Miyoo Mini Plus 2026: 25,000 Games, PS1 Ceiling, 7.5/10

The box promises 25,000 games. The device, when it leaves Miyoo's factory, contains exactly zero of them. That gap — between what the reseller sticker claims and what the SD card can actually run at full speed — is the entire subject of this review. We are not reviewing a single game here. We are reviewing a list: the sprawling, duplicated, legally radioactive, occasionally sublime library that turns a $52 slab of plastic into the most-recommended pocket emulator of the decade.

The Miyoo Mini Plus is a 3.5-inch vertical Linux handheld built on a single, unremarkable chip. What it emulates, how much of that library actually works, and whether the advertised game list is a feature or a copyright-shaped liability — that is what this teardown is about. Short version: the number on the box is fiction, the ceiling is PlayStation 1, and the curated core is good enough that the thing still lands at 7.5 out of 10.

Here is the thesis, stated plainly so the rest of this essay can defend it. The Miyoo Mini Plus is not a machine you buy for quantity. It is a curation you buy in spite of its quantity. The 25,000-game bundle is padding — regional duplicates, bad dumps, and folders full of systems the hardware physically cannot run. Strip that away and what remains is one of the best arguments in retro gaming for the phrase “less, but better.” This review takes the list apart row by row, benchmarks what the chip can and cannot do, prices the device honestly across six sellers, walks through five real play scenarios, and tells you exactly who should hand over the money and who should spend it elsewhere.

The Proposition: You're Reviewing a Spreadsheet

Every review has an object. A monitor review has a panel. A game review has a game. A “game list” review has a spreadsheet — a manifest of ROM files someone else decided to bundle onto a memory card. That is a genuinely strange thing to score, so before we score it, we have to be honest about what it is.

What a game list actually is

When a listing says the Miyoo Mini Plus comes with 25,000 games, it is describing the contents of a bundled microSD card that a reseller — not Miyoo — has filled with emulator ROMs. The console itself is a general-purpose Linux device. The games are data. The reseller is the one making the promise, and the reseller is the one padding the number. This is the first thing that has to be understood, because it reframes the entire purchase: you are not buying a library curated by a first party the way you would buy a Switch or a mini-console. You are buying an open device and, usually, a stranger's dump of the internet's ROM sets.

That distinction matters for one blunt reason. A curated library implies editorial judgment: someone chose these games, in these versions, for a reason. A ROM dump implies the opposite: someone ran a script, pointed it at a folder, and counted the files. The Miyoo game list, as shipped by resellers, is the second thing wearing the costume of the first.

The device ships empty

Official Miyoo firmware — the software the company actually distributes — contains no commercial games at all. It boots to a menu, it runs RetroArch, and it waits for you to supply content. Everything you have read about “thousands of preloaded classics” describes a value-add invented downstream by sellers who buy the hardware wholesale, image a card, and mark up the bundle. Outlets that track the handheld-emulation boom, from Engadget to Ars Technica, have documented this pattern across the whole category: the machines are legal, the preloaded libraries frequently are not, and the count on the sticker is marketing, not manifest.

How this review was framed

So we score the proposition on its own terms. We ask: of the games a reseller would put on that card, how many will the chip run at or near full speed? How many are duplicates or garbage? What is the actual, defensible library — the set of titles a reasonable person would keep after a cleanup? And is that set worth the price of the device? The 7.5 you will see at the end is a weighted answer to those questions: the curated core scores close to a 9, and the padding, the copyright murk, the PlayStation ceiling, and the total absence of local multiplayer drag it back down. If you want the number-of-files debate settled with receipts, we ran the full audit separately in our teardown of the 5,819-versus-28,000 count. This piece is about whether the list, as a whole, is any good.

The Hardware Ceiling: One Chip Decides Everything

You cannot evaluate a game list without evaluating the machine that has to run it, and with the Miyoo Mini Plus the machine is refreshingly simple to explain. One chip decides what is on the menu and what is a lie. Everything downstream — which systems are playable, which are aspirational, and which are decorative folders you will delete — flows from that single piece of silicon.

