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***Minor Spoilers Below***

Washizu Mahjong is; without exaggeration, one of the most monumental battles in all of animanga.

Spanning 226 chapters and taking FKMT 2 decades to finish, this titanic death match between Iwao Washizu and Akagi Shigeru is the quintessential representation of everything FKMT excels at: psychological warfare, unbearable tension, expressive facial expressions, extravagant visual metaphors, and a relentless push-and-pull dynamic where victory is always just within reach yet feels impossible to seize.

Washizu Mahjong isn’t just a mahjong match with titilating game theory - it’s life and death condensed into each draw of the tiles. Experience grappling with raw, unrelenting talent. Decaying wisdom versus a young, ... untethered genius. It’s the crumbling, paranoid madness of a man who wants to live forever against the terrifying, almost alien rationality of someone who embraces life without clinging to survival. With blood as the currency and mortality hanging by a thread, the stakes are crushing.

FKMT doesn’t just tell you this. He makes you feel it - every agonizing second, every slow-motion discard, and every moment where the outcome teeters on the brink of catastrophe / catharsis. When Washizu collapses in desperation or Akagi flashes his cold, unreadable smirk, you don’t just see the characters. You become them. As someone who has brain-rotted over Mahjong Soul for several months, I became fully immersed in this story, and I could see a lot of myself reflected in both Akagi and ESPECIALLY Washizu. To put it simply, this is the kind of match where you stop questioning how long it will take to end and start dreading the moment it finally does.

What makes this arc truly kino is how Washizu’s perspective dominates the arc. This is his story as much as it is Akagi’s, if not MUCH MUCH more so. Washizu starts as a caricature of greed and malice, a shadow king of the post-war era who tempts others to gamble their lives for his amusement. He’s loud, theatrical, and utterly convinced of his superiority. Yet FKMT peels back the layers of this man piece by piece, and what comes out is a deeply human portrait of someone grappling with mortality. Washizu doesn’t just want to win- he wants to cling to life itself, and defeat the greatest challenge he's ever been given.

His ambition isn’t purely evil; it’s rooted in the universal fear of death and the desire to preserve his legacy, dignity, wealth, and principles. His dramatic monologues and inner spirals of paranoia are nothing short of mesmerising to read. He overthinks, sabotages himself repeatedly, berates his subordinates, and clings to hope in moments where there is none. I can’t help but see fragments of my own experiences in him - every strategic blunder I’ve made, every time I’ve doubted my own instincts, every moment where fear has led me to make the wrong move. Washizu’s mind becomes a theater of chaos where his insecurities, brilliance, and sheer desperation collide, and I found myself rooting for him even with Akagi as the "hero".

The clash between these two characters is also a philosophical war as much as it is a battle of skill. Akagi represents living without fear - a figure so detached from the concerns of mortality that he can throw away blood; his very life, without hesitation. Washizu, in contrast - represents the terror of death and the lengths we’ll go to avoid it. Their dynamic creates a fascinating interplay where Akagi seems almost inhuman in his composure, while Washizu’s desperation makes him the more relatable of the two.

Even when he loses his most pivotal rounds, Washizu commands my utmost respect. When his goons plead with Akagi to spare his life, Washizu insists on following through with the rules of the game, even if it means his death. There’s a dignity in his madness, a refusal to compromise his principles even as he’s brought to the brink. That pivotal 'hell revolt' mini-arc - where Washizu, in a near-death state, imagines himself fighting off demons to return to the living - epitomizes his character. It’s absurd, theatrical, and deeply moving all at once. Whether it’s a hallucination or a metaphor for his indomitable perseverance, it just makes his character that much more special and memorable to me. Washizu isn’t just a bum cheating loser like many of other FKMT's antagonists, he’s a well-rounded and well-written antagonistic force that serves as a mirror to reflect Akagi’s philosophy and is LITERALLY ME.

While the pacing of this arc is undeniably slow, I’d argue that its deliberate nature is part of what makes it so impactful. Each draw, each discard, and each moment of hesitation is stretched to its absolute limit - immersing you - the reader in the suffocating tension of the match. Once again as I have repeated before, you will 1000% appreciate this more if you have AT LEAST a basic understanding of Mahjong. Knowing the stakes of each move, the significance of each hand, and the strategies at play elevates the experience to another level. Instead of simply watching the chaos unfold / "keikakudoori" BS, you become an active participant, analyzing the tiles and questioning each decision alongside the players.

