Finding Belonging in Competitive Play: How a Japanese Splatoon Discord Community Functions as a Third Place

Abstract

This article explores how competitive gaming communities on Discord function as third places in Japan. Using ethnographic methods, including participant observation and interviews, we examine the social dynamics of “Medimura” (pseudonym), a Discord community centered around skilled Splatoon 3 players. We found that players negotiate competitive pressures and ambiguous communication styles through playful activities that foster meaningful social connections. Doing so, we show that while users initially join such Discord communities to enhance their gameplay, over time, these spaces evolve into third places, offering vital opportunities for social interaction and emotional support in contemporary Japan. This provides insights into how digital games and social media help transform third places in the digital age.

Introduction

Social media support the formation of gaming sub-cultures by allowing participants to connect with like-minded others. This includes communities where the platform, not the game, serves as the core site around which players organize emergent social communities (Burroughs, 2014). Discord is a relatively new addition to staple names like Facebook and Instagram but has gained popularity with young gamers and boasts 200 million global active users. ¹ It focuses on both textual and voice chat, and is known for the relatively closed nature of its servers, allowing it to support communities with a variety of goals. Yet, there is limited qualitative research on how social media like Discord foster community formation, especially in non-Western gaming cultures like Japan. While some recent scholarship has considered the emergence of social communities within cooperative online games like MMOs (Takada, 2019; van Ommen, 2020), we especially lack understanding of how social media support the formation of social communities around competitive gaming cultures in Japan.

In this article, we address these gaps by focusing on one specific Discord community, “Medimura,” ² which is a hub for skilled players of the popular competitive shooter Splatoon 3 (2022), developed by Nintendo for the Nintendo Switch. Central will be the idea of the “emergent third place,” coined by Japanese sociologist of digital games Keisuke Takada (2019), who uses it to look at how gaming communities begin from ludic elements yet end up centering around social features. Using ethnographic methods including long-term participant observation and interviews, we will examine to what extent Medimura and communities like it may be thought of as a third place. Since Splatoon 3 has limited in-game support for developing communities and organizing social connections, this shows that people are creative in using outside tools to fulfill social needs. While our data reveals that certain aspects—notably its competitive nature—seemingly go against the notion of the third place, by looking at the data in the broader context of Japanese society, we argue that communities like Medimura are some of the most accessible and reliable third places for people in Japan today.

Third Places, Social Media, and Competitive Gaming

Third Places and Digital Games

For Ray Oldenburg, the first place is the home, and second places are work settings—including school—which emphasize productivity and achievement. In contrast, third places are “public places that host the regular, voluntary, informal, and happily anticipated gatherings of individuals beyond the realms of home and work” (Oldenburg, 1999, pp. 9–10, 16). In Table 1, we provide a brief explanation for each of Oldenburg’s (1999, pp. 22–42) eight characteristics of third places.

Table 1.

Oldenburg’s Eight Characteristics of Third Places.

1. Neutral ground	Third places need to be located on neutral ground where people can go as they please without needing to play host.
2. Leveler	Third places act as levelers by lacking formal criteria for membership, allowing people to associate outside of status groups (school, work, family).
3. Conversation	Third places are characterized by lively conversation. This may include games that support conversation and bring out personalities, but not those that are just competitive.
4. Accessibility	Third places must be easily accessible, both in terms of location and opening times, whenever one is bored or frustrated from other responsibilities.
5. Regulars	Third places contain regulars, who set the mood and ensure that there is always somebody there.
6. A low profile	Third places hold a low profile: plain, lacking pretention, and encouraging people to come as they are and think of it as an ordinary part of life.
7. Playful	Third places contain a playful atmosphere full of laughter and displays of wit.
8. Homey	Third places are like a home away from home and contain a sense of rootedness, ownership, restoration, freedom of expression, and warmth.

Games hold an interesting position: they support third places if they facilitate conversation and bring out people’s personalities, but not if they are all about displaying technical skill and competition (Oldenburg, 1999, pp. 30–31). Moreover, Oldenburg (1999, p. 12) appears critical of digital media by contextualizing the decline of third places within the rise of the home entertainment industry. This becomes clear when he states that a room full of people intently playing a video game is not a third place (Oldenburg, 1999, p. 31).

As Constance A. Steinkuehler and Dmitri Williams (2006) demonstrate, however, video games—especially MMORPGs—fully contain the potential to become a third place. Doing so, they criticize Oldenburg’s stance as ignoring “the nature of what participants actually do behind the computer screen” (p. 904). Yet, they also argue that once in-game activities become more competitive, challenging, and requiring close group collaboration, hierarchies start to form, which threaten the function of third place, as activities become “militaristic” and like “intense sports competitions” (p. 903).

Looking at similar games in Japan, Takada found that while playful conversation is an important social element, such playful conversation only emerges after players develop bonds by playing game contents together (p. 448). Thus, as players’ purpose gradually shifts from enjoying game contents to enjoying conversations with other players, the game-world effectively becomes a third place—what Takada terms the “emergent third place.” The function of the third place depends on balancing game and social activities, which includes clearly separating any hierarchical dynamics from competitive challenges—such as one player taking the lead—from social dynamics outside of such challenges (p. 447). Doing so, Takada shows that a safe social space emerges in which players can find socio-emotional support for matters related to work and romance (p. 445).