SigmaStar SSD202D and the 2D wall

The Mini Plus runs on a SigmaStar SSD202D: a dual-core ARM Cortex-A7 clocked at 1.2GHz, paired with 128MB of DDR3 memory and a 2D-only graphics block. Read that last part twice. There is no 3D GPU. The chip was designed for smart-home panels and industrial displays, not polygon pushing, and it emulates three-dimensional consoles entirely on those two little CPU cores. That is the wall. It is not a driver problem or a firmware problem that a future update fixes; it is the physics of the part. When people say the Mini Plus “caps at PS1,” what they mean is that two Cortex-A7 cores and a 2D raster unit can just barely brute-force a 1994 PlayStation and cannot brute-force anything meaningfully heavier.

It is worth sitting with how modest that is. 128MB of RAM is less than a single high-resolution photo from a modern phone. The entire system — Linux, RetroArch, the frontend, the emulator core, and the game — lives inside it. British retailer DROIX put the counterintuitive truth well in its own coverage: the Miyoo “only has 128MB RAM, but in most cases this is all you need.” For 8-bit and 16-bit libraries, that is exactly right. For anything past PlayStation, it is exactly the problem.

What the ceiling excludes

The ceiling is not a soft suggestion. Nintendo 64, Dreamcast, PSP, and Nintendo DS are either partially broken or entirely absent, and no amount of tweaking changes the underlying maths. Playhouse.io, which maintains one of the more sober emulation guides for the device, is blunt about it: “N64 and Dreamcast are hit-and-miss. PSP is not recommended.” DS gets an even shorter answer, which we will come to. The practical consequence is that roughly half of what a padded 25,000-game bundle advertises — every folder above the PlayStation tier — is decorative. The files are there. They will not play.

This is also the cleanest reason the Mini Plus is a different kind of device from something like a Retroid. If your want list includes N64, PSP, or DS, you are shopping in the wrong weight class, and the honest move is to jump to an actual application-processor handheld; we lay out that upgrade path in the Retroid Pocket 5-versus-6 comparison. The Miyoo is not a small version of those machines. It is a different argument entirely.

Screen, battery, and the ergonomic story

The Plus is, notoriously, the same chip as the original Miyoo Mini in a slightly bigger shell — a fact we dug into in the Mini-versus-Mini-Plus breakdown. The upgrades over the original are entirely ergonomic: a 3.5-inch IPS panel instead of 2.8 inches, a 3000mAh battery instead of ~1900mAh, and 2.4GHz Wi-Fi where the original had none. The resolution stayed at 640x480, which means the bigger screen is also a less dense screen: the original packed roughly 286 pixels per inch, the Plus spreads the same pixels to about 229. Gizmodo's 2023 review noticed exactly this, complaining that titles like Yoshi's Island looked “muddy, undersaturated, and just plain ugly” on the larger panel, and that a rival's display made the Miyoo's look “absolutely terrible.” That is a real trade-off, not a defect: you gain comfort and lose a little sharpness. Battery lands at six to eight hours of mixed play at 50% brightness — enough for a commute week, short of an all-day handheld. There is no Bluetooth and no HDMI out. What you see on the 3.5-inch panel is the whole show.

What Actually Runs: 8-Bit to PS1, Full Speed

Now the good news, and there is a lot of it. Within its weight class, the Mini Plus is not merely competent — it is close to flawless. The list is padded at the top and hollow above the ceiling, but the middle of it, the part you will actually play, is excellent.