The shifting momentum between Akagi and Washizu, the escalating stakes, and the sheer audacity of the moves they pull create an experience that’s impossible to forget. What I REALLY LOVE is that minimal cheating was involved here. Washizu Mahjong's mix of transparent & opaque tiles, as well as, no walls for switching tiles, make it useless to cheat. The only possible way is a false riichi - which if found out, would result in your death. Basically the focus here is on raw strategy and nerve. It’s a game where both players are exposed, vulnerable, and forced to confront the inevitable: death.

Ultimately, what makes Washizu Mahjong so unforgettable is its ability to explore the concept of mortality through the lens of a simple game. This isn’t just a match between two gamblers. It’s a meditation on what it means to live and what it means to die. Akagi and Washizu are two sides of the same coin - one embracing the fleeting nature of life, the other fighting tooth and nail to extend it. Their battle is one of contrasts: youth and age, light and darkness, courage and fear.

Yet despite their differences, there’s a genuine respect and mutual understanding that develops between them. Washizu's words of praise towards Akagi and acknowledging him as an equal. Akagi willing to wait out that last "Pon" call. Both of them pushing each other to survive their blood extractions. All of this is an acknowledgment of the strange bond that has formed between them, a bond forged in blood, madness, and the unrelenting pursuit of victory. This arc may have taken 20 IRL years to finish, but every moment feels earned. Washizu Mahjong is a masterclass in tension, character building, and thematic storytelling, and once again displays FKMT’s genius that a simple game of Mahjong can carry so much emotional weight. I am literally Iwao Washizu.

Creating something can consume you entirely while wringing you for everything you have, and Look Back captures this truth with painful honesty. Directed by Kiyotaka Oshiyama and adapted from Tatsuki Fujimoto’s OneShot: the film explores the small, silent moments that define a life spent in art - the late hours, the solitary work, and the friendships forged through shared ambition. Fujino, a young artist with a natural flair and stubborn drive, encounters Kyomoto - a reclusive classmate whose technical skill reveals the limits of Fujino’s own work.

Their relationship shifts from competition to companionship as they discover how deeply art can bind people together. The ... scenes of Fujino and Kyomoto working side by side; heads bent over desks cluttered with pencils and sketchbooks, are intimately familiar to anyone who’s lost themselves in their craft. I know this feeling well, as I used to lose myself in 3D animation and YouTube content creation, working tirelessly for up to 12 hours a day, as well as, isolating myself from social events to pursue something that felt like my own. These moments from Fujino bring back my own memories of those endless hours, the drive to be better, and the quiet satisfaction of sharing an unspoken understanding with someone who knows the sacrifices that art demands.

Oshiyama’s direction is raw and expressive - with loose character designs and unpolished animation that allow Fujino and Kyomoto to feel incredibly real and unguarded. Their world is filled with imperfect, almost messy animation - character movements that aren’t quite smooth, hands that don’t always look right, even the occasional sappy musical cue that might seem melodramatic but lands exactly where it’s meant to. This style doesn’t imitate Fujimoto’s manga panels directly; instead, it’s Oshiyama’s personal interpretation of how the story should feel rather than look, bringing out a sense of intimacy and immediacy that pulls you into Fujino’s and Kyomoto’s lives. Every cluttered room, every smudge of pencil, every sketchbook filled with eraser marks becomes part of the atmosphere, almost like a second skin. The film’s simplicity and lack of polish add a layer of authenticity - essentially making it clear that Oshiyama poured himself into every scene. This approach transforms Look Back from a mere adaptation into something personal while capturing the beauty and frustration of creativity in a way that feels grounded and honest.

Then comes the moment that shifts everything: the axe attack on Kyomoto’s art college. Inspired by the real-life tragedy at Kyoto Animation, this event shatters Fujino, leaving her paralyzed by grief and self-doubt. She wonders if her encouragement drove Kyomoto toward a fate that could have been avoided, and the “what if” scenario begins to haunt her - what if she had never met Kyomoto, never pulled her out of her safe, quiet world? This regret is a feeling I recognize, as I, too, once reached a point where I questioned the worth of my own work. Like Fujino, I eventually stepped away, feeling that I’d never measure up to others and wondering if my sacrifices had been worth it. The film captures this conflict in one of its most moving sequences, where an imagined Fujino, who had never chosen art, saves Kyomoto in an alternate world. This double reality speaks to the desire we sometimes feel to undo the choices that brought us pain, but in Look Back, it becomes clear that the memories and experiences forged through creation are what keep us moving forward. In the end, Fujino and Kyomoto’s story is not one of regret, but of the small, unforgettable moments of connection that art can create. Through this, Look Back becomes more than just a film about art; it’s a deeply human exploration of why we create, how we connect, and how those connections, however brief, leave an imprint that lasts.

