gathered to trade games, argue about who could get past which level, and find the rare cartridge they had been looking for all summer.
He didn't call it a business strategy. He called it belonging to the neighborhood.
Self-shot photo to be added
Years passed. The shop closed.
Time moved. The neighborhood changed. The shop that had been my childhood anchor was gone. But the consoles and cartridges kept accumulating — in boxes, in closets, in the corners of memory.
When I began selling online, I thought it was just clearing out old inventory. It turned out to be something else entirely.
The same hands. The world.
Today, I clean each console by hand, test every button and disc drive, and pack them with the same care my father showed the kids who walked into his shop. Then I ship them — to Germany, Brazil, Australia, the UK, the United States, Canada, and dozens of other places.
More than 1,750 people have left reviews saying the item arrived exactly as described. 100% positive. That number is the inheritance I carry.
Self-shot photo to be added
Why this museum
"Not just a database — I want to put soul into this. Share struggles, strategies, and memories, and deliver the strength for tomorrow to people around the world."
I started to notice something in the messages customers wrote to me. They didn't just say "great condition." They said things like: "This was the console my brother and I played before he moved abroad." Or: "I searched for this for fifteen years. My hands were shaking when I opened the box."
Those messages taught me that what I was really shipping was not hardware. I was shipping a memory, a piece of someone's past, a bridge back to something that mattered.
This museum is the place where those bridges are built in both directions — from Japan to the world, and from all of you back to each other. A place where someone in Brazil can read a memory posted by someone in Finland, and recognize themselves in it.
We are not alone. That's the only thing this museum wants to prove.
About the craftsmanship
Every console that appears in this museum has been, or can be, held in someone's hands in Toyohashi. We do not sell things we have not touched. We do not describe condition we have not verified. When we say "Pro-cleaned and tested," that is exactly what it means.
The Japanese word monozukuri (物づくり) is often translated as "craftsmanship" or "making things." But it carries something harder to translate: the idea that the thing you make should deserve to exist. That whoever receives it should feel, without being told, that it was made with care.
That is what we try to put into every box we ship. And it is what we hope this museum puts into every page.
Want to hold a piece of this?
Browse our shop — every item cleaned, tested, and shipped from Toyohashi.
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