The 8- and 16-bit bedrock

The 2026 emulation consensus is that the Mini Plus runs Game Boy, Game Boy Color, Game Boy Advance, NES, SNES, Mega Drive / Genesis, Master System, Neo Geo, and arcade libraries at or near full speed. This is the bedrock, and it is enormous. The example games that reviewers reach for are the obvious canon precisely because it all just works: Pokemon, Zelda, Tetris, Kirby, Super Mario World, Sonic, Streets of Rage, Gunstar Heroes, Metal Slug, King of Fighters, and — the crown jewel of the SNES library — Chrono Trigger. If your idea of a perfect handheld library is the 8-bit and 16-bit golden age plus a wall of arcade fighters and run-and-guns, the Mini Plus renders that library with the emulation equivalent of a shrug. It never breaks a sweat.

The PS1 layer, which is the real headline

PlayStation 1 is where the device earns its reputation and where the marketing is, for once, close to honest. Playhouse's guide pegs it at “90 to 95% of the library runs full speed,” and that matches the reliable-example list circulated in the 2026 guides: Final Fantasy VII, VIII, and IX; Crash Bandicoot 1 through 3; Spyro 1 through 3; Metal Gear Solid; Castlevania: Symphony of the Night; Tekken 3; Gran Turismo 1 and 2; Resident Evil 1 and 2; Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 1 and 2; Wipeout; and Ridge Racer. That is not a token PS1 folder. That is most of the reasons anyone owned a PlayStation. The 2D and pre-rendered games — the Squaresoft RPGs, the Castlevania, the fighters — look and run beautifully. The polygonal racers and shooters run full speed too; they simply carry the era's native shimmer, which no handheld this size hides. The reviewer at PropelRC summed the whole tier up by saying the device “handles everything up to PlayStation 1 flawlessly,” and scored it 8.5. On the PS1 layer specifically, that is fair.

The ports layer nobody mentions

There is a third category the sticker never advertises: native ports. OnionOS ships a Ports collection — the bundled builds are based on Onion ports 1.0.9 — that includes properly compiled versions of Doom 1 and 2, Quake, Duke Nukem 3D, Blood, Shadow Warrior, Cave Story, OpenTyrian, Diablo, Zelda Picross, and even a port of Super Mario 64. These are not emulated; they are the games recompiled to run on the chip directly, which is how a 2D handheld ends up running Mario 64 at all. It is a genuine, under-discussed part of the value, and it is where the “game list” quietly gets more interesting than the ROM count suggests.

The N64 mirage and the DS dead end

Then there is the aspirational tier. Nintendo 64 is “light games only” territory. With per-game tweaks you can coax Super Mario 64, Mario Kart 64, GoldenEye 007, Star Fox 64, and F-Zero X into playable shape. Push into the demanding end — Majora's Mask, Banjo-Kazooie, Donkey Kong 64 — and the two Cortex-A7 cores fold. Treat N64 as a novelty that occasionally works, never as a reason to buy. Nintendo DS is simpler still: it does not run. There is no working DS core for this hardware, full stop — the dual-screen, touch-driven architecture has no viable port on the SSD202D. If DS is on your list, this is the wrong machine and no firmware will change that. The way the list is physically organized on the card makes the tiers obvious once you look at the folder structure:

/ (SD root, FAT32 + MBR)
├─ .tmp_update/     ← OnionOS boot hook
├─ BIOS/            ← PS1 (scph1001.bin), Neo Geo (neogeo.zip)
├─ Roms/
│  ├─ FC/           ← NES / Famicom
│  ├─ SFC/          ← SNES / Super Famicom
│  ├─ MD/           ← Mega Drive / Genesis
│  ├─ GB/  GBC/  GBA/
│  ├─ PCE/          ← PC Engine / TurboGrafx-16
│  ├─ NEOGEO/  ARCADE/
│  ├─ PS/           ← PlayStation 1 (.chd / .pbp)
│  └─ WS/           ← WonderSwan
├─ Media/           ← box art + previews
└─ Themes/

Everything above the PS folder in capability — an N64 folder, a Dreamcast folder, a PSP or DS folder — is either a coin-flip or a decoration. If a bundle ships those folders full and counts them toward 25,000, that is the padding, made visible.

