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[Spoiler-free summary]:

Yubisaki to Renren is a slow paced but wholesome and heartfelt anime that explores themes of communication and love in a realistic setting. The story centres around Yuki, a deaf girl, and her fellow classmate, a charming and affable guy named Itsuomi. The anime stumbles in its initial episodes, and would require some patience to get through. While the anime features a well-developed supporting cast, it struggles with Yuki’s character depth. However, the anime remains a decent portrayal of healthy relationships and communication. It is a cheesy exploration of love that perhaps Shoujo fans seeking some escapism can get behind.

[Full review; SPOILER ALERT]:

When it ... comes to pacing, Yubisaki to Renren, or A Sign of Affection, definitely veers towards the slower side. The anime has more of a slow-burn narrative that I initially found hard to get used to. If I’m being completely honest, the initial 2-3 episodes felt like it was written by an amateur Wattpad fan fiction writer. It was far from impressive. Despite this rocky start, I must admit that as someone who enjoys such Shoujo types of narratives, I eventually found myself being able to immerse in the show.

One of the most appealing features of Yubisaki to Renren lies in its well-developed supporting cast. Each character has their own story and struggles, and the anime delivers it in a way that doesn’t outshine the main couple. Yuki's best friend, Ashioki Oushi, is easily the best character in the entire series. Oushi starts out in the anime as a bit of an abrasive and self-centered dickhead. His attitude was that of a typical jerky childhood friend, but at the same time, the anime makes it clear that there is more to Oushi than what meets the eye. He often stands up for Yuki, and is over protective at times. Tbh Oushi’s character was what kept me engaged in the first half of the series despite the slower pacing. While we don’t get much of Oushi in the first half, it is during the final few episodes where Oushi’s layers begin to peel back. His character is deeply human, and the reasons behind his behaviour is shown by how he grapples with his own insecurities and his struggles to confront his innermost feelings. Oushi’s journey of self-discovery was compelling to watch. He shows a moment of vulnerability, during his conversation with Itsuomi, where he finally found the courage to put a label on and articulate his true feelings. The tears it brought to his eyes for finally confronting that fact was a significant character growth moment for him. He evolves into a more compassionate and understanding being, but the transformation isn’t immediate either. By the end of the series, he realistically still struggles to verbalise his true feelings, but he has also transformed into a more nuanced character. One who balances humor and empathy, and one who tries not to run away from his own feelings as much anymore.

The anime shows great effort and commitment to realistically portraying the deaf community. Yuki’s life as a hearing impaired is depicted with sensitivity. Portrayal of different types of hearing impaired individual also adds to the depth of the anime. The communication barriers and societal perceptions of a hearing impaired is also highlighted in the way Yuki struggles to land a job. However, I do have to point out that there are certain parts of the anime that reveals that perhaps the authors do not have a fully educated grasp on what it means to be deaf. This is seen particularly in the way lip-reading is showcased. While lip-reading can be a valuable skill for the hearing impaired, it does not provide complete access to language, even for the most proficient lip-readers. Lip reading works best when combined with residual hearing or another communication tool such as cued speech, assistive hearing devices, body language and facial expressions. A completely deaf person like Yuki will usually need additional information to understand what’s being said. But instead, the anime overlooks these complexities and presents lip-reading as Yuki’s primary means of communication. That being said, compared to the famous Koe no Katachi, Yubisaki to Renren does a much more commendable job in showcasing the intricacies of the deaf community.

Yubisaki to Renren also excels in its depiction of healthy relationships and effective communication. The characters do not play mind games in their romance, and express their feelings and vulnerabilities well, with appropriate levels of difficulties. The series also realistically captures the misunderstandings and adjustments both our main characters must navigate in a deaf-hearing relationship. This was seen when Yuki misunderstands Itsuomi because of Emma, and when Itsuomi tried to call out to Yuki from behind only to be struck with the realisation that she can't hear him. The supporting cast also plays a vital role in demonstrating positive communication dynamics. For instance, Rin encourages Yuki to choose and define for herself what her feelings towards Itsuomi mean, and Itsuomi makes considerable effort to bridge his relationship with Oushi. By prioritising open communication, empathy, and mutual growth, the anime offers highly accurate representations of how to cultivate meaningful and healthy relationships in our lives.

