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Boy’s Abyss – A Beautifully Crafted Descent Into Darkness, Undone by a Rushed End


At its core, Boy’s Abyss is a suffocating yet mesmerizing journey through small-town despair, exploring themes of loneliness, trauma, and the inescapable weight of one’s circumstances. The world-building is exceptional—not in the fantasy sense, but in how it constructs an oppressive, almost claustrophobic atmosphere. The town itself feels like a living entity, a prison with no walls, where every street, every home, and every familiar face contributes to the protagonist’s growing sense of entrapment. The manga masterfully captures that feeling of being stuck in a place where time moves forward, but nothing ... truly changes. It’s a world where dreams die quietly, where hope is a dangerous thing, and where escape feels like an illusion. This bleak yet incredibly realistic setting serves as the perfect backdrop for the story’s psychological unraveling.

The characters are where Boy’s Abyss truly shines, though not without some personal reservations. Every character is deeply flawed, carrying their own burdens, and they all feel unsettlingly real. Reiji, the protagonist, is neither a hero nor a victim in the traditional sense—he’s just someone trying to navigate the suffocating weight of expectations, abuse, and emotional manipulation. But beyond their personalities and depth, I have to admit something that might sound crazy: I didn’t like some characters purely because of their design. Yes, I know that’s a shallow take, but when you pair an unappealing design with an unpleasant personality, it makes certain characters even harder to tolerate. If you’ve read the first 20 chapters, you probably know exactly who I’m talking about. On the flip side, there’s Nagi—one of my absolute favorite characters. She has the personality, the backstory, and yes, the looks to make it all work. There’s something about her presence that elevates every scene she’s in, making her one of the most compelling figures in the entire story. I guess she gives of an aura similiar to Ai Hoshino? In despair, but, she shines whenever they are in the same panels as the other characters.

Beneath its psychological drama, Boy’s Abyss carries a deeper message about cycles of pain and how people either succumb to them or fight to break free. It examines the idea of fate—not in the grand, supernatural sense, but in the way environments, trauma, and personal choices can make escape feel impossible. The abyss in the title isn’t just metaphorical; it’s the abyss of self-destruction, of resignation, of choosing to fall because climbing out seems too difficult. The story doesn’t offer easy answers

But then, just when the story has you fully immersed, when you expect a careful unraveling of all the threads it has so masterfully woven—it rushes to a conclusion that feels unworthy of everything that came before. It’s a problem that plagues many great manga: breathtaking storytelling, layered character work, a deeply compelling narrative, and then an ending that seems crammed into a single chapter when it deserved ten. Boy’s Abyss follows this unfortunate pattern, leaving too much unsaid, too much unresolved. It’s frustrating, not just because of the abruptness, but because it reduces the emotional weight of everything leading up to it. The slow, methodical buildup that defined the series suddenly gives way to a conclusion that feels more like an obligation than a natural ending.

This recurring issue in manga—where endings feel like an afterthought rather than the culmination of everything the story set up—makes it difficult to call Boy’s Abyss a true masterpiece. In literature, timeless works like Shakespeare’s tragedies or other classic novels are often remembered for their satisfying, well-crafted conclusions. In contrast, many great manga seem to fall at the final hurdle, as if the mangaka ran out of time, interest, or space to give their story the ending it deserved. This doesn’t make Boy’s Abyss any less brilliant, but it does leave a lingering sense of what could have been.

And yet, despite all this, I still consider it a 10/10. Because if I were to judge every manga by the standard of perfect storytelling from start to finish, I have yet to find one that truly achieves it. Perhaps this flaw is simply part of the medium, an unfortunate reality of serialized storytelling. But even with its shortcomings, Boy’s Abyss remains an unforgettable experience—one that deserves to be read, even if its ending leaves you wanting more.