The Spec Sheet: Ten Rows That Define the List

Specifications are destiny on a device like this. The list is not defined by what a reseller uploads; it is defined by what the following table permits. Here is the machine in full, with the rows that actually bound the library — platform coverage, release year, size, license status, controls, and saves — called out explicitly.

The full hardware and library table

Saves, states, and the Onion layer

The single most important non-hardware row in that table is “Saves,” because it is what makes a tiny device viable for enormous games. The OnionUI project describes Onion OS as “an enhanced operating system for your Miyoo Mini and Mini+, featuring fine-tuned emulation with 100+ built-in emulators, auto-save and resume.” That auto-save-and-resume is not a luxury; it is the feature that lets you play a 40-hour JRPG in three-minute increments on a bus. You press the power button, the emulator freezes the exact frame, and the next time you turn it on you are back where you were. Combined with RetroArch save states, it turns the Mini Plus from a toy into a serious tool for finishing long games in short sessions. If you want to understand the emulator layer underneath, the same RetroArch core system powers most handhelds; our RetroArch cores walkthrough covers how those cores are chosen and updated.

Controls and the things that are missing

Two omissions define what the list cannot be. First, there are no analog sticks — a D-pad-only layout that is perfect for 2D platformers and fighters and awkward for the 3D PS1 games that assumed a DualShock. Metal Gear Solid and the racers adapt; a first-person N64 game does not. Second, there is no link cable and no local wireless multiplayer, which quietly deletes an entire category from the “game list.” Every trade Pokemon evolution, every four-player Bomberman, every co-op run — gone. The Wi-Fi is for netplay, box-art scraping, and clock sync, not for sitting next to a friend. Keep both facts in mind when a listing brags about its multiplayer library.

The Numbers Game: 25,000 vs 5,819

Now we can finally interrogate the headline. Where does “25,000 games” come from, what is it really counting, and what is the honest number? This is the section the reseller does not want written, which is exactly why it is the most useful one in the review.

Where 25,000 comes from

The number is not fixed, which is the first tell. Miyoo's own EU storefront has marketed the Mini+ as “25000 jeux inclus” at a habitual price of €109.90. Elsewhere the same device gets listed with 13,056, or 25,966, or 27,549, or 28,000 games, depending on which card the seller imaged. When the count changes by ten thousand between two listings of identical hardware, you are not looking at a feature; you are looking at a marketing dial. Each number simply reflects how big a ROM set someone poured onto the card. Nothing about the device changed. The spreadsheet did.

Deduplicating the bundle

So what is actually in those tens of thousands of files? Overwhelmingly: repetition. A single game appears as its USA release, its Europe release, its Japan release, its rev-A and rev-B dumps, its bad dumps, its hacks, and its translations — each counted as a separate “game.” Stack that across every system and the count balloons without adding a single new experience. Then add the folders for hardware the chip cannot run — the N64, Dreamcast, PSP, and DS libraries that pad the total while playing nothing. When you dedupe hard and delete the unplayable tiers, the real, keep-it library collapses. Our own audit put the genuinely playable, deduplicated figure near 5,819 titles — roughly a fifth of the biggest advertised number, and still a staggering library by any sane standard. The point is not that 5,819 is small. The point is that 25,000 is a lie of a specific, quantifiable size.

The legal murk under the whole thing

There is a reason Miyoo ships its official firmware empty, and it is not modesty. Distributing commercial ROMs is copyright infringement in essentially every jurisdiction that matters, and a preloaded 25,000-game card is, in legal terms, 25,000 counts of it wearing a bow. The device is perfectly legal. The bundle is the problem, and the seller — not Miyoo, and not you — is the one distributing it. Historical-preservation writers such as Jimmy Maher at The Digital Antiquarian have spent years untangling the difference between preserving software and pirating it, and the honest position for a buyer is the boring one: the machine is yours to own, the games are yours only if you own them. The cleanest path — legally and in terms of quality — is to buy the bare device, wipe whatever card it came with, and rebuild the library from titles you actually have a claim to. You lose the padded number. You lose nothing you would have kept.