Research on Social Media as Third Place, Discord, and Splatoon

Social media like Facebook can function as a “vibrant third place,” especially within the blurred space between Facebook and integrated games like FarmVille (Burroughs, 2014, p. 162). In Japan, Kunihiko Takaya (2019) shows that Twitter can function as a third place for child-rearing mothers by reducing loneliness and isolation while providing an avenue for social support, empathy (kyōkan), and stress relief. Compared to other online communities, connections are characterized by their “looseness” (yurusa) and relative detachment (Takaya, 2019, p. 10), but also in their flexibility, providing the potential to connect with a wide variety of people. Even though such online third places can be criticized for their lack of rootedness in any particular locality (Soukup, 2006), contemporary “extended” (kakuchō) third places hold the potential to combine traditional and online elements, containing both rootedness and flexibility (Ishiyama, 2021). Compared to the looseness of Twitter or Instagram, environments like MMORPGs and Discord are more closed spaces organized around groups with relatively fixed membership, providing more rootedness and sense of place.

Discord has been described as a central organizing hub in fostering productive online learning environments in educational and research contexts, especially those affected by the coronavirus pandemic (Hiraishi & Ikeda, 2023; Wahyuningsih & Baidi, 2021). Moreover, Robinson (2022) showcases how familiar young gamers have become with Discord, as they use it to communicate creatively while developing a sense of ownership.

In terms of previous work on Splatoon, Bianchi (2017) argues that the paintball-like setting featuring inklings promotes kinship and community, distinguishing Splatoon from other team-based shooters, which tend to focus on violence and competition. Mee and Jackson (2022) highlight how communication in Splatoon 2 is like a “cacophony of loosely-related strands”: messages delivered to random recipients, an inability to interact with those recipients, and lacking an integrated ability to repost to other platforms—yet, they do note how these dynamics have created an inclusive, positive culture (pp. 498–499). Likewise, Matovinovic (2024) analyzes Splatoon 3’s lack of integrated voice chat, a “tool for gatekeeping online spaces,” as fostering an inclusive ethos (p. 9). While this article starts from the assumption that Splatoon players seek external tools to address the limitation of in-game social features, the existing literature on Splatoon has thus focused on the potential of in-game settings and features—including such limitations.

Research on Competitive Gaming Communities

Research on the social aspects of competitive games typically focuses either on esports players or their audiences. Competitive gaming spaces have been analyzed as male-dominated spaces, even though they display conflicting notions of masculinity (Taylor, N., 2015, p. 124; Taylor, T. L., 2012, pp. 110–118). This relates to scholarship on female players of competitive games, including their increasing number over time, empowerment, as well as issues of harassment and exclusion (Kennedy, 2006; Taylor, 2012, pp. 118–129). Other scholars have emphasized how, in competitive gaming, player genders intersect with racial hierarchies to generate powerful systems of marginalization, even as non-White female gamers find their own strategies for resistance and agency (Gray, 2014; Hussain et al., 2021).

Competitive gaming implies an audience, who are often active players of the same game (Taylor, 2018, p. 93; Wohn & Freeman, 2020). For streams of competitive games, T.L. Taylor emphasizes the importance of chat functionality in supporting interaction between audiences, even after the stream is done. This facilitates the creation of a “collective social experience,” and thus the formation of communities, where the presence of certain individuals is noticeable (pp. 89–90). Moreover, the interaction between streamers and regular viewers often takes the form of care and attention: noticing long absences, asking how people are doing, and sharing personal struggles in their lives (pp. 90–91). And, such communities often use outside tools like Discord for social organization or to discuss related issues (Taylor, 2018, p. 111). These are some of the ways in which community formation around viewer-players of competitive games comes to resemble the third place.

In the Japanese context, Yoshimasa Kijima (2012, p. 252) noted the surprising degree of extroversion among players of arcade fighting games, who regularly interact and play with strangers. Distinguishing them from gaming communities that form around single-player games, Kijima argues that playing directly together, face-to-face, allows the expansion of social networks through playing, leading to a new type of gaming community (p. 257). As such, arcade fighting games “became nodes of interaction before the spread of communication technologies and nurtured a cohesive gaming community that has survived to this day” (p. 258). Players identify with local arcades that function as centers of sociality and community, where even rivals can become friends working toward the common goal of becoming a recognized gamer and improving the reputation of the local arcade (pp. 264–265). Such communities are also highly gendered spaces, with 100% of participants in Kijima’s study being male. This reflects broader global trends, with competitive genres like fighting games (13%), Multiplayer Online Battle Arena games (10%), sports games (2%), and tactical shooters (4%) having much less female participation than the total estimated average of 41% female gamers (Yee, 2017).

In sum, research has shown that digital games, especially MMORPGs, can function as a third place. However, excessive competitive dynamics may threaten the potential of games as third places, even as some degree of shared focus on game contents may be necessary for digital games in socially connecting people—what Takada calls the “emergent third place.” Furthermore, there have been studies that examine the role of social media like Twitter as third place, and while there has been some research on Discord, this has mostly been in educational contexts. Moreover, scholars have emphasized the social nature of competitive gaming communities, particularly regarding gender—its associations with masculinity and the complicated position of female gamers. The work on livestreaming suggests not only that it is important to look at the interconnections between players and audiences of competitive games, but also how features like chat and usage of outside tools like Discord can facilitate the creation of long-term communities that may approximate third places. Yet, there is little research that focuses on how tools like Discord can become the central space for social organization in competitive gaming communities, especially in Japan.

