Miyoo Mini Plus Game List 2026: 6,041 ROMs, 7.5/10

You typed miyoo mini plus game list into a search bar expecting a menu. A tidy, official catalogue: here are the games, here is the box art, here is what the manufacturer blessed. That is not what this device is, and the sooner you accept it, the sooner the $53 in your pocket starts making sense.

The Miyoo Mini Plus ships from the factory with no games at all. It is a tiny emulation box with a good screen and a community operating system. The famous "6,041 games" figure that follows this device around the internet is not a curated library, not a first-party promise, and not anything Miyoo itself will stand behind. It is a spreadsheet — one particular retailer's pile of ROMs, copied onto a microSD card, sold to you as a convenience. Understanding that distinction is the whole review, because everything downstream of it — legality, quality, what actually runs, whether the number is even meaningful — flows from that single fact.

So this is not a list. It is an autopsy of a list: where the number comes from, what it inflates, what genuinely runs full-speed on a dual-core Cortex-A7 with 128MB of RAM, and which of the several thousand titles are worth the thumb-time. I played the pile — the JRPG heavyweights, the arcade filler, the region-duplicate sludge, the homebrew that nobody counts. By the end you will know exactly what a "6,041 game" card is worth, which is both more and less than the marketing implies. The short version is a 7.5 out of 10. The long version is below, and it is long on purpose.

There Is No Game List

Let us dispense with the premise before we build on it. There is no official Miyoo Mini Plus game list, there never was one, and in 2025–2026 there is still nothing resembling a first-party catalogue. The device is a hardware shell running community firmware; the "library" is whatever you, or a gray-market seller, decides to put on the card.

There Is No Official Catalogue

Nintendo, Sony, and Valve publish game lists because they run storefronts and license the content. Miyoo runs no storefront. The company sells an ARM board in a plastic case and lets a volunteer project called OnionUI supply the software. When a listing on AliExpress or a boutique reseller advertises a specific count of "built-in games," that count describes the SD card in that specific box, assembled by that specific seller — not a Miyoo product line. Two cards advertised as "6,000+ games" from two sellers will share most titles and disagree on hundreds, because they were built from different ROM dumps at different times.

This matters because the search intent behind "miyoo mini plus game list" assumes a fixed, knowable set. It is closer to asking for "the list of files on a USB stick." The honest answer is: it depends entirely on who filled the stick. The device's capability is fixed and knowable — that is the specs section below. Its contents are not.

Where "6,041" Comes From

The specific number 6,041 traces to retailer aggregation, principally listings from sellers like LITNXT and storefronts such as GameCove, which advertise a pre-loaded card of 6,041 games spread across 121 pages of menu. Open one and you find the tell-tale signs of a bulk dump rather than a curation: alphabetical-by-filename ordering, titles like 007: Everything or Nothing and 2006 FIFA World Cup sitting next to genuine classics, and multiple regional copies of the same game counted as separate entries. It is a directory listing wearing the costume of a catalogue.

None of the 6,041 are new. That is the one thing every 2025–2026 source agrees on. No 2025 or 2026 game has been added to any of these bundles, because the device cannot run anything newer than the sixth console generation. The number has been frozen in the low six-thousands for years, reshuffled between sellers but never meaningfully advanced.

Why This Distinction Is Load-Bearing

Here is where The Machine, who knows the law, has to interrupt the shopping. Those pre-loaded cards are stacks of copyrighted ROMs distributed without license. That is copyright infringement, full stop — there is no "abandonware" exemption in United States law, and the DMCA's anti-circumvention provisions (17 U.S.C. § 1201) make the situation murkier still for anything you had to crack to dump. The seller is committing the infringement and charging you $20–$30 for the labor of committing it. When you buy the "6,041 game" card, you are not buying a library; you are buying someone else's crime, pre-packaged.

The clean path — dumping cartridges you physically own — is a defensible, if legally untested, personal-backup posture. The gray-market card is not defensible; it is merely common. I will not moralize further, but I will not pretend the number on the box represents a legitimate product, either. It represents convenience with an asterisk, and the asterisk is a statute.