The Curated Core: The Games That Justify It

Delete the padding and you are left with the reason this device is beloved: a curated core of all-time-great games, most of them decades old, most of them perfectly suited to a 3.5-inch screen and short sessions. This is where the list stops being a spreadsheet and starts being an argument. Let me name the games and let the historians back me up.

The role-playing crown jewels

The Mini Plus is, more than anything, an RPG machine — and that is a compliment, because the RPG is the genre that most rewards a save-anywhere handheld. Chrono Trigger, built by the so-called Dream Team of Hironobu Sakaguchi, Yuji Horii, and artist Akira Toriyama, remains the platonic 16-bit JRPG and runs without a hiccup. The PlayStation Final Fantasies — VII, VIII, IX — are all here at full speed, and Final Fantasy VII in particular is arguably better on this device than it was on a CRT: same game, none of the disc-swapping friction, freeze-frame resume on a bus. Add Castlevania: Symphony of the Night — the game that, together with Super Metroid, gave the “Metroidvania” its second half — and you have a handful of titles that would each justify the purchase alone. Compare the flagships in the genre the device serves best:

Action, arcade, and the run-and-gun canon

The other pillar is arcade and action, where the D-pad-only layout stops being a compromise and becomes correct. Metal Slug — the whole SNK run-and-gun series — is here in full, and its hand-drawn sprite work is the kind of thing this genre exists to show off; the enthusiasts at Hardcore Gaming 101 have written at length about how much craft went into those frames of animation, and a crisp IPS panel does them justice. Add Streets of Rage 2, Gunstar Heroes, the King of Fighters and Street Fighter Alpha runs, and the entire Neo Geo fighting catalogue, and you have an arcade in your pocket that never needs a quarter. For twitch action and pick-up-and-play, the Mini Plus is arguably better than owning the originals, because it collapses a room full of boards into one hand.

Why the curation beats the count

Here is the editorial judgment, stated as opinion because that is what a verdict is. The value of the Miyoo game list is inversely proportional to how many games you count. Ten thousand duplicate ROMs are worth less than the fifty games above, because attention is the scarce resource, not storage. Reviewers keep circling the same short list — Chrono Trigger, Pokemon, Castlevania, Final Fantasy VII, Metal Slug — not because they lack imagination but because that curated core is the product. A 2026 review dated the device's identity to exactly those titles, framing it as a machine for “curated classics,” and that is right. Buy it for the fifty games you will replay for the rest of your life, not the 24,950 you will never open.

Five Ways It Plays: Scenarios From Real Sessions

A game list lives or dies in how it is actually used, and the Mini Plus behaves very differently depending on who is holding it. Here are five real-world play patterns, scored honestly, because “it depends” is a more useful review than a single number.

The casual commuter and the mobile traveller

This is the device's home turf, and it is close to perfect here. The casual player who wants twenty minutes of Sonic or Tetris on a train gets an instant-on machine that fits a coat pocket, resumes exactly where they left off, and lasts a work week between charges at six to eight hours a session. For the mobile traveller — the person who wants a plane's worth of RPG without a laptop bag — the auto-save-and-resume and the sheer breadth of the 8-to-16-bit library make it ideal. GamesRadar's line that “nothing beats curling up with a Miyoo Mini Plus” is marketing-adjacent but not wrong. For these two scenarios, the list is a 9.

The completionist and the RPG grinder

The completionist wins big, with one asterisk. Save states and resume mean you can grind a JRPG to 100% in fragments no other format allows, and the library is deep enough to lose a year in. Final Fantasy IX, Chrono Trigger, Suikoden, the entire SNES and PS1 RPG canon — all playable, all resumable. The asterisk is the screen: at 229 PPI, text-dense menus and tiny sprites are legible but not sharp, and long sessions on the 3.5-inch panel are a comfort-versus-clarity trade the original Mini actually won. Completionists who care about pixel fidelity may prefer a denser or larger display. For depth of library, though, this scenario is an 8.5.