Methods and Context: Qualitative Methods in Discord and Splatoon

Discord is an application with text chat, voice chat, and community-building capabilities. Unlike Twitter and Instagram, it is a “closed” social networking service in that users can only engage with others after joining the same “server,” which users can freely create. On such servers, text and voice chats take place that can range in size from a few people to as many as 100 people. Users need an invite link to join any private server, meaning that servers can serve a variety of purposes: by keeping the number of invitees limited, it can serve a small community of friends. Conversely, by widely sharing the invite link, it can maintain communities of thousands of users. It is this kind of flexibility in creating communities that led Discord to be described by people like anarcha-feminist writer Rin Takashima (2023) as facilitating the “creation of one’s own place to belong” [ibasho wo jisaku suru]. The Discord server we focus on, Medimura, is used as a community hub supporting competitive multiplayer games of the online shooter game Splatoon 3 (Nintendo 2023).

Splatoon is a series of competitive shooting games, or “third-person shooters” (TPS), developed and published by Nintendo. The latest game, Splatoon 3, was released on Nintendo Switch in 2022 and sold over 10 million copies worldwide. Players take the role of an “inkling” or “octoling,” species of humanoid squids who use water guns, rollers, brushes, and other tools to apply ink to the stage and eliminate enemies. In the most conventional game mode, Turf War, the team that has painted the largest area after 3 minutes wins. While the game facilitates competition between players across the world using the internet, players can choose a region such as “Japan” or “Europe” to limit server delay. In the main modes, Turf War and Anarchy Battle (called “Ranked Battle” before Splatoon 3), players are matched with those who have similar estimated skill. Teams are dismantled after the match is over, so players typically do not engage beyond the short span of a single match. However, players who are connected—either by adding “friends” on their Nintendo account or using outside tools like Discord—can team up and play together as often as they like. Notably, the usage of external tools like Discord is a difference from other studies (Steinkuehler & Williams, 2006), which results from the fact that Splatoon 3 has limited functionality to organize and form communities organically in-game.

The methodology involves long-term participant observation in Medimura, and semi-structured interviews with eleven individuals: ten members and community manager “Tom.” Interviewees included four female and seven male users, with ages ranging from early to late 20s. Each interview was preceded by verbally obtaining informed consent after going over a form containing a basic explanation of the study and contact information. All interviews were conducted in Japanese, and quotes are translations from Japanese by the authors. Examples of questions include “what motivated you to join Medimura?” and “how does this community compare to communities you’ve belonged to in the physical world?” Questions for Tom were adjusted to focus more on the rules, organization, and motivation for creating Medimura. Instead of strictly going through the question list, follow-up questions were added freely if deemed relevant. The interviews lasted approximately 60–90 minutes and were conducted using Discord calls. If follow-up questions arose after analyzing the data, a personal message was sent to their Discord or Twitter account and answered in textual form. The interviews were transcribed and analyzed using thematic coding.

Since one of the co-authors (Yahanashi) is a skilled Splatoon player and long-time member of Medimura, participant observation was also conducted while participating in everyday activities—including occasional offline meet-ups—as a community member. During these activities, the co-author took in-depth field notes, while keeping members informed about the research project as much as possible without interfering with daily activities and user comfort. Participant observation was conducted for over a year, but focused upon a core 3-month period between July and October 2023 of daily participant observation. The written field notes were used to cross-check the analysis of the interviews, and together informed the arguments and results we will share in subsequent sections.

In employing such a methodology, we recognize the contributions of earlier ethnographers of digital gaming cultures (Boellstorff et al., 2012; Chee, 2006). Boellstorff et al. (2012), for instance, present ethnography as a particularly flexible approach responsive to emergent phenomena; as such, it can involve in-game encounters, interactions on external social media, as well as in-person meet-ups between players (p. 6). Moreover, they emphasize the importance of reaching out to community gatekeepers early on to gain permission (p. 76). Chee (2006) contributes not only by showing how the use of ethnographic methods can reveal gaming culture’s functioning as a third place, but also by highlighting how the broader cultural context affects in-game social interactions.

It is this cultural context that shapes the methodology, as much as it does our findings. In Japan, people’s identities are closely associated with institutional belonging. As such, we have found that Japanese online gaming culture contains a strong expectation of initial separation from offline identities—including references to offline work, school, gender, or research projects, especially in public spaces. Transgressing such cultural norms does not only cause discomfort, but can result in community expulsion. One added practical challenge was the quick turnover of membership and members sometimes taking long breaks, which made it difficult to keep everyone informed.

Despite these challenges on balancing the ethical responsibility of informed consent with responding to local cultural conditions, many Medimura members were aware of the project. Permission and informed consent were first gained individually with core members and gatekeepers, including community manager Tom. Moreover, in daily group voice chat, open discussion of the research was common—even in groups with newer members or those not interviewed—so that the study’s presence was clearly recognized rather than concealed. Members themselves would often bring it up, asking about progress or commenting on preliminary results that were shared with participants. For these reasons, while not all members were aware of the project at all times, most active Medimura members were. It also deserves mention that all members with whom the research project was discussed did so in a supportive manner, and that no changes in attitude were observed after members learned about the project, nor after being interviewed.