Cats and Crows. Nekoma Vs Karasuno. Kenma Vs Hinata. The climax of a series-long rivalry…and the emotional development of characters we’ve been with for 4+ seasons long. Personal growth, fulfilment, and “having fun” is not something simply given to you, it’s something you have to genuinely strive for with your own two hands. Fly high......for volleyball is an exhilarating and deeply rewarding experience.

"A match where there is no rematch...Kenma!"

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What started as a competition driven by tradition & obligation has transformed into a shared dream. The players from both teams have grown beyond simple goofy rivals to become friends who are all united by their love ... for volleyball & their mutual respect for each other’s skills.

Karasuno VS Nekoma is one of the most important matches of the series as it encapsulates Haikyuu's theme of connection - that volleyball is not just about physical prowess / winning trophies; it’s about the bonds formed between players. Nekoma's entire shtick is characterized by near-perfect teamwork and understanding of one another - making them the epitome of connection in the sport. This sense of connection is mirrored in their relationship with Karasuno with literally all their interactions on the court a vivid display of mutual admiration & respect.

Not only do we see personal growth of individual characters, Kenma’s renewed excitement & commitment when facing Karasuno brings this message home. Despite being a reserved and strategic "mastermind" player, Kenma finds himself invigorated by the idea of playing against Hinata. Both teams teams inspire and push each other to be better. Not just w/ rivalries either, you also have to account for the 3rd years e.g Daichi, Suga, Asahi & Kuro leaving after this match. There is so much emotional stakes in this single match it's actually insane to think about.

Karasuno's fiery determination & explosive plays contrasted beautifully with Nekoma's calculated & connected strategies. All strategies involved have been accumulated through multiple seasons of tinkering, hard work, and bonding. Both teams are thus able to catch each other off guard with not just displays of skill through shared team effort but also their understanding of one another after several team practice matches & training in the past.

There is so much love for the sport on display here...it's genuinely a celebration that showcases the pure, unadulterated love for volleyball that drives both teams. There is no vitriolic behavior, only the earnest desire to play together and give their all on the court. It's a healthy rivalry free from malice or edginess.

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I need to waffle about that third and final set as it s PURE KINO. While the second set was a strategic back & forth where Hinata needed to take another step in his development for Karasuno to win, the third is about two old rivals without any new maneuvers to play. For this set, we dial back some of the internal monologues, cheesy comedy, and commentary and lets the visuals speak for themselves. The flow of these scenes is so god damn beautiful. We no longer need explanations for why characters act a certain way because we have seen all the patterns before. We recognize when certain players makes a receive or their willingness to switch positions. We know Tsukki will never stop his read-blocking persistence and wants nothing more than to score points up the middle. We're familiar with what a synchronized attack is. Who serves what role.

Each player is not only an opponent to those on the other side of the net but a catalyst for growth—not just in this game, but in all of them. Kageyama has a trust in Hinata that reflects what Oikawa had with Iwaizumi. Hinata finally bests Kenma by taking what Bokuto taught him and adding his own spin on it. The third set of this match is a conversation with the rest of the series. Every game both teams have played is connected to this set. Every play is a chance to grow & a chance to take another step forward. Karasuno and Nekoma fully locked-in—complete flow, a feeling of being in the moment focused on only the next point.

The entire series has built to this sequence and there's no bullshit fluff to be found. You get lost in this animation extravaganza while enjoying every point until the tension washes over you, and you are truly in the moment as if you are watching their old practice matches together. This match becomes something that you never want to end...everyone exhausted out of their minds...breaking past their limits.