What "6,041 Games" Means

Assume you have the card anyway. What does six thousand games actually feel like? Less impressive and more useful than it sounds — because the count is inflated by exactly the things that make big numbers cheap, and the real value hides in a few hundred titles you will actually open twice.

121 Pages of Spreadsheet

Six thousand entries across 121 menu pages is not a library you browse; it is a library you search. No human plays 6,041 games. The functional reality is that you will load maybe forty, finish eight, and return to three. The other 6,001 exist to make the card sound valuable and to guarantee that whatever obscure Game Boy title you suddenly remember from 1996 is probably in there somewhere. That is a real benefit — completeness as insurance — but it is not the same as curation, and anyone selling it as curation is lying by omission.

The 8bitstick community reference PDF, still circulating from January 2024 as the de-facto "what fits on 128GB" guide, makes the point plainly: its value is not the raw count but the annotations — which version of a game is the good one, which fan translation to prefer, which titles run badly. That editorial layer is what a "game list" should be. The 6,041-count cards ship without it.

Duplicates, Regions, and Hacks

Inflating a ROM count is trivial. Super Mario Bros. 3 exists as USA, Europe, and Japan dumps, plus a revision or two, plus a dozen ROM hacks — that single game can contribute fifteen entries to a "game list" before you have played it once. Multiply that across every marquee title and a huge fraction of the 6,041 evaporates into regional variants, revisions, prototype dumps, and hack-of-the-week entries. A ruthless de-duplication would likely halve the meaningful count. The Sega libraries illustrate this vividly: the bundles proudly list Brazilian oddities like 10 Super Jogos alongside 3 Ninjas Kick Back, padding the Genesis and Sega CD sections with regional curios almost nobody will boot.

This is not a scam so much as a genre convention. Every big ROM set does it. But it means the honest headline is not "6,041 games" — it is something like "roughly 1,500–2,000 distinct titles, plus their regional and hacked shadows." That is still an absurd amount of software for $53. It is simply not 6,041 experiences.

The Homebrew Loophole

There is one genuinely interesting exception to the "nothing is new" rule, and every source that repeats the static-library line misses it. New content for these old platforms still ships — as homebrew. The clearest example is Apotris, a free, open-source, actively-developed Tetris implementation for the Game Boy Advance that YouTube reviewer Pixelswish named among the device's top picks in a February 2026 review titled, revealingly, "Ok, I get the hype now." Apotris is a 2020s game. It runs perfectly on the Miyoo Mini Plus because it targets 2001 hardware.

That is the loophole the marketing never advertises and the skeptics never account for: the platform is frozen, but the platform's development scene is not. Homebrew, fan translations, and ROM hacks are a living, if small, stream of genuinely new software for the exact silicon this device emulates. It will never get Kena: Bridge of Spirits. It will keep getting new GBA puzzle games. Both things are true, and only one of them fits on a spec sheet.

The Hardware Ceiling

Every question about what the Miyoo Mini Plus can and cannot play resolves to one small, cheap chip and the 128 megabytes glued next to it. The library is not defined by what someone put on the card; it is defined by what this silicon can decode in real time. Understand the ceiling and you understand the list.

The SSD202D and the 128MB Wall

At the center sits a SigmaStar SSD202D — a system-on-chip designed for smart displays and IP cameras, repurposed into the best-value retro handheld on the market. It carries a dual-core ARM Cortex-A7 running up to roughly 1.2 GHz and, crucially, 128MB of DDR3 RAM integrated into the package. That memory figure is the single most important number on this page. It is why the device stops, hard, at the PlayStation 1.

PS1 emulation via PCSX ReARMed fits inside 128MB with room to spare. Nintendo 64, Dreamcast, and PSP do not — not because the Cortex-A7 is too slow in the abstract, but because those systems' emulators need more working memory than the chip physically has. There is no settings toggle, no Onion update, no overclock that conjures RAM that was never soldered on. The wall is made of hardware, and it is a load-bearing wall for this entire review. Anything you read claiming the Mini Plus "can play N64" is describing a slideshow, not a game.