Plot in a nutshell, without spoiling it:

A disheveled, socially inept high school dropout inadvertently stumbles upon a portal to another world, an event that grants him an absurdly overpowered skill set. His abilities allow him to eliminate any adversary with a single strike, resulting in his meteoric rise to level 100 through nothing more than effortless one-shot victories. However, his progress stagnates at level 250—though this is ultimately inconsequential, as his already astronomical stats inexplicably manifest in the real world.

Now, transformed from an unremarkable recluse into the pinnacle of human perfection, he becomes the object of universal admiration. Every woman he encounters appears to forgo ... all sense of self-restraint, openly fawning over his newfound, godlike appearance. His mere presence exerts an almost hypnotic allure, effortlessly drawing both commoners and royalty alike into his orbit. Unintentionally, he cultivates a harem, his dominance extending beyond physical prowess to academic excellence and extraordinary wealth—all without so much as lifting a finger.

The sheer absurdity of this premise is exemplified in sequences so ludicrous they compel the viewer to pause in disbelief. A high school student, entirely unchallenged, leaps four stories to the ground without injury, dismantles the city’s most feared criminal organization at incomprehensible speeds—rivaling, if not surpassing, the likes of Sung Jin-Woo or Gojo Satoru—and somehow, the world remains unfazed. His ability to propel himself fifty feet into the air in the span of a millisecond mirrors the feats of Sukuna himself, yet no one deems this even remotely unusual.

This series epitomizes self-insert wish fulfillment to an almost parodic degree. It blatantly disregards all semblance of logic or plausibility, instead inviting the viewer to indulge in the fantasy: Imagine, for a moment, that you are him. And yet, despite—or perhaps because of—its ridiculousness, it remains thoroughly engrossing. The spectacle of its sheer implausibility is, in itself, a source of entertainment. It is, quite simply, a narrative so spectacularly nonsensical that it becomes impossible to look away.

Should you watch this?
That depends entirely on what you’re looking for. If you seek a well-crafted, thought-provoking story with nuanced characters and meaningful development, look elsewhere. However, if you enjoy turning off your brain and reveling in the sheer audacity of an overpowered protagonist effortlessly conquering both worlds and women, then this is peak entertainment. It’s the kind of show that’s so bad, it’s good—pure, unfiltered, power fantasy nonsense that somehow manages to be utterly addicting.

Alright, let’s talk about Overflow (おーばーふろぉ), an anime so emotionally gripping and beautifully animated that it rivals the greatest masterpieces of our time. Move over Frieren; Beyond Journey's End step aside Oshi no Ko- this short, 8-episode powerhouse has redefined storytelling as we know it.

Plot – A Deep Dive into Human Relationships

At its core, Overflow is a touching tale about family, love, and the moral dilemmas that come with it. Our protagonist, Kazushi Sudou, is just your average college guy, until one fateful night when he accidentally shares a bath with his childhood friends, who also happen to be sisters. You know, just regular everyday ... anime stuff. What follows is a rollercoaster of emotions, intense drama, and sibling bonding taken to its logical extreme.

While lesser shows waste time on things like "plot" and "character development," Overflow keeps things simple. No unnecessary side characters. No filler. Just pure, unfiltered narrative efficiency. Every scene serves a purpose, and that purpose is to push the boundaries of human connection.

Animation – A Visual Masterpiece
Studio Hokiboshi didn’t just animate this anime; they blessed us with art so clean it makes Kyoto Animation look like amateurs. The fluid movements, the attention to detail, the way water drips from the characters—it’s a level of animation quality rarely seen outside of billion-dollar productions. The facial expressions? Oscar-worthy. The physics? Newton would be proud.

Sound & Voice Acting – An Auditory Symphony
The voice acting is next level. Kazushi sounds like a true protagonist, delivering every line with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. Ayane and Kotone? Perfectly cast, their voices carrying just the right amount of teasing, seduction, and emotional depth that make every interaction so incredibly powerful.