Kenma has reached new heights here as the spotlight is fully focused on him. During his backstory w/ Kuro, you really get a sense of how & why they came to love volleyball...and that a big reason why Kenma only plays is simply because of Kuro. HOWEVER, at the end of this match - we unexpectedly end with Kenma's hand slipping due to the sweat accumulated on the ball. His love for volleyball has flourished beyond just Kuro. We don't get a cathartic over-the-top spike from Hinata & Kageyama. What we get is Kenma making a realistic uncharacteristic mistake over the amount of sweat & passion he poured into the final set. What a scene. Even so, Kenma finds himself happy because of how brilliant the game was, and he still thanks Kuro for introducing him to volleyball.

Nekoma is Karasuno's greatest rival but also their closest friends. Rivalries are complicated, the definition of a love-hate relationship. Karasuno Vs Nekoma - one of Haikyuu's defining matches - a game that pays off four seasons of buildup with a back-and-forth experience that sees both sides grow into the best versions of themselves. One of the best cinema experiences ever.

Thought-provoking, cosmic, psychological—horror.

Chicken Papa achieves what Tokyo Ghoul and Parasyte strive for, but in a much shorter timeframe while offering far more substance and food for thought. The entire short is like savoring garlic chicken: you begin by relishing the crispy skin—a rush of dopamine flooding your senses as you bite into it. Beta-endorphins, tyrosine, enkephalin, valine, lysine, leucine, and isoleucine—the rush you get here at the marvel of Chicken Papa going inside an elevator is exhilarating.

However, as the garlic flavor intensifies and you sink deeper into the dried meat within, a wave of guilt and disillusionment washes over you—thus mirroring the woman's experience in ... the short. In this world, humanoid animals appear to exist—at least chicken humanoids, as evidenced by Chicken Papa. He casually comments that the woman in the elevator must have eaten garlic chicken yesterday - noting her garlic-scented breath. She apologizes as the weight behind her horrible actions becomes hauntingly clear - awkwardness and shame explicit in her body language. The casual tone of this interaction is deeply unsettling as it highlights the disquieting idea that a species we commonly consume and take for granted is another sentient being much like ourselves. What happened to the lady's fate after this short? Was that the last we ever saw of her? Was Chicken Papa's battle cry a symbol that he was going to eat her in return? If so, how will this impact the economy and society as a whole? So thought-provoking and subtextually rich it's making me hungry (I am unironically eating chicken as I'm writing this; I shall commit harakiri to restore honor).

Also phenomenally animated 3D animation reminiscent of my own experiences with 3D animation years ago (Blender, Maya, Cinema 4D), and I can tell you this must've taken several centuries of grueling hard work at the minimum - and that's not accounting for the character rigging processes & incredible screenplay behind it. Chicken Papa himself is highly detailed, stylized, and well-rigged. The woman has a distinct charm to her 3D model that you wouldn't find in any other anime. In total, this may have taken 10 milleniums.

Don't even think it's recency bias to say this is my favorite anime film of the year.

I already knew going in - I was going to like this but I didn't expect it to make me tear up on multiple occasions through sheer musical resonance alone. I want to make a Perfect Blue joke so bad but I'll hold myself back for now.

Blue Giant pretty much presents an earnest, yet enthralling journey through the world of jazz. It's a straightforward and emotional tale of ambition, friendship, and musical mastery. The film; which reminds me heavily of Whiplash, orchestrates a seemingly uncomplicated narrative canvas painted with ... the hues of three distinct characters.

At the forefront is Dai, an intense and rough stoic individual adorned with talent and determination. A high schooler driven by an unyielding passion for jazz and a desire to become the greatest saxophonist in the world. He epitomises an innocence that harmonizes beautifully with an unwavering love for his craft, steadfastly resilient against any obstacle encountered along the path to realizing his dreams. He is the flawed but earnest catalyst for this film's narrative momentum.

Contrasting Dai's resolve is Yukinori, a seasoned participant in the jazz domain, whose journey started at the age of 4. His tenure in the jazz scene has been an exhaustive pursuit of perfection, sculpted by years of dedication and a relentless climb to the zenith of musical prowess. Yukinori's starkly different worldview serves as a compelling foil to Dai's innocence. He's also a cynical composer. In contrast to his love for solo plays, being a music composer has made him rely heavily on the logistics and formulaic side of things, eventually leading him to be humbled by an expert calling his own play uninspired compared to his two other supposed less skillful band mates. On that topic, it's the interplay with the third protagonist that embellishes his character arc:

Enter Shunji, a below average college scholar inspired by Dai's infectious passion for jazz, steering him away from a prior fading desire for soccer. A nightly encounter brings Shunji into the duo's sphere, filling the void as a drummer, albeit with expected shortcomings - as he is the "least good" musician there. While Yukinori is harsh but fair towards Shunji, informing him of how many mistakes he's made after each play, it's his own dedication to improving - that eventually gets the reaffirmation he's always wanted. The old tofu guy that shows up across the film is such a kind soul. After this reaffirmation of his improvement, he actually strives to be on equal levels as the other two rather than just take it for granted, which also leads to Yukinori changing his perception of him.
The film does a great job at creating this narrative axis where Shunji's absence of innate talent is counterbalanced by a dedication to tireless effort, which I really loved cause once again similarities to Whiplash.

Shunji's metamorphosis from a disillusioned college student to an amateur drummer driven by hard work offers a compelling dichotomy between musical philosophies as well. The clash between Yukinori's ambition-driven approach and Dai & Shunji's joyous camaraderie begs the question: What defines a superior musician in the emotionally charged realm of jazz? In the intricate interplay between Dai's resolute dedication, Yukinori's introspective change towards musical expression, and Shunji's transformative journey from a novice to a "good" drummer, elegantly explores the nuances of aspiration, camaraderie, and the multifaceted landscapes of jazz.

The characters are so good I almost forgot to talk about the OST. I have been put in a trance dude. The heart and soul of Blue Giant rest in its music, reminiscent of the dying echoes of jazz's golden era. Hiromi Uehara's compositions elevate the film, encapsulating the essence of '60s jazz legends like Sonny Rollins and John Coltrane. The concert scenes got me moving the exact way the audience members did through pulsating rhythms and ecstatic harmonies that are just ARHHHHHHHHHH.

On the production side of things however: the animation techniques employed, while mostly expressive and vibrant - I can see people being mixed on. The integration of rotoscoping CG amid 2D animation creates a kind of unsettling dissonance during performances, which I acknowledge can be detracting momentarily from an otherwise visually compelling narrative. I was mostly fine with it though as there were too many creative sequences for me to be even a little bitter toward the overall performances.

Also, the film's final act had me in a chokehold. The accident scene was so unexpected ESPECIALLY after we had that scene with Akiko crying tears of joy. Basically lowering your guard down thinking it was a home run from there on out - only to rip your comfort to shreds but also culminating in a more heartfelt and satisfying resolution. This film was a treat and I have been thinking about it for the entire morning. It's just a really cool & earnest ode to jazz, steering clear of conventional melodrama and unnecessary diversions while rewarding you with a cinematic musical extravaganza through 3 surprisingly loveable and nuanced characters that all receive a fulfilling character arc.

To conclude, Blue Giant embodies the soul of musical determination, harmonizing the rawness of aspiration with the practicalities of musical education. While grappling with visual and storytelling nuances, its emotive depth and musical passion shine through, making it an inspirational jam to the human spirit's unyielding pursuit of artistic excellence.

What originally began as an intriguing memory loss mystery thriller premise with a 7 Deadly Sins motif quickly degraded to a monotonous repetitive torture porn entirely relying on shock factor and nonsensical volatile plot twists. While I didn't particularly like Takopi's Original Sin overall, the emotional gut punches there were at least coherent & to the point with somewhat llkeable protagonists. Ontop of comically evil school kids, there's not a single likeable character here or ANYTHING even worth remembering. The only thing that will remain in your head is the snot cheese tears that the author loves to draw whenever a character is even remotely ... sad. Taizan has this gifted ability of presenting you with a scrumptious-looking burger only for you to bite into it - realizing human feces were in between the buns.

>Tsubasa wakes up from a "dream"
>Tries to find out what his family members are doing
>Sota gives ominous and cryptic dialogue
>Random nonsensical plot twist
>Convoluted mess gets messier and more convoluted
>"Woaahhhhh peak fiction"
>Repeat for every chapter; even towards THE VERY END.

I despise this manga for undermining any emotional connection with the characters. The predictable and relentless stream of problems robbed the story of depth and impact, making it challenging to empathize with any character or plot point. Taizan's rushed storytelling and a relentless quest for shock value left me feeling overwhelmed and disenchanted. The blame partially falls on the rigid structure of weekly serialization, but the primary responsibility rests with the mangaka's inability to maintain a balanced and engaging narrative. The potential for exploring deep themes about family was squandered, leaving me frustrated and disappointed. The author's previous success in a more flexible format Jump+ highlights the challenges of weekly serialization. While some may hope for improvement in the future, the damage is already done. In the end, Ichinose failed to live up to expectations, and the blame falls on both the author and the constraints of the weekly publication schedule. It's a story that could have been so much more but ultimately left readers feeling disillusioned.