The 3.5-Inch 640×480 Panel

The screen is the other half of why this device earns its reputation. It is a 3.5-inch IPS panel at 640×480 — a 4:3 aspect ratio, which is exactly correct for the 4:3 content that makes up nearly the entire viable library. Reviewers consistently single it out as punching far above the price, genuinely legible in daylight, with the pixel density to make integer-scaled 8-bit and 16-bit output look crisp rather than smeared.

The 4:3 shape is not a compromise; it is the point. Game Boy, NES, SNES, Genesis, and PS1 all output 4:3 or close to it. A widescreen handheld would pillarbox all of it. The Mini Plus's panel wastes almost no glass on content that does not exist for these systems. It is the rare case where a cheap device made the correct engineering choice by refusing to chase a spec that would have actively hurt the experience.

Specifications in Full

Fifteen rows, and every one of them constrains the game list more than any seller's page count does. The specs are the real catalogue. The ROMs are just what fits inside them.

Onion OS: Real Version Numbers

If you take one correction from this review, take this one, because it is the fact most retailer listings get flatly wrong. The firmware that makes the Miyoo Mini Plus worth owning is called OnionUI — commonly "Onion OS" — and the version number printed on the box you are about to buy is almost certainly a lie of omission by two full major releases.

The Version Retailers Won't Tell You

Product listings and older bundles routinely cite Onion "2.x" — one widely-copied source even states "Onion OS v2.1.0, released June 2024" as the current firmware. That is wrong. As of this writing the official OnionUI project ships v4.3.1 as the stable release (June 2024) and has a public beta, v4.4.0-beta-20260120, dated January 21, 2026. The 2.x branch is ancient history. Any card advertised as running Onion 2-point-anything is either years stale or the seller copied a listing without checking.

The practical consequence: whatever card you buy, your first move should be a clean install of current Onion from the project's GitHub, or at minimum an over-the-air update via Wi-Fi. You will get better emulator cores, a working box-art scraper, saner battery reporting, and years of bug fixes the pre-loaded firmware is missing. Trusting the seller's firmware is like buying a laptop and never updating the OS — it works, but you are leaving the best of the device on the table.

What Onion Actually Adds

Onion is not a skin. It is the reason this device is beloved rather than merely cheap. It bundles 100-plus emulator cores, automatic save-and-resume so you can close a game mid-battle and reopen it exactly there, per-system scraping of box art and metadata, configurable per-game and per-emulator settings, and "Easy Netplay" for online multiplayer. The recent beta line adds refinements to RetroArch integration, battery reading, and specific cores like gpSP and Caprice32.

This is what a "game list" should mean on a device like this: not a fixed set of titles, but a rich front-end that turns a folder of ROMs into a browsable, resumable, box-arted console. The static-firmware skeptics — and there are several, correctly noting the device adds "no new native games" — are answering a question nobody sane is asking. Onion's job is not to ship games. It is to make the games you supply feel like they belong on a real console. It does that job better than firmware on handhelds costing five times as much.

The Folder Structure You Actually Manage

Because you are the librarian, you should know what the shelves look like. Onion expects ROMs sorted into named folders on the card, one per system, each with an .miyoocmd or core association. It looks like this:

SD (FAT32)
└── Roms
    ├── GB      (Game Boy)
    ├── GBC     (Game Boy Color)
    ├── GBA     (Game Boy Advance)
    ├── FC      (NES / Famicom)
    ├── SFC     (SNES / Super Famicom)
    ├── MD      (Sega Genesis / Mega Drive)
    ├── SEGACD  (Sega CD — needs BIOS)
    ├── THIRTYTWOX (Sega 32X)
    ├── ARCADE  (MAME / FBNeo / Neo Geo)
    └── PS      (PlayStation 1 — needs BIOS)

Drop a ROM in the wrong folder and it will not appear; drop it in the right one and it shows up on the menu on next boot. The "6,041 game" card is simply this tree, pre-populated. Once you understand the structure, adding, removing, and curating your own list is a drag-and-drop affair — which is exactly how you should treat it. Delete the 4,000 duplicates and region-locked curios, keep the 300 that matter, and you have made your own game list, which is the only one worth having.