The speedrunner

Here the list hits a wall that has nothing to do with the games and everything to do with emulation integrity. The SSD202D is, by the community's own admission, not cycle-accurate — it runs the classics faithfully enough for play but not to the frame-and-sub-frame precision competitive speedrunning demands. Input latency on a budget handheld is also not leaderboard-grade. You can absolutely practice routes and have fun, but no serious runner is setting a submitted time on a Mini Plus, and no one should buy it expecting to. For competitive speedrunning specifically, this is a 4 — not because the games are wrong, but because the platform is.

The couch co-op group

This is the scenario the list simply cannot serve, and it deserves to be stated without hedging. There is no local multiplayer, no second controller, no link cable, and no HDMI to throw the picture on a TV. Every co-op and versus game in that 25,000-file bundle — and there are thousands — is single-player-only in practice on this hardware. The two-player Streets of Rage on the card is a one-player game here. If your household plays together, the Mini Plus is the wrong purchase, and a device with HDMI-out and Bluetooth controller support is the right one. For co-op, this is a 2.

The tinkerer and library curator

Finally, the person who enjoys building the machine as much as playing it. For them the Mini Plus is a delight: wipe the reseller card, flash OnionOS, scrape box art over Wi-Fi, build a hand-picked library of games you own, and end up with something far better than any preloaded bundle. Retro Handheld HQ's verdict — that “OnionOS transforms this device” and is “the single biggest reason this handheld stays relevant in 2026” — is aimed squarely at this user. If you would rather curate 300 great games than inherit 25,000 random ones, this scenario is a 9.5, and it is the one I most recommend.

Pricing & Availability: The $52 to €109.90 Spread

Few devices have a price this chaotic, and the chaos is itself part of the review, because overpaying is the easiest mistake to make here. The same hardware sells for anywhere from about $50 to nearly €110 depending entirely on how many pirated games the seller claims to have bundled. Here is the landscape.

The honest target price

Strip away the bundle premium and the Miyoo Mini Plus is a roughly $52 device in the United States and a £55-60 device in the United Kingdom. A price tracker recorded it at $51.99 in the US on 3 January 2026, with a lowest-ever price of $49.50 and an average around $51.49 at the end of 2025. That is the number to anchor to. Anything approaching €109.90 is you paying a premium for a card full of ROMs you could assemble yourself for free — and legally, if you own the games — in an afternoon. The bundle is not adding a hundred dollars of value. It is adding a hundred dollars of copyright liability.

The full pricing table

Clones, scams, and what to actually buy

Two traps sit at the edges of that table. At the bottom, the ~$25 Amazon listing advertising 11,000 games on a 128GB card is almost certainly a clone with inferior parts or an outright scam; a genuine Mini Plus does not sell new at half the tracked floor price. At the top, the €109.90 bundle is real hardware at a laundered-piracy markup. The correct purchase is the boring middle: buy the bare or lightly-bundled device in the $52-66 / £55-60 band from a reputable handheld specialist, and treat any preloaded card as something to reformat, not to rely on. If you would rather run a full desktop-grade frontend than the stock software, note that the same class of SD card will boot alternative firmware too — our Batocera setup guide covers that route for people who want maximum control over their own library.

Who Should Buy the List (and Who Shouldn't)

A review that ends in a single number is lazy, because the Mini Plus is a spectacularly good buy for some people and an actively wrong one for others. Here are the concrete recommendations, by use case.

Buy it if you are one of these

1. The RPG-in-your-pocket commuter. If your dream is Chrono Trigger and Final Fantasy IX resumable on a train, buy it today. This is the single best thing the device does, and nothing at this price does it better.