Undoubtedly one of the most aggravating weekly experiences ever.

Kakegurui Midari transports us to the formative years of Midari's role within the Student Council showing us the underlying layers of her character as she forges a rather unlikely camaraderie with Ayame Nereba & rivalry with Nana Ootori, an ill-fated soul trapped by the Council's despair-inducing games. We are poised to explore the morally ambiguous and shadowed corners of Midari's past, as she goes through the high-stakes world that would ultimately lead to her becoming one of the Council's pivotal figures.

While being nearly 60 chapters, each one is only 10-15 pages, so it's actually a very quick read. Unfortunately the pizzazz from the main series ... is rarely seen here with a lot of game theory dumbed down or ultimately inconsequential. Art and panelling here is a hit or miss. Just overall very lackluster and there is very little to chew on in terms of excitement, concepts, and execution. Just wish they did more like Kakegurui Twin did to Mary.

***ENDING SPOILER BELOW***

All issues aside, the conclusion serves as a poignant reminder of the melancholy that envelops Midari. Her character is undeniably entertaining, yet it is her underlying sorrow and self-destructive behaviour that emerges as the dominant theme. This sadness finds its roots in the unexpected behavior of Ayame, someone who had previously impressed and piqued Midari's curiosity. The fact that Ayame, despite the palpable danger, is willing to risk her life rather than harm Midari, is a testament to Midari's inherent qualities that make her worth saving, even in the eyes of someone as eccentric as Ayame. It was a surprising turn of events, and I confess, I had anticipated a different outcome. I half-expected Ayame to take her own life, in an attempt to undermine Ootori and inflict emotional torment on Midari. Alternatively, I thought she might somehow secure her freedom and then coldly desert Midari, deeming her unworthy of her time.

What I admire most is the way Midari confronts her feelings for Ayame and openly acknowledges why she keeps her close. In a sense, she has discovered a friend, a kindred spirit, in Nureba, and the addition of Ootori as their new intern adds an element of humor to the story. Witnessing Midari grapple with Ayame's unwavering resolve to eliminate Ootori if necessary, provided she felt threatened or it guaranteed her survival, was honestly really fucking good. The growth Midari undergoes in understanding Ayame's firm commitment to her survival while rejecting the opportunity to satisfy her desires is a significant moment, casting doubt on the frequency with which she truly wishes to inflict harm on others.

In the end, it becomes evident that Midari is a complex character with a penchant for hedonistic masochism and a yearning for companionship & authenticity. I hold out hope that she and Ayame may eventually find a way to form a deep and authentic friendship even in the background of the main story.

Basically, Kakeuguri Midari is an alright addition to the main series albeit somewhat underwhelming. Witnessing Ayame's display of determination and her desire to assert her independence and right to make her own choices was a gratifying aspect. It serves as evidence of her personal growth and maturation. Her confrontation with Ootori, wielding a sense of threat, was undeniably impressive. However, in light of the overall narrative tone, the resolution seemed a bit too harmonious. Kakegurui has always had this issue of presenting the risk of death but barely ever following up on that danger.
Regarding Ootori, her ultimate fate was some absolute clown-tier tomfoolery, a departure from expectations, and further emphasized the far-reaching consequences of her actions within the student body and the relentless scrutiny of the Council.

Utterly disappointing sequel that rings any buildup completely hollow due to serialization being halted back in 2013 and a Part 3 likely never coming out.

***SPOILERS BELOW***

Shirube & Zaizen only appear at the start and very end of this part. The timeskip is completely handwaved and FKMT has clearly lost all sense of direction of where he wants to take it. Junko; who I thought would be a major antagonist, is utterly laughable comparable to Kotarou from the previous entry. Her menacing shtick of wanting to rip out people's teeth for her own "pure" beauty treatment eventually turns into a joke when Zero completely and utterly ... dogpiles her in every conceivable fashion with his Sherlock Holmes esque contrived deductions.