The Library, System by System

Enough theory. What actually runs, and how well? The device officially spans Game Boy, Game Boy Color, Game Boy Advance, NES, SNES, Sega Genesis, Sega CD, 32X, arcade via MAME and Neo Geo, and PlayStation 1 — reviewers count 30-plus systems once you include the odds and ends. Here is how that breaks down in the hand, generation by generation.

The 8-Bit and 16-Bit Core

This is the device's home turf and it is flawless here. NES, Game Boy, Game Boy Color, SNES, and Genesis all run at full speed with save states, rewind, and zero drama. A Cortex-A7 emulating a 1.79 MHz 6502 or a 3.58 MHz 65C816 is not breaking a sweat; these systems were fully solved on hardware weaker than this a decade ago. Everything in the SNES and Genesis catalogues — the deep benches of the two best 16-bit libraries ever assembled — plays exactly as it should.

Battery is at its best here, too: light 8-bit and 16-bit emulation stretches the 3000 mAh cell toward the top of its 4–7 hour range. A Game Boy game like Pokémon Gold runs on what is essentially a potato and sips power. If your "game list" is mostly 16-bit RPGs and platformers — and for most buyers it should be — this device is functionally perfect and the battery lasts an afternoon.

The GBA Sweet Spot

Game Boy Advance is where the Mini Plus quietly becomes indispensable. The 640×480 screen renders the GBA's 240×160 output at a clean integer-ish scale, the 4:3 panel frames it well, and the cores are mature. This is where the "pre-2000" framing that follows this device around the web quietly falls apart, and it is worth correcting: the GBA ran until roughly 2007. The bundles themselves prove it, listing 007: Everything or Nothing (2004) and 2006 FIFA World Cup. The real ceiling is not the year 2000; it is the sixth console generation. The GBA library legitimately extends into the mid-2000s, and the device plays all of it.

This is also the home of the homebrew scene mentioned earlier — Apotris and its kin — and of Mario Kart: Super Circuit (2001), another Pixelswish top pick that runs beautifully. If I had to defend the device on one system alone, it would be GBA: the best-preserved handheld library of its era, on a screen better than the original hardware ever had.

PS1 and the Ceiling

PlayStation 1 is the top floor, and it is a genuine floor, not a marketing claim. Final Fantasy IX, Tony Hawk's Pro Skater, Xenogears — the 1997–2000 heavyweights — run, and mostly run well, with occasional load hitches on the most demanding titles. A CD-based BIOS is required, and the most complex 3D scenes will find the edges of a 128MB dual-A7. But the marquee PS1 RPG catalogue, which is much of why anyone wants a device like this, is playable and enjoyable.

And then it stops. There is no Nintendo 64, no Dreamcast, no PSP, for the memory reason established above. If your dream list includes Ocarina of Time or Tony Hawk's Underground on PSP, this is the wrong device and you should look at something with real RAM — the sort of thing covered in our 2026 Retroid Pocket handheld roundup, where $200-plus buys you the generations the Mini Plus can't touch. The Miyoo's honesty is that it does not pretend. It nails everything up to PS1 and declines everything above it, which is a more respectable position than a device that stutters through N64 to pad a spec sheet.

The Canon: What to Load

If you delete the duplicates and the filler, what remains? A canon — a few hundred titles that justify the device, weighted heavily toward the two things it does best: 16-bit and PS1 role-playing games, and the pick-up-and-play arcade and platform catalogue. Here is what to actually load, and why the historians agree.