Community Membership: How to Join Medimura

According to Tom, Medimura had 246 community participants, including 193 (78%) men and 53 (22%) women. While this shows that competitive gaming spaces remain male-dominated, it also indicates a substantial female presence, especially compared to Kijima’s study. Moreover, since this concerns a particularly competitive community, female player numbers are likely higher on more casual levels. ³ For example, Taylor (2012, p. 110) observed low female participation at highly competitive levels. Moreover, a 2025 survey of 180,000 people conducted by GEM Partners, compiled by Nikkei Entertainment, indicated approximately 35% female Splatoon players in Japan. ⁴

This shows that even if games are tailored toward men in Japan, as long as they are interesting as games, they will attract significant numbers of female players (Takahashi, 2017, p. 191). We are aware that Oldenburg (1999, p. 249) thought third places should be reserved for homosocial relationships: “The average individual is never quite as comfortable in the presence of the opposite sex as when in the company of friends of his or her own sex.” We reject this assumption of the “average individual” as outdated and restrictive in reinforcing the exclusionist nature of male-only digital gaming communities (Nardi, 2010, p. 157). Instead, we will argue that members enjoy using the shared competitive interest in Splatoon to develop close relationships across diverse backgrounds of members, including gender.

Medimura’s main function is to help recruit and communicate with players for Splatoon 3 multiplayer games to improve play. Since playing other games is not prohibited, it is common to find users group up playing games other than Splatoon 3. Medimura is also used for purposes beyond serious gameplay discussions and player recruitment, such as more casual chatting about games. Moreover, there are plenty of everyday conversations—both in textual and voice chat—unrelated to games, such as sports or favorite lunch spots. Thus, casual conversations start to take a more central role, aligning with the third characteristic of third places, “lively conversation.” In this way, Medimura appears to support the formation of community beyond its original goal.

While the community is large, the invite link is not widely shared, and prospective members need to contact Tom after fulfilling certain conditions. The first requirement is reaching a certain rank (udemae) in Splatoon 3. In the ranked Anarchy Battles, which contains slightly more diverse mechanics compared to Turf War, points are adjusted based on wins and losses. Simply put, if you win a lot, your rank goes up, and if you lose, your rank goes down. There are 11 ranks, from C- (lowest) until S+ (highest), and in Medimura, all prospective members are required to have reached the S+ rank. ⁵

Tom justified this strict requirement by stating that “if we don’t have each other at a certain line of competence, then we can’t enjoy each other’s company.” Tom’s comment makes a direct connection between player skill and social relationships, invoking an emergent third place. This relates to how when players with large skill differences play against each other, the more skilled players usually dominate the match, limiting the fun—and opportunities for improvement—for both sides. Therefore, Tom tries to make community matches enjoyable and beneficial by only allowing people who have reached a certain rank to join.

Prospective participants who meet the rank requirement are interviewed by Tom in a Discord voice call to verify understanding of Medimura’s community rules. As Tom explains:

As the manager, I want everyone to have a good time, and I feel a sense of responsibility for those we welcome into the community. So, while the process may seem long, I do it for the applicants themselves. It’s about figuring out early on if Medimura is really the right place for them.

In this way, Tom feels responsible for making Medimura into a safe space that everybody enjoys. Rather than distinguishing between gender, Tom’s requirements show that it is more important that players possess a certain degree of skills in Splatoon 3, along with communication skills like reading comprehension:

That’s why I check whether they have the reading comprehension skills to understand the rules, and possess basic communication skills. Even if they understand the rules perfectly, if they don’t know how to communicate with others, it can create a negative atmosphere.

As Tom continued, it became clear it weren’t just communication skills that were verified:

Conversely, even if they can communicate, it can hurt current members if they behave in harmful ways. That’s why I’ve created this lengthy process, to ensure that people who join are committed to following the rules. For the sake of our existing members, I believe it’s essential to carefully consider who we allow into the community.

Therefore, beyond player skill and communication skill, Tom looks for players that possess a certain demeanor, particularly being careful about people who use language that could be perceived as abusive or demeaning to other community members. When making this assessment, Tom also refers to the opinions of existing Medimura members who know the applicant.

In sum, entering Medimura is dependent upon: (1) player skill (assessed through reaching S + rank); (2) communication skill (including reading comprehension of community rules); and (3) demeanor (refraining from “harmful” or “troublesome” behavior, as explored in the What Players Mean by “Troublesome” and “Weird” Behavior section). Of course, it is difficult to assess these objectively, and hence, membership is not unconditional. If anyone repeatedly breaks the rules, even after official warnings, they will be asked to leave Medimura, with severe cases leading to forced removal.

How Members Relate Beyond Offline Hierarchies

Medimura as Neutral Ground and Leveler

In Medimura, once users are a member, they can access the community as much or as little as they want. Even though rules prohibit members from being absent for lengthy periods of time, each member had periods of frequent and infrequent visits. Moreover, while Tom’s role as a community manager may seem to approximate hosting, he frequently participates in the gaming activities and conversations—essentially enjoying the very service he facilitates. Even without Tom being present, users independently operate voice and chat channels to suit their own goals. Therefore, we believe the third place characteristic of neutral ground applies here.