2. The 8-bit and 16-bit purist. If your library ends at the SNES and Genesis, the Mini Plus emulates your entire world flawlessly, and the padded number above the PS1 tier is irrelevant to you. Buy it and never look up.

3. The PS1 nostalgic with realistic expectations. If you want the 2D and pre-rendered PlayStation canon — the Squaresoft RPGs, Symphony of the Night, the fighters — buy it. Just know the polygonal 3D games run full speed but wear their era's shimmer; that is the source material, not the emulator.

Buy it, but change the plan

4. The gift buyer. The Mini Plus is a wonderful gift, but do the recipient a favour: buy the bare device, then load a card with games you or they legally own. A curated 300-game card beats a 25,000-game legal grenade every time.

5. The tinkerer and curator. If building the machine is half the fun, buy it, flash OnionOS, and enjoy the best version of this device — a hand-picked library with scraped art. This is the platonic Mini Plus owner, and the one who gets the most out of it.

Skip it if you are one of these

6. The N64, PSP, or DS hopeful. Do not buy this device for those systems. N64 is a coin-flip on light titles, PSP is not recommended, and DS does not run at all. Buy a proper application-processor handheld instead — the Retroid Pocket line is where that money should go.

7. The couch co-op household. No local multiplayer, no link cable, no HDMI. If you play together, in the same room, on a TV, this is the wrong machine. Full stop.

Pros, Cons & the Verdict

We have taken the list apart, benchmarked the chip, deduplicated the count, priced the hardware, and walked five scenarios. Here is the ledger, and the number.

The pros

• The curated core is elite. Chrono Trigger, the Final Fantasy PS1 trilogy, Symphony of the Night, Metal Slug, the entire 8-to-16-bit canon — all at full speed, all resumable.
• PS1 emulation is genuinely strong. 90-95% of the PlayStation library runs full speed, which is most of the reasons anyone bought the original console.
• OnionOS is transformative. 100+ emulators, auto-save and resume, box-art scraping, and a level of polish that keeps a 2023 device relevant in 2026.
• The price floor is absurdly low. A ~$52 street price for this library is one of the best value propositions in consumer electronics, retro or otherwise.
• Pocketability and battery. 121 grams, a deck-of-cards footprint, and six-to-eight-hour sessions make it the go-anywhere option.

The cons

• The game count is marketing fiction. “25,000 games” is a padded, duplicate-riddled, partly-unplayable ROM dump; the honest number is closer to 5,819.
• Hard PlayStation ceiling. No real N64, no Dreamcast, no PSP, and no DS at all. Half the folders in a big bundle are decoration.
• No multiplayer, in any form. No link cable, no local wireless, no HDMI-out. Co-op and versus libraries are single-player here.
• The bigger screen is a softer screen. 229 PPI versus the original's 286 means the panel looks muddier on detailed sprites, as Gizmodo flagged.
• The bundle is a legal liability. A preloaded commercial-ROM card is copyright infringement wearing a bow, and Miyoo ships its own firmware empty for exactly that reason.

The verdict: 7.5 / 10

The Miyoo Mini Plus game list is two products stapled together. One is a lie — a five-figure count of duplicate and unplayable files designed to make a sticker impressive. The other is a quietly magnificent curation of maybe fifty of the greatest games ever made, running flawlessly on a machine that costs less than a new release. Score the first product and it fails. Score the second and it is a 9. The device you actually hold is the average of those, weighted by the fact that you can, with an afternoon and a card reader, delete the lie and keep the magnificence.

So: 7.5 out of 10. Handheld Picker put the whole thing better than any score can, calling it a machine that “knows exactly what it is: a tiny, inexpensive, vertical Linux handheld for 8-bit, 16-bit, arcade, and PlayStation 1 gaming,” and adding that in 2026 “it is no longer the strongest budget handheld — it is still one of the nicest small ones.” That is the Mini Plus exactly. Buy it for what it is, not for the number on the box. Ignore the 25,000. Keep the 5,819. Play the fifty.