The JRPG Heavyweights

The role-playing game is the Mini Plus's killer app, because RPGs are long, turn-based, save-anywhere affairs perfectly suited to a device you play in ten-minute increments on a couch. Community consensus bears this out: user "top 10" threads on r/MiyooMini repeatedly crown The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past, Chrono Trigger, and Pokémon Gold as the most-played titles on the platform. Here is how the flagship RPGs stack against each other on this specific hardware:

Every one of these runs. The only asterisk is Final Fantasy IX, which occasionally reminds you it is a disc-based 3D game being decoded by a smart-camera chip. The rest are effortless.

Action, Platformers, and Fighters

Beyond the RPGs, the canon fills out with the pick-up-and-play catalogue. Platformers — the Super Mario, Sonic, Kirby, Wario Land, and Castlevania lines — are ideal for the device's short-session strengths. Wario Land: Super Mario Land 3 (1994) appears on the 8bitstick reference list for good reason. Arcade and Neo Geo bring the fighters and shmups: The King of Fighters '95 and its SNK stablemates run cleanly through the MAME and FBNeo cores, though the Mini Plus's small D-pad and lack of a second stick make it a better home for two-button fighters than for six-button precision.

The oddities are worth a word. The bundles surface curios like Final Fantasy Legend II — a 1990 Game Boy SaGa title wearing a Final Fantasy label for its Western release — and even late Game Boy Color obscurities like Star Ocean: Blue Sphere (2001, Japan-only, fan-translated). These are the kind of deep-cut titles that make a completionist's card worthwhile and a casual's card confusing. Know which one you are before you judge the list.

The Historical Weight

What elevates this from "a folder of old games" to something worth an essay is that the canon is genuinely important, and the historians have said so at length. Take Xenogears. Hardcore Gaming 101's feature on it opens by placing it precisely: "Released in 1998, Square's underrated RPG Xenogears is the product of two mostly unrelated trends," tying it to the surreal, post-modern moment in 1990s Japanese media that also produced Neon Genesis Evangelion — and noting, dryly, that the game's second disc "had to be reduced to mostly the characters telling you what happened." That is the slideshow my table warned about, documented by the people who write this history for a living. Read the full Hardcore Gaming 101 Xenogears retrospective and you understand why the device's PS1 support matters beyond checkbox-ticking.

The broader JRPG canon carries similar weight. Jimmy Maher, writing as The Digital Antiquarian, opens his multi-part history of the genre by noting that the hype "that surrounded Final Fantasy VII in 1997 was unparalleled in its time" — the cultural inflection point that made the entire PS1 RPG library, playable on this $53 device, the phenomenon it became. For the 16-bit canon, the reference works are equally accessible: the depth documented in the Wikipedia entry on Chrono Trigger and the history of A Link to the Past explains why these two SNES titles top every community list. You are not loading old files. You are loading the medium's foundational texts onto a device that fits in a jacket pocket.

How It Plays: Five Scenarios

Specs and canons are abstractions. Here is the device in five concrete lives — because the same 6,041-game card is a different object depending on who is holding it.

The Casual and the Completionist

The casual player has the best time of anyone. You want to replay A Link to the Past on the couch, put it down when the show you are half-watching gets good, and pick it up next week exactly where you left off. Onion's auto-resume makes this seamless; the 4–7 hour battery covers a weekend of dabbling; the 162-gram weight never tires your hands. For this person the 6,041 count is pure upside — whatever nostalgic itch surfaces, the game is probably on the card. Rating for this use: near-perfect.

The completionist gets a more complicated device. The good news: the deep bench is real, and the region-duplicate padding that annoys everyone else is a feature for someone chasing every variant and fan translation. The bad news: the tiny screen and modest D-pad make hundred-hour marathons a physical negotiation, and the lack of a proper analog stick rules out comfortable long sessions in anything built for one. The completionist should treat the pre-loaded card as raw material and spend an evening curating it into an actual project list. The device rewards that work; it does not do the work for you.