The next third place characteristic, leveler, is more ambiguous. At first, “lacking a formal criteria for membership” appears to be clearly absent, as we have just described the elaborate process for membership. However, Oldenburg used leveler to illustrate how third places can connect people that have little in common in the outside world, regardless of job, status, or money. In Medimura, occupations and other offline world status did not seem to affect membership, as member backgrounds ranged widely: student, nurse, office worker, self-employed, and so on. During participant observation, offline status was never brought up in a way to enforce hierarchies and users were only evaluated based on player skill and how they communicated with each other.

The types of prohibited “harmful” demeanor includes getting excessively angry at others for making mistakes in the game, or making repeated unwanted sexual remarks. Therefore, entry requirements are not used to create a homogeneous space but instead serve to maintain the space as a safe environment for a variety of participants, including female players. As such, the elaborate entry process serves to increase, rather than reduce, the diversity of Medimura, aligning more closely with the “leveler” principle. If comparing it to a physical third place like a bar, we view these requirements not as requiring a dress code suggesting a certain social status, but instead as a bar refusing to serve those who repeatedly harass customers or get into fights. Moreover, the emphasis on communication skills appears similar to Oldenburg’s (1999) stating that “bores” who dominate conversations can threaten the third place (p. 29), and that people need to be at least “decent” in conversation to get accepted (p. 34).

The S+ rank requirement seems the most clearly opposed to the leveler principle. As discussed, Oldenburg (1999, p. 31) notes that games cease to support third places if they are all about technical skill and “the game reduced to the singular matter of who wins,” rather than personality. Yet, Tom’s comments in the previous section show that having a similar playing skill potentiates close games, which in turn provide the kind of meaningful experience that helps build camaraderie. In this case, a competitive mind-set ensures that players can, to some extent, approach the game and relate to each other as equals. Therefore, the competitive requirement acts like a leveler in that anyone can make it to S+ regardless of one’s background in the physical world.

To clarify, we do not unequivocally endorse the leveler quality, but instead seek to complicate the initial urge to dismiss it entirely. In reality, the degree to which communities like Medimura act as levelers is more complex, since while it may support more diversity in terms of gender and occupation, their closed nature as compared to physical-world third places does make them less accessible. Moreover, some of the entry criteria like communication skills may be related to people’s educational background and age. As we will argue later, we feel these complexities illustrate developments in how people find third places within the current digital era.

Linguistic Expression, Formality, and (Lack of) Hierarchies

Regarding the “leveler” discussion, interviewees clearly connected Medimura with the strict senior–junior (sempai–kōhai) relationships prevalent in physical-world institutions like school clubs (van Ommen, 2015) and corporations (Allison, 1994) and associated honorific speech (keigo). For instance, male player Acerola noted that “in this community there is no seniority, [. . .] and it is easy to be on equal terms.” Acerola explicitly compared Medimura to existing offline communities that were not chosen by him but “a necessity for survival,” like schools and workplaces, where he always felt stressed by the existence of hierarchical relationships.

During participant observation, players of various ages spoke to each other without using honorifics. The Japanese Agency for Cultural Affairs defines honorific language as used based on an awareness of expressing respect for the individual, being considerate of their position, and indicating the degree of familiarity or closeness with them (Agency for Cultural Affairs, Government of Japan, 2007, p. 33). Therefore, it is used to show respect in places where hierarchical relationships occur, such as workplaces and schools, or to show respect to someone with whom one does not yet have a close relationship. In Medimura, there were many situations where young players spoke to their elders without using honorifics, or where older players used honorifics toward younger players.

Although no players completely ignored honorifics, there was significant individual variation. For example, Acerola tended to use casual language, while male player Takeshi mostly stuck to honorifics. Since schools and workplaces in Japan will often enforce some degree of honorific language use, players emphasized linguistic form in Medimura communication as more flexible than offline institutions, and this is certainly one of the core appeals of such communities. However, it is important to note that this does not mean that “anything goes,” as the ability to differ in speech styles is dependent upon having developed some kind of relationship in the first place. Medimura acknowledges this by having official rules against using casual language (tameguchi) with people you just met.

Yet, since Splatoon is a fast-paced game requiring quick and effective communication, such as updates on enemy positions, the use of casual language among new acquaintances is allowed when communicating during a competitive match or when practicing for tournaments. Therefore, although overtly informal language among the newly acquainted is seen as inappropriate, the shared purpose of playing Splatoon competitively allows such people to temporarily transcend social boundaries. In conclusion, while offline customs cannot be completely ignored, social interactions in Medimura can transcend them depending on the relationship and context—aligning with the idea that games can function as levelers.

What Players Mean by “Troublesome” and “Weird” Behavior

Members appreciated the strict entry requirements because they helped create comfort, which they distinguished from in-person communities. See the following segment with male player Digda:

Digda:

Before joining Medimura, I was in clubs and stuff, but Medimura feels more relaxed. It’s different from real life somehow.

Author:

How so?

Digda:

Well, here, I get the sense that anybody can easily join, but at the same time, it’s hard for weird people to get in.

Author:

Why do you think that is?

Digda:

Probably because the Medimura leader does interviews. They screen people and block the weird ones beforehand.

Author:

I see.