There are little to no thrills or catharsis in this part. It's not even a death game anymore. While yes it's funny how the previous entry didn't actually have deaths shown despite being an explicit Death Game, there was still tension and risk of death present. You will feel none of that here. Every opponent/obstacle is a cakewalk. Heck, it even stops being a gambling series mid-way through and transitions into this pseudo-detective "mystery" of finding a rich man who's been trapped somewhere for 3 years.

A meandering, meaningless, contrived, and convoluted "solve the riddle" "mystery" where the reader has 0 chance of figuring details out on their own. Basically just watching a compilation of characters circlejerk their superhuman intelligence to idiotic fodder while FKMT gets to show off his characters making the same expressive shocked facial expressions. All answers are tied to unknown character backstories, Japanese word-play, and contrived double meanings that leave you completely dumbfounded on why the hell Kijuurou would even send something like this as an SOS help message - after years of conditioning his food supplier and being Oldboy-ed. The reveal of bringing it back with his son & their past stinks and his reward to Zero is utterly unsatisfying as we having nothing after this. You could probably argue he'd rely on Tatsuki to solve such a convoluted riddle, but even he is just a fallible 13-year-old kid who clearly overthinks too much and would've never found him without the help of Zero. Another barebones antagonist btw, if you can even call him that.

No character resolution, no satisfying payoff, zero tension & intrigue, nothing but monotony and disappointment.

"All these stars are actually shining just for you."

Really fun binge and satisfying ending.

So I've developed this bad habit recently of starting random series that pique my interest for a volume or two just to get that dopamine dosage of starting a fresh new series. I thought it would be the same for The Boxer but I was somehow engrossed enough to read almost the entirety of the main storyline in less than a day. Like holy hell my pace hasn't been this fast for a manga/webtoon since BASTARD.

The only other big boxing series I've experienced so far is Hajime no Ippo & Megalo Box, ... with the former being one of my all-time favorites. The Boxer, however, takes a distinct narrative approach, presenting a storyline that stands in stark contrast to the traditional underdog "zero to hero" journey frequently witnessed in sports-related series. Instead of a meek protagonist who steadily grows stronger, this webtoon offers an "overdog" narrative structure, with a significant portion of its content delving into the backstories of Yu's opponents/antagonists, allowing readers to perceive events from their perspectives rather than the protagonist's.

This is because Yu for 90% of the webtoon is shrouded in mystery. An enigmatic powerhouse who can't be physically beaten. Yu possesses unparalleled strength and the uncanny ability to triumph over any adversary he encounters.
Unlike many sports series where the protagonists experience both wins and losses, primarily for the sake of character development or to build suspense, The Boxer establishes early on that Yu will emerge victorious in every match, regardless of the obstacles presented, whether in the form of unconventional fighting styles, unimaginable efforts, sheer luck, or raw physical power rivaling his own.

His inexorable dominance, shaped by his unique talent and the relentless conditioning imposed by his coach, K, a comically sinister and power-hungry war veteran, is both riveting and tragic to sit through. Why? Well, this constant string of victories raises an intriguing paradox – instead of wholeheartedly rooting for the protagonist, as in the case of Ippo, readers eventually find themselves yearning for Yu to experience defeat or, at the very least, a semblance of it. Well yes, seeing a strong character lose for the first time is enjoyable, it's more so that the recontextualization of Yu's manipulation by his coach provokes empathy, evoking a desire for his freedom from the world of boxing.

The Boxer is not merely a tale of conquering the pugilistic world; it's a narrative of an apathetic, nihilistic, and emotionally broken tool learning to embrace love, companionship, and the intrinsic value of life.

I'm actually still dumbfounded by how bingeable this was. I mean sure, while Ji-Hun Jeong's artistic talents shine through visual imagery, the boxing choreography itself appear relatively basic and occasionally uninspiring. I don't even think the guy researched much about Boxing beyond some basic youtube videos and Wikipedia articles. The most you'll see is some Dragon-Ball-tier flickers/swooshes, characters teleporting around the ring, and tons & tons of impact frames. Lots of negative space is used and the character designs are pretty basic for the most part, with Ji-Hun even remarking that Yu was easy & fun to draw because of his deadpan one-note expression and "pew pew pew" instant win matches. I honestly think the simplistic appeal to pathos and the structure does a lot of the heavy lifting here. It's all very straightforward, charming, and carries a lot of mass appeal. I also don't think the characters are anything to write home about either. Likeable for sure, but they don't really carry much substance beyond archetypal traits and one-note shticks.