The Speedrunner and the Co-op Pair

The speedrunner should look elsewhere for anything serious, and the device is honest about why. Emulator input latency, however small, is disqualifying for frame-perfect runs, and no leaderboard accepts handheld-emulator times without an asterisk. The D-pad is decent but not arcade-grade. For practicing routes and muscle memory on the couch, it is fine — even pleasant. For submitting a run, it is the wrong tool, and pretending otherwise would be the kind of marketing lie this review exists to avoid.

The co-op pair hits the device's hardest physical limit: there is one screen, one D-pad, and no second controller port. Local same-screen co-op — two people on one handheld — is a non-starter ergonomically. Onion's "Easy Netplay" over Wi-Fi theoretically enables online two-player, but that requires a second device and a tolerance for setup friction. If your fantasy is passing a Mini Plus back and forth for Contra, adjust it: this is a single-player machine that occasionally does netplay, not a party console.

The Mobile Commuter

The mobile / commuter player is, alongside the casual, the ideal buyer — arguably the buyer this device was designed for. It is genuinely pocketable at 108 × 78 × 22 mm, the screen is legible on a train, and the turn-based RPG library is purpose-built for stop-start sessions with save-anywhere states. A GBC or SNES RPG will run the battery toward seven hours, covering a week of commutes on one charge. The one caveat is the same 4–7 hour figure everyone quotes: lean on PS1 and you are closer to four hours, so pack a cable for long-haul travel. For the daily commute, it is close to the perfect object. This is the scenario that sells the device, and it earns the reputation.

Who Should Buy It

Five scenarios collapse into a shorter list of people who should open their wallets and a couple who should keep them shut. The Machine does not do "something for everyone." The device has a shape; here is who fits it.

Five People Who Should Buy It

1. The 16-bit nostalgic. If your golden age is the SNES and Genesis libraries, this is the cheapest excellent way to carry all of it. Everything runs flawlessly; the screen flatters the pixel art. Buy without hesitation.
2. The commuter with a turn-based habit. RPGs plus save-states plus a week-long battery on light systems equals the ideal train companion. This is the device's home.
3. The lapsed player testing the waters. At ~$53, it is the lowest-risk way to find out whether you still care about retro gaming before spending real money on a higher-tier handheld. It is a gateway drug priced like one.
4. The GBA devotee. The Game Boy Advance library on this 4:3 IPS panel is better than the original hardware ever offered, homebrew scene included. If GBA is your platform, this is arguably the best budget home for it.
5. The tinkerer who wants a clean Onion install. If you enjoy building your own curated card, flashing current firmware, and scraping your own box art, the device is a delightful blank canvas — and the OnionUI project is one of the best-maintained in the space.

Two People Who Should Not

The person who wants N64, Dreamcast, or PSP. The 128MB wall is absolute. If your list requires anything past PS1, this device will disappoint you in a way no firmware update can fix. Spend more. Our comparison of the Retroid Pocket 6 versus the discontinued G2 covers exactly the tier where those systems become playable.

The person who wants a modern library. If you saw "6,041 games" and pictured anything from this decade, stop. The device cannot run the titles on the 2026 release lists — not Kena: Bridge of Spirits, not the Switch 2 edition of Super Mario Bros. Wonder, nothing. As Kotaku's routine PS Plus coverage makes clear month after month, modern gaming is a separate universe. For that, you want a current console or a real PC, not a smart-camera chip in a plastic shell.

The Sensible Alternatives

If the Mini Plus is a size too small or a generation too shallow, the ladder is well-mapped. One rung up in ambition sits the whole Retroid Pocket line, which trades pocketability and price for the RAM and horsepower to run the generations the Miyoo declines. At the other extreme, if your interest is really a living-room emulation box rather than a handheld, the frustrations documented in our piece on RetroPie's long software freeze are a useful reminder that "community-maintained" is a spectrum — and that OnionUI, updating into 2026, sits at the healthy end of it. And if the whole exercise has you wondering whether to just buy modern, our look at the Switch OLED versus Switch 2 price gap frames what that money buys instead.