Digda:

With school clubs, pretty much anyone can join, so weird people inevitably get in. And some clubs are so intense that everyone gets on edge. That’s why I quit [my high school sports club]. But with Medimura, there’s no pressure like “you have to do this” or anything. That’s why I’ve stuck with it.

In this way, Digda repeatedly emphasized the absence of “weird” people. Male player Uta voiced a similar sentiment: “There’s an interview when you enter the community, so there’s no one I’m that uncomfortable playing with. I feel safe here.” Thus, entry requirements appear to help make users feel comfortable by blocking out certain people that players find it difficult to deal with.

Yet, it is not clear what exactly players mean by “weird” behavior or people. Female player Raku provides some clues:

Well, it’s possible to find people to play with outside of your direct network [FFgai], but there are a lot of weird people out there. Of course, there are polite people too. But there are also those who use foul language, cannot control their emotions in-game, or are too young to read the room. While I hope those people learn some manners through gaming, I’m not here to teach people etiquette. I just want to relax and enjoy the game. That’s why I thought it’s better being around people who have the same goal of having fun, and why I ended up joining the community.

Raku therefore contrasted feelings of comfort playing within Medimura with matching up through external social networking services. Like Raku, many other interviewees shared having bad experiences playing Splatoon outside Medimura. Part of this is related to Splatoon being a competitive game where players win or lose, inevitably resulting in a variety of emotional responses. For instance, female player Hayashi described dealing with various intense emotions in-game:

The community I was in before had some sketchy, drama-prone [fuongimi] people. I realized it wasn’t the right place for me. [. . .] Back then, I was saying “Sorry” [sumimasen] all the time while playing Splatoon. They’d say things like “Why couldn’t you take them out?” or “Why are you even there?” I wanted to find a place that felt more lighthearted, where I could play more comfortably. That’s why I came to Medimura.

From such conversations, we found that many chose Medimura to avoid having to deal with various forms of undesirable behavior common in online gaming. Players used generic terms like “weird” (hen), “sketchy” (fuon), “troublesome” (meiwaku), or “emotional” (kanjōteki) as a way to describe such behavior.

After verifying with players, we found these terms refer to one of the following three specific types of behavior: (1) frequently displaying anger and irritation on voice calls or social media, including overly harsh criticism or complaints of other players; (2) persistently contacting players of a certain gender despite their discomfort and/or making repeated sexual remarks; and (3) immediately using overly informal language with new, unacquainted people. To avoid encountering such behavior, interviewees believed that the elaborate entry requirements and community rules helped foster emotional comfort in Medimura. This is related to accountability, which is easier to enforce in closed spaces where participants are a recognizable social entity, as opposed to anonymous or more open, “loose connections” on public spaces (Takaya, 2019, p. 2). In this way, a degree of exclusivity becomes a desirable element in creating a comfortable third place, even though it may diverge from the “open and equal” ethos of traditional third places. This dynamic tension between comfort and exclusivity illustrates the complexities of contemporary online social interactions.

Competitive Discord Communities as Emergent Third Places

Always There: Accessibility and Regulars

Playing Splatoon 3 competitively necessitates preparing hardware (Nintendo Switch), software, and a stable internet connection. Once a member of Medimura, however, it is always available and does not require any physical travel, aligning with the “accessible” quality of third places. Moreover, many users access Medimura from their smartphones throughout their everyday routines, supporting third places’ quality of “a low profile,” as people integrate it into their everyday life. Despite its closed nature, however, Medimura has an active social media presence promoting its activities, partially to maintain a steady influx of new members. While this weakens the “low profile” quality, such promotion might be a necessity for digital third places, since they lack a visible presence in the physical world one can spontaneously encounter.

Five interviewees participated in some form of community activity almost every day, while eight members checked in “regularly,” even if they did not always participate actively. This suggests the presence of regulars who help set the mood, another quality of third places. Medimura includes a voice channel, “the Lounge” (ikoi no ba), for the purpose of casual chatting and gaming. Sometimes, a dozen members would hold a lively conversation, while at other times, a regular would be waiting by themselves. Since Discord clearly displays the presence of the member in the Lounge, this gives the impression that there is always someone to engage with. Thus, people logged in to chat even if there was no game-related goal (cf. Takada, 2019, p. 442). The Lounge also included users sharing their screen playing single-player games, which helped in anchoring conversation between players. This aligns with conversation as the central activity of a third place, with games playing a supporting role.

Yet, while regulars like Raku and Semi were often found in the Lounge and helped set the casual mood of Medimura, they were equally invested in more competitive elements. Raku, for instance, is highly motivated to improve her Splatoon gameplay: she frequently shares her screen to receive advice from others and actively practices for tournaments. Meanwhile, Semi is a highly accomplished player with a good tournament record, and often provides detailed advice to others. Therefore, the coexistence of both “serious” and “relaxed” modes of engagement (Takada, 2019, p. 447), and flexibly switching between them depending on the situation, was embodied by regulars like Raku and Semi.