The animation radiates a fuzzy feeling of warmth with its soft, pastel colour palette. It is definitely fitting of a romance, SOL anime. The sound design complements the narrative perfectly and is definitely another key strength of the series. In particular, I loved ‘Sound of Snow’ by Novelbright, the ending soundtrack. The absence of sound during key moments of the anime also further adds to the portrayal of what it means to be deaf. Another small detail that I find worth mentioning is the anime’s portrayal of the characters dying their hair and managing their roots. Which is a refreshing take in a medium where colourful-haired characters are portrayed as just having been born that way.

Now let’s talk about what didn’t work for me. The most notable area that it falls short is in the depth of Yuki as a character. Which is ironic, given that she is the main character, and the show boasts a wonderfully well-written and rich supporting cast. Yuki as a hearing impaired character, possesses a lot of potential, and I was expecting a lot more than whatever the anime had delivered. The focus of the anime when it comes to Yuki, is entirely about her romantic relationship with Itsuomi. We don’t see Yuki grappling with her own identity, dreams, or even her challenges as a deaf person. The anime glosses over the unique challenges Yuki would face as a deaf person and it doesn’t delve deeply into how it shapes her worldviews, her aspirations or how she navigates a predominantly hearing world in her everyday life. We don’t ever see her reflecting on how she’s different from other people, or whether she’s insecure about Itsuomi not liking her back because of her disability. Heck, she didn’t even seem concerned when she wasn’t able to land a job for more than a month. Other than the fact that she kept repeating to herself that she needs to land a job soon. Yuki’s thoughts are 80% Itsuomi and 20% metaphorical nonsense (which I will expand on later). Her severe lack of introspection makes her feel flat, especially compared to the supporting cast, and if I had to describe her personality, nothing much would come to mind other than she gets easily shy.

About the metaphorical nonsense in this anime, it’s simply way overused. Yuki’s inner monologue often consists of metaphorical expressions that sound somewhat nonsensical to me. It is apt at times, like when she’s alone in the room and staring out at the sky. But most other times, it is not. Yuki's thoughts frequently drift into abstract imagery that, even if I may not be deaf, I highly doubt that even the hearing impaired are thinking in metaphors like that all the time. While I understand that this poetic style is meant to convey beauty and emotional nuance, I wished they had done it in a different narrative voice instead of using Yuki's inner voice. Delivering the ideas through a more detached perspective could have allowed for these metaphorical elements to flourish better, and a proper balance between poetic language and grounded introspections would have enhanced Yuki better as a character.

Earlier on in the review, I’d mentioned that the initial 2-3 episodes felt like they were written by a Wattpad writer. In the earlier phases of the show, the narrative relied heavily on a series of coincidences and the random close-ups and slow-mos of Itsuomi’s face was honestly kind of cringey. Moreover, I felt like the reasons behind the main characters' attraction to each other were very shallow and underdeveloped. The anime made sure to emphasise that Itsuomi is drop dead handsome. Which was what helped him catch Yuki’s attention to begin with. Subsequently, Yuki falls for him simply because he’s nice and treats her well. Itsuomi’s interest in Yuki also often felt solely tied to her being deaf, with talks about her being ‘transparent’ and ‘untainted’ because she cannot hear ‘bad words’, and with the whole set up of him having a passion for learning new languages (in this case, being sign language). Then again, understandably, the entire series is only a 12 episode one cour, so one simply cannot ask for too much.