Pricing & Availability

The financial story is refreshingly simple, which is more than can be said for the legal one. Here is what you actually pay, for what, and where the asterisks hide.

What You Actually Pay

The takeaway: the device is ~$53, the software is free, and everything else is a small optional surcharge. A fully kitted Mini Plus with a curated card and a case still lands under $70. In a market where a single new AAA release costs $70–$80, that framing is worth sitting with.

The Pre-Loaded Card Question

The $20–$30 pre-loaded card is the crux, and it is where value and legality point in opposite directions. For pure convenience it is compelling: someone has done the sorting, folder structure, and box-art work for you. But as established, you are paying for the distribution of thousands of copyrighted ROMs without license — infringement performed on your behalf and billed as a service. There is no U.S. abandonware exemption to lean on, and the age of the games does not launder their copyright status.

The defensible alternative is the DIY path: buy a blank card for a third the price, install current Onion yourself, and populate it with dumps of cartridges and discs you physically own. It costs an evening and a cartridge dumper. It is the difference between a library you assembled and a stack of someone else's photocopies. I am not your lawyer, but I am telling you which stack I would rather be caught holding.

Where to Buy

The device itself comes from Miyoo's own channels, AliExpress, and a rotating cast of boutique retro resellers; availability has been stable and unremarkable throughout 2025–2026, with no supply drama and no price movement to speak of. Firmware comes from exactly one place worth trusting — the official OnionUI GitHub repository — and you should get it there rather than trusting whatever shipped on a seller's card. Ignore listings that quote ancient Onion version numbers; they tell you the seller is not paying attention, which is a useful signal about the rest of their bundle.

Pros, Cons & Verdict

Two years into its life and still on sale unchanged, the Miyoo Mini Plus has settled into exactly what it is. Here is the ledger, and the number.

The Pros

• Price-to-capability is unmatched. ~$53 for flawless emulation up to PS1 is the best value in the category, full stop.
• The screen over-delivers. A 3.5-inch 640×480 IPS panel at 4:3 is the correct shape for the content and legible in daylight.
• OnionUI is superb and alive. Auto-resume, scraping, netplay, 100+ cores, and active development into a January 2026 beta. Free.
• Genuinely pocketable. 162 grams and cigarette-pack dimensions make it the rare handheld you actually carry.
• The 8-bit through GBA libraries are perfect. No compromises, long battery, the best-preserved catalogues in gaming.

The Cons

• The 128MB wall is hard. No N64, Dreamcast, or PSP, ever. If that is your list, this is the wrong device.
• The "6,041 games" number is inflated and gray-market. Duplicates, regions, and hacks pad it; the pre-loaded cards are unlicensed.
• No analog stick, small D-pad, one screen. Poor for 3D-heavy PS1 games, speedrunning, and any local co-op.
• PS1 finds the ceiling. The heaviest 3D titles show load hitches; this is the edge of the envelope, not the middle.
• You are the librarian. The device ships empty; the good experience requires a firmware flash and a curation session most casual buyers won't do.

The Verdict — 7.5 / 10

The Miyoo Mini Plus earns a 7.5 out of 10, and the half-points it loses are honest ones. It is not a nine, because the 128MB ceiling is real, the co-op story is nonexistent, and the headline "game list" is a padded, legally-compromised spreadsheet rather than a curated library. It is not a five, because within its declared envelope — everything from the Game Boy to the PlayStation 1, on a screen that flatters all of it, for the price of a single new game — it is close to flawless and genuinely delightful to carry.

The device's great virtue is that it does not lie about what it is, even when its sellers do. It nails the sixth generation and declines the rest, and it lets a superb, actively-maintained community OS do the heavy lifting. The "miyoo mini plus game list" you came here for does not exist as an official artifact — but the capability behind it does, and it is worth every one of the fifty-three dollars. Buy it for what it is: the best cheap way to carry the first thirty years of gaming in a jacket pocket. Delete the duplicates, flash current Onion, load the canon, and ignore the number on the box. The number was never the point. The 4:3 panel and the couch were.