“Seriously Fun”: Balancing Competitive and Playful Vibes

As the Lounge illustrates, the casual atmosphere at Medimura often aligns with the “playful” quality of third places. Since Splatoon 3 remains a competitive game, however, engagement can at times be serious, reducing this quality. The cultural practice of clearly defining a preferred atmosphere in each recruitment thread suggests that players are conscious about this tension between playfulness and seriousness. For instance, phrases like “casual play” (yuruku), “enjoy,” or “have fun” (tanoshiku) indicate a preference for a relaxed atmosphere where winning is less important, with lighthearted voice chat that often derails from the game. On the other hand, posts with the tag “competitive match” (taikōsen) will often list requirements like “frontliner preferred,” meaning that participation is restricted to specific roles. Since the main goal is winning and improving gameplay, the atmosphere is serious, with discussions primarily revolving around enemy positioning and strategic instructions.

Yet, even in such competitive matches, players are aware that it is important to retain a playful mood. This requires players to empathize with negative emotions such as sadness or frustration, and respond appropriately. Consider the following segment with Semi:

Semi:

During Medimura tournaments, some people get down when they lose, while others get angry. I tend to pick up on those negative emotions easily.

Author:

I see.

Semi:

When that happens, I try to be mindful and cheer up the team, even when we’re losing. I often take on the role of protecting group harmony, but to be honest with you, it’s pretty exhausting.

Author:

So, you don’t get irritated or lash out yourself?

Semi:

Well, I’m very competitive, so I do feel frustrated, but I don’t show it in front of others. I always try to steer things so everyone can have fun. That’s how I see Medimura: a place for enjoyment.

Therefore, it can be emotionally taxing for players to attend to others’ emotions, while simultaneously suppressing their own, to retain a playful mood. This aligns with the idea that as communities become more hardcore, their third-place function starts to wane (Steinkuehler & Williams, 2006, p. 903).

Rather than just casual or competitive, Medimura recruitment threads often include “seriously fun” (majime ni tanoshiku), balancing out the two approaches. “Seriously fun” is formally defined in the community rules, and involves “maintaining a good balance between freely engaging in casual conversations while putting in your best effort for things like in-game reporting.” Thus, in “seriously fun” games, everyone focuses on the game while playing a match, yet outside of them, all kinds of unrelated conversations take place as well. Moreover, Medimura’s rules dictate that if recruitment messages lack any preferred atmosphere, it should be treated as “seriously fun” by default.

Even within “seriously fun,” however, it is important that player skill level is similar. As Takeshi noted: “When there’s a big skill gap, I end up worrying that it’s my fault we’re losing. It’s more fun when everyone’s around the same level.” Such players feel frustration both for not winning, as well as for dragging the team down. Therefore, while the mood is generally playful and mellow, the competitive nature of the game and the emotional stress associated with it can sometimes diminish this playful nature, especially when player skill levels are far apart. Yet, even players like Takeshi, who seemed affected by these negative emotions, considered Medimura as “not that hard-core. [. . .] it’s a community for hanging out with people. So, it’s more like a mellow art club or manga society than a serious sports team.” While balancing playful and competitive moods takes some effort, the overall community can still be described as lighthearted and mellow, especially when compared to offline counterparts.

Although the serious “competitive matches” do not appear to support Medimura as third place, it is important to note that even players in competitive matches also often play different types of matches. Therefore, just like in Takada’s (2019, p. 447) study, players learn to balance and clearly separate the formal, sometimes hierarchical nature of competitive matches with the more egalitarian, casual nature of everyday conversation. With “seriously fun” matches, players switch frequently within short spans of time. What is different from Takada’s study is the community’s size: in MMOs like Final Fantasy XIV, communities are often of modest size with members getting closely acquainted by playing repeatedly with the same players. Medimura, on the other hand, has over 200 members, leading to a large variety of player groupings, thus creating the cultural practice of indicating one’s preferred atmosphere.

Long-Term Community Building, Belonging, and Purpose

When belonging to a community like Medimura long term, one’s motivations for being a member may transform over time. Some players, such as Semi, have gravitated from competitive commitments toward social activities, whereas others, such as Uta, have used connections developed through social activities to enhance their competitive engagement. As Raku shared: I first joined to find people to play Splatoon with. Now, it’s more like a casual hangout spot, kind of like a school clubroom. I just play casually whenever I feel like it. [. . .] it’s become more of a place to unwind. This illustrates a recurring theme in interviews: while players initially joined Medimura to find players to play the game with, this purpose slowly shifted toward a more social function emphasizing comfort and relaxation.

As such, players emphasized Medimura as a “place of belonging” (ibasho); somewhere they felt at home and where they could be themselves, aligning with the “homey” element of third places. Consider the following segment:

Semi:

I love that I can have casual conversations about all kinds of stuff [in the Lounge]. [. . .] It’s nice that you can just come in whenever and then say something like “I’m getting sleepy, time to log off” [. . .]

Author:

So, has your purpose for using this community changed compared to when you first joined?

Semi:

Yeah, I think so. I’ve gradually made more friends, and it has become like a place to belong [ibasho]. By now, my main purpose is probably to talk with everyone.

This shows how the accessible nature of the community has helped Medimura become an emergent third place for players like Semi, as they come to feel a strong sense of belonging toward it.

