Mochi Wobble

About Mochi Wobble

Mochi Wobble is a cozy balance puzzle. A long rounded plank sits on a striped candy fulcrum like a see-saw, and a little tray of smiling weights waits along the bottom of the screen. You drag them up one at a time and set them on the beam wherever you like. Real torque decides what happens next: a weight far from the middle pulls hard, a weight near the middle barely pulls at all, and the beam is only level when the two sides balance. There is no self-leveling - the balance is entirely yours to find.

The one gesture is drag-and-place. Press a weight, it lifts and follows your finger, and you drop it onto the beam at whatever spot you choose. Drop it off the beam and it simply returns to the tray, free. You can also pick a weight you already placed straight back up and move it, so a bad guess never costs anything. When every weight from the shelf is finally resting on the beam, a ring starts filling around the pivot - it fills only while the plank stays near level and barely moving. Keep it calm for three full seconds and you win, with all three stars.

There are 20 hand-tuned beams, each cycling through five pastel skies. Early beams teach both-sides balance with plain blocks; then a heavy anvil teaches lever arms, a roller ball that drifts downhill teaches wedging, and a slippery ice cube teaches placing last and near the pivot. From there the cast arrives: Wiggles the cat sleeps on the beam and flicks her tail, a pigeon flutters in and lands on the heavier side, a bouncy bean hops the moment you place it, and a sliding fulcrum keeps changing the lever arms under your pile.

Nothing is timed against you and nothing can be lost. Tip the beam too far and the pile tumbles off in a soft heap, then everything hops back to the tray and the beam resets level for an instant, unlimited retry. Every puzzle is authored so a balance always exists. Clear all 20 and Endless mode opens: generated beams that start at the final level's difficulty and keep ramping - more weights, heavier mixes, a faster sliding pivot - with the cat, the pigeon and every object type active from the very first endless beam. Finishing any level always lights up all three stars.

How to play Mochi Wobble

1. Press a weight in the tray at the bottom - it lifts up and follows your finger or mouse.
2. Drag it over the see-saw and let go where you want it: it drops onto the plank and adds its weight there.
3. Watch the beam tilt - a weight far from the middle pulls its side down hard, a weight near the middle barely pulls at all.
4. Balance the two sides: answer a heavy weight on one side with weight on the other, or slide heavy things in toward the pivot.
5. If a placement is wrong, drag that weight back off the beam - it returns to the tray for free and you can try again.
6. Once every weight is on the beam, a ring fills around the pivot while it stays level and still.
7. Keep the plank calm and near-level for three whole seconds to fill the ring and finish the level.

Controls

Tips & strategy

• Distance matters as much as weight: a light block far out can balance a heavy one placed close to the middle. Think lever, not just weight.
• Tame the anvil by sliding it in toward the pivot - its long reach is what tips the beam, so shortening that reach shrinks its pull.
• Place the slippery things last. Ice cubes and roller balls stay put on a level beam but skate off a tilted one, so balance everything else first.
• Wedge a roller ball between two other weights or drop it dead-center on a level beam - it will not rest on any slope by itself.
• Leave yourself slack on the cat and pigeon beams. Balance so well that a little tail-twitch or a landing bird does not push you out of level.
• The pigeon lands on whichever side is already lower, so keep the beam level and it has no heavy side to pick - it just perches.
• When the fulcrum slides, your whole pile's balance drifts with it. Nudge a weight the other way to keep answering the moving pivot.
• A tumble costs nothing. If a beam is fighting you, let it dump, watch how it fell, and try a calmer arrangement - retries are unlimited.

Game features

• One-gesture balancing: drag a weight from the tray and drop it on the see-saw - real torque decides whether the beam holds or tips.
• A true center-of-mass puzzle: every weight pulls in exact proportion to its mass and its distance from the pivot, with no self-leveling to lean on.
• Six kinds of weight, each a lesson: plain blocks, a triple-heavy anvil, a roller that drifts downhill, a skating ice cube, a hopping bean, and more.
• Wiggles the cat sleeps on the beam and flicks her tail, and a pigeon flutters in to land on the heavier side - live characters that nudge your balance.
• A sliding fulcrum on later beams slowly changes the lever arms under a static pile, so balancing becomes a gentle, continuous re-adjustment.
• The win is a held breath, not a score: keep the plank level and steady for three full seconds to fill the ring around the pivot.
• No-fail by design - tip the beam and the pile tumbles in a soft heap, then everything resets level for an unlimited, instant retry.
• 20 hand-tuned beams that ramp from two blocks to an eight-object exam with a cat, a pigeon and a moving pivot, across five pastel skies.
• Endless mode past level 20: generated beams that start at the final level's difficulty and keep ramping, every mechanic active from the first.
• Synthesized sound throughout - a soft pluck on pick-up, a wooden thunk on place, a creak that tracks the tilt, and a rising chime when the ring fills.

Jenga, But In Reverse

Most stacking games are about height - how many blocks can you pile before gravity notices. Mochi Wobble is about the quieter, older problem underneath all of them: torque. A long candy plank rests on a striped triangular fulcrum like a playground see-saw, and every weight you set on it pulls its own end down in exact proportion to how heavy it is and how far from the middle it sits. There is no self-righting trick, no hidden magnet holding the beam level. It is level only when the pull on the left and the pull on the right cancel out, and the whole game is the felt, physical search for that cancellation - a search a six-year-old runs on pure instinct and an adult runs on half-remembered lever arithmetic, both arriving at the same answer.

That single honest rule is what makes the objects matter. A plain block is the baseline: place one on the right, place one the same distance on the left, and the beam sits flat. An anvil weighs three of them, so it dominates - drop it far out and the beam slams down; the only way to tame it is to nudge it in toward the pivot, where its long lever arm shrinks, or to answer it with a counterweight of your own. A roller ball refuses to sit still on any tilt and drifts downhill until you wedge it. An ice cube grips until the faintest slope and then skates away. Each object is a small lesson in the same equation, taught without a word of text.

Because failure here is a slapstick tumble rather than a wall, the game can afford to be honest. Tip the beam past its limit and the whole pile slides off in a heap of surprised faces and a soft whoops - and then, a breath later, everything is back on the shelf and the beam is level again, ready for another try. Nothing is ever lost. A weight that slides off the end just walks back to the tray; a misplaced block can be picked straight back up before you commit. The stakes are entirely in the wobble: that held breath while the plank rocks, settles, over-corrects, and finally goes still.

Winning is not a score but a held moment. Once every weight from the shelf is on the beam, a ring begins to fill around the pivot, and it only fills while the plank stays near level and nearly motionless - three full seconds of calm. A sleeping cat's tail-twitch, a pigeon that lands on whichever side is already heavier, a bean that hops the instant you set it down, a fulcrum that creeps slowly sideways under your careful pile - the later beams all conspire to break that stillness, and the craft becomes leaving yourself enough slack that a small shove doesn't cost the whole hold. It is Jenga run backwards: not the fear of the piece that falls, but the patience of the pile that finally, gorgeously, does not.