And being the author of The Horizon, there's of course a lot of monotonous & pretentious platitudes with a side of robotic dialogue. But instead of war (sans K), we have it on uhhhh the meaning of life because Yu is apathy and nihilism incarnate.

All very corny and just doesn't mesh well outside of the final chapter of Yu's story. I'll give the author a break since I found his "hiatus" chapters showcasing his personality and response to feedback pretty wholesome. Plus his blatant & shameless references incorporated into his characters & character names + that shitpost with The Mohawk in chapter 75 actually made me audibly laugh, so good on him for that.
But yeah....in conclusion, The Boxer provides a thoroughly enjoyable and uncomplicated reading experience. However, beyond the narrative structure and storytelling dynamics, it falls short in terms of substantive character writing; handwaving a lot of their development, and foundations surrounding the sport.

The side story of Jay & Ryu ending off the webtoon was really cathartic tho.

I have a personal vendetta against this manga.

Especially since I actually enjoyed the first half and considered it one of my all-time favorites back in 2020. It was a gem, of those
"underrated seinen masterpieces" you would unabashedly show in a 3x3 manga mosaic.

The use of negative space, the subtle nuances that conveyed complex emotions, and the stark portrayal of mental illness, all of these were genuinely enthralling. I was disturbed but loved the twisted & intricate relationship between Seiichi and his mother. While not super complex, their dialogues bore genuine depths, and even the symbolic imagery was brilliantly conveyed through creative paneling + it had ... actual grounds for it as opposed to pseudointellectual drivel you would simply make up.

But then, as time wore on, a creeping disillusionment set in with each passing chapter. It slowly dawned on me how shallow the story had become, how it had lost its way in the murky depths of its own ambiguity.
The Flowers of Evil (Oshimi's other, more popular manga) at least maintained a consistent level of artistry throughout, but here, it was evident that the lazy bum was treating it more as an amateur obligation than an actual professional work. There was a distinct lack of direction, of intent. Instead of "y happening because of x," it devolved into a monotonous cycle of "x happened," and then "x happened" and then "x happened" followed by more of the same, and then more still. There was no storytelling, only Seiichi describing mundane actions & events followed by a kindergartener's avant-garde piece as a "cliffhanger".
Simply an abandoned painting Oshimi hedonistically painted over without care or reason.

After the time skip, it devolved into a directionless symbolism-schlock-fest, a self-indulgent parade of abstract imagery that has spanned until the end of the manga. It felt as if the creator was writing on the fly, relying on the ambiguity and the audience's hope of a grand revelation to create a façade of genius. It was like me in middle school Media/Film Classes, trying to ham in as many special effects and glitchy sound effects to appear edgy and profound. It's so embarrassing that it's actually palpable.
This final arc's premise is contrived and comical in its setup. It's a narrative void, devoid of substance AND style. Seiichi now resides alone in a cheap apartment, toiling at a mundane job, enduring the demise of his father due to intestinal damage, only to discover that his middle school sweetheart has moved on, and started a family with another man soon after his father's funeral. He has attempted suicide twice and failed both times and now he bears the burden of his mother's rent. There's a limit to the tragedy one can heap upon a character before it descends into absurdity from a writer's perspective.

Once again, I used to love this manga and I remain convinced that its early chapters held genuine greatness, exploring substantive themes in the relationship between Seiichi and his mother, and employing visual imagery to remarkable effect. But during the entire 2nd half, it feels like the creator is mindlessly sketching, hoping that the fanbase they've amassed will swallow this insipid nothingburger whole, mistaking it for some high-intellectual "you just don't get it" masterpiece.

Oshimi's manga has always invited heavy interpretive analysis, and his writing has always leaned toward the avant-garde, dependent on the readers themselves. And while I agree that art is always open to interpretation and dependent on them to mold the 'final takeaway', there comes a point where one realizes there's no authorial intent, no intended substance or meaning. Authorial intent may not be the sole determinant in interpretive analysis, but I do prioritize it. If I can sense that the author doesn't mean a specific detail or is intentionally losing the plot, I won't concoct headcanons to defend their work. Death Of The Author is a valid concept, but Oshimi makes it exceptionally challenging to emotionally invest in his work to follow through with that mentality.