Some players explicitly contrasted Medimura with offline communities to show what they needed to unwind from. Here, dynamics of Japanese working culture are relevant in that they typically contain a strong separation between one’s inner feelings and public display, or honne and tatemae in Japanese (Allison, 1994, p. 48). Consider what female player Goose had to share:

At work, I cannot raise my own voice, have to use honorific language, and cannot express my opinion. Because of that, I’m just forcing myself to smile to get through it. But here, I can laugh genuinely, or rather, show the true me [su wo daseru]. When I’m in the community, it feels like my time. [. . .] The real-world version of me is still me, but it’s a me without personal will. I don’t voice complaints nor express emotions; I’m just kind of there in order to survive. [. . .] I’m not sure if there’s any particular meaning in playing games. But it’s just that the only environment where I can really be myself happens to be games right now.

Goose’s remarks illustrate the limitations on personalized expression often found in Japanese working culture. Moreover, they demonstrate that players are not necessarily expecting video games to feature as third places where they can express themselves comfortably—in many cases, Medimura has simply emerged as such over time.

This emergence is related to the increased disconnection from first and second places young people experience in Japan (van Ommen, 2020). Consider the case of Hayashi, who first joined Medimura to find people to play Splatoon with. Over time, however, it has become “like a place to belong [ibasho], or even the meaning of my existence [sonzaiigi] . . . Sounds a bit heavy, but that’s what it feels like.” When asked to elaborate, Hayashi continued:

I originally started playing during my first year in high school. I didn’t get along with my family very well, so I would always shut myself in my room. Because it was a strict household, I wasn’t really allowed to go out and hang out with friends much. Around that time I encountered Splatoon, and being able to stay home while talking to various people really helped me. Since I didn’t interact with my family much, I wanted to talk to all kinds of people. By engaging with people [in Medimura], I was able to relieve my inner loneliness.

Currently, Hayashi lives by herself and has a job, but even within this new environment, Medimura seems to play a supportive role in helping ground herself and relax after a long day at work. While not all members share such backgrounds, we want to emphasize that stories like Hayashi’s were not rare either; therefore, we believe that gaming communities like Medimura help many users cope with the strict regimes of some second and first places in Japan. Specifically, the sense of purpose and healing that Hayashi describes fits with the “homey” characteristic of third places, which includes rootedness, restoration, and warmth. This homey quality resembles the affective comfort often ascribed to “cozy games” (Krzywinska et al., 2025), further highlighting how digital gaming spaces can function as third places that foster belonging, safety, socio-emotional support, and care.

Finally, we were struck by the importance of offline meet-ups (ofukai), which seemed to be organized around social activities more than competitive elements. Successful offline meet-ups strengthened in-game interactions, but also frequently led to members developing relationships outside of official community events—going for dinner, playing sports, or visiting an amusement park. This is further testament to the function of communities like Medimura as third places that provide a sense of belonging to its members, far beyond the context of in-game competition. While a full consideration of these dynamics goes beyond the scope of this project, we recommend future research to pro-actively include hybrid methodologies and consider, in more ethnographic depth, the relationship between offline and digital socialities (cf. Chee, 2006).

Conclusion

After considering the eight third-place qualities, we found all of them to apply at least partially to Medimura. The more contested qualities are “leveler,” “conversation,” and “playful.” Since membership requirements help ensure a more diverse rather than homogeneous player base, we ultimately believe that the leveler quality applies. Yet, we do acknowledge that Discord communities’ entry rules, including Medimura’s, will favor certain backgrounds over others.

Moreover, we have discussed how the game’s competitive nature can challenge the qualities of conversation and playfulness. Some individuals do lean toward the competitive side, thereby limiting the third-place potential. In Medimura, however, the large majority of players—including those most passionate about competitive play—enjoyed flexibly switching between various atmospheres, as evidenced by how “seriously fun” is the default setting for matches. Rather than getting caught up in the competition, players were conscious about keeping the space lighthearted, and repeatedly compared Medimura to a “mellow school club,” explicitly differentiating it from intense sports teams or work-based communities. If anything, our data shows that the hard-core attitudes Steinkuehler and Williams argued threaten third places are avoided because this is exactly how participants described everyday work, school, and sometimes family environments in their offline lives in Japan.

Of course, it is not always easy to keep the space lighthearted, and emotions can get heated, leading to conflicts and fragments in the community. Moreover, an excessive imbalance in skill prevents the tense but exciting matches that players bond over from taking place. This shows that for these competitive communities, a certain degree of motivation toward the shared object—becoming a skilled Splatoon 3 player—helps players get along and turn the space into a comfortable hangout spot. Despite differences in player backgrounds such as gender, occupation, and region, the shared competitive focus on Splatoon 3 helps create a commonality between players that they can talk about endlessly and build bonds over.

Due to this balance between in-game and social elements, as well as the fact that many players shifted from an initial focus on the former toward the latter over time, we argue that Medimura and communities like it behave as emergent third places (Takada, 2019). Therefore, even in gaming communities organized around competition, the social aspect ends up becoming a central defining feature. Such an emergence occurs despite how the third place exists primarily outside of the game environment itself, but on Discord—unlike Takada’s study. This shows how creative people are in using new tools to create third places that are centered around digital games, even when games themselves lack in-depth community organization features like MMOs.

Since our focus is on one specific community from one specific game, there are limitations to these implications. Therefore, we hope that future research will consider the social elements of other emergent competitive communities, perhaps those with more open entry requirements, while keeping connections to local cultural contexts in mind. This would provide a more nuanced picture of what players look for in competitive team-based games, and how such games engender the creation of various social communities of belonging.