And let’s not forget the sound design. Every slap, splash, and "accidental" slip is rendered in high fidelity, immersing you fully in this cinematic experience. The ending song? A certified banger. Would I add it to my playlist? Absolutely.

Final Verdict
Is Overflow a hentai? Yes.
Is it also an anime that transcends hentai? Absolutely.

This is peak fiction, an essential watch for any self-respecting anime fan. The deep themes, breathtaking animation, and heartfelt story make it a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I laughed, I cried, and by the end, I had truly learned something about the human condition.

Final Rating: 10/10
✅ Pros:

Incredible storytelling
Next-level animation
Voice acting on par with Hollywood’s finest
Uncensored version exists
❌ Cons:

The censored version is a war crime
Too short—I could’ve easily watched 500 episodes
I am now emotionally attached to a show I can never recommend in public
Would I recommend Overflow? Yes, but only to true anime connoisseurs who can appreciate the nuanced storytelling and unparalleled artistic vision.

What Do You Call This Trash? (Kono Kuzu o Nanto Yobu?) is the kind of manga that initially feels like a guilty pleasure but quickly reveals its emotional depth and layered storytelling. It starts as a chaotic mix of questionable relationship dynamics and trashy drama but evolves into a journey about trauma and dependency.

The story centres on Yuuto, an ordinary, well-meaning guy who finds himself trapped in a toxic yet irresistible relationship with Akira, his brother Kai's ex-girlfriend. Akira is relentless and manipulative, using Yuuto’s emotional vulnerability to her advantage. On the surface, she’s the "crazy girl" archetype—a stalker, obsessive, and unapologetically messy. But as ... her backstory unfolds, the manga does the unthinkable: it makes you sympathise with her. Akira’s trauma and yearning for love add layers to her chaotic persona, turning her into a character you can't entirely condemn + she's kinda cute ngl.

Yuuto, the protagonist, acts as the moral centre of the story [Exluding Kai], but he’s far from perfect. His internal conflict—caught between guilt, attraction, and his inability to say no—makes him an interesting specimen. He’s the kind of character who frustrates you with his choices but keeps you invested because those choices feel painfully real.

Kai, Yuuto’s brother, is initially just a plot device—a ghost of Akira’s past and a source of tension in Yuuto’s present. However, as the story digs into Kai’s perspective, especially during his backstory arc, he emerges as a tragic and complex character. His relationship with Yuuto, filled with guilt, resentment, and unspoken care, is one of the most compelling dynamics in the manga. Chapters that focus on Kai hit especially hard, particularly when his vulnerability and brokenness are laid bare.

The plot thrives on its imperfections. The first few chapters might feel like an edgy soap opera, with Akira’s antics bordering on trashy melodrama. But as the layers peel back, it becomes clear that the chaos serves a purpose. The story delves into themes of emotional dependency, trauma, and the unhealthy ways people seek love and validation. By the time you reach chapter 28, you’re left reflecting on how the relationships—flawed as they are—speak to the deeply human need for connection, no matter how messy or toxic it gets.

The art style complements the story's tone. While not overly flashy, it excels at conveying raw emotion, particularly during moments of tension or vulnerability. Subtle details, like Akira’s shifting expressions or the visual framing during Yuuto’s introspective moments, add depth to the storytelling.

What sets What Do You Call This Trash? apart is its refusal to shy away from the ugly parts of its characters. There’s no perfect romance here—only broken people trying to piece themselves together. It’s uncomfortable, messy, and even trashy at times, but that’s what makes it so compelling.

However, it’s not without its flaws. The pacing can feel uneven, especially early on, and the initial chapters may push some readers away with their questionable dynamics. But for those who stick with it, the emotional payoff is well worth it.

Rating: 8/10
Would I recommend it? Absolutely, but with a caveat: this is not a light read, nor is it for everyone. If you enjoy stories with complex, morally grey characters and aren’t afraid to sit with discomfort, What Do You Call This Trash? is worth your time.