Overall, Yubisaki to Renren is a slow-paced yet wholesome series that explores communication and love in a highly realistic setting. While the anime benefits from an incredible supporting cast, it falls short on the depth of its main character, Yuki. For Shoujo fans that can appreciate a cheesy romance that offers a form of escapism, Yubisaki to Renren can be a worthwhile watch. It's a recommended watch for a rather specific audience, but not a strong one.

[Spoiler-free summary]:

Fumetsu no Anata e possesses a captivating and unique premise, but falls short in certain areas. The anime follows an immortal entity, Fushi, who attempts to learn about what it means to be human through various experiences. It explores themes of love, loss and the complexities of human emotion. However, it's world-building is weak and incomplete. It doesn’t answer questions about Fushi’s existence and the Nokkers’ motivations. The anime lacks a cohesive narrative, resulted from its inconsistency in direction and pacing. Ultimately, while Fumetsu no Anata e offers emotional depth, it may not be for those desiring a more well-rounded story.

[Full review; SPOILER ALERT]:

Fumetsu ... no Anata e, or To Your Eternity, is well-known for being attention-grabbing right from the very first episode. In the opening episode we meet a mystical entity capable of taking on various forms. However, as the series unfolds, it gradually starts to feel like it had ventured one direction only to veer off into an entirely different one. The initial setup creates expectations for a heartfelt journey of growth and discovery, yet many of these threads dissipate as the series progresses.

Let’s start with its strengths. Fumetsu no Anata e excels in its exploration of deep emotional themes. The immortal entity, also known as Fushi, encounters a myriad of other characters over the course of his journey. The tapestry of relationships that Fushi forms in his interactions with others in the story serves to highlight the transient nature of life. We are drawn into the characters’ journeys, and Fushi learns from these experiences. The way Fushi absorbs lessons from those he meets also adds layers to his character. The storytelling excels in its ability to evoke deep emotions, bringing tears to my eyes on more than one occasion. Each character that Fushi encounters offers a glimpse into the complexities of human emotion — joy, despair, love, anger, sacrifice, etc. The anime’s ability to evoke an emotional reaction is undoubtedly its strongest asset.

The animation in Fumetsu no Anata e is nothing ground breaking, but the animation quality of certain action sequences and Fushi’s transformation is decently fluid. However, the sound design is definitely a stand out for me. Each piece of music is thoughtfully tailored to the scenes it accompanies. The use of haunting melodies and delicate orchestration enhance moments of introspection and sorrow. The sound design definitely adds to the show’s ability to evoke an emotional reaction on a more visceral level.

On the flip side, I found the world-building to be a serious letdown. The setting is heavily underdeveloped, with little exploration of the broader context in which the characters exist. Fushi is central to the narrative, but the reasons for his existence remain frustratingly vague. The anime asserts that he exists to fight the Nokkers, but who are they really? What drives their destructive impulses? Why are they able to steal Fushi’s memories, and what’s the point in doing so anyway? The story hints at their menace, yet fails to provide a satisfying explanation for why they seek to annihilate the world or why they haven't already succeeded. Moreover, why must Fushi be made to face these adversaries entirely alone? Additionally, the mechanics behind Fushi’s abilities are also left largely unexplained. The mysterious black figure that Fushi converses with — an entity that only he can see — also further adds to the confusion. The scriptwriting often comes off as slightly lazy as many elements of the anime feel like they were introduced as mere plot devices. They serve little purpose beyond driving the narrative forward and there’s a nagging sense that events are unfolding simply for the sake of it. Characters are introduced with rich backstories and potential, only to be abruptly killed off. I’d held onto hope that perhaps Pioran will be the one exception who stays with Fushi, only to be proven wrong at the very end. While the purpose of this may be to highlight the fleeting nature of life, it also makes it hard to envision Fushi’s growth as genuinely meaningful. Can Fushi’s evolution ever be truly fulfilling when those who have helped him understand what it means to be human are destined to die? Part of life is also about having people who stay by your side, even if not for life, for many, many years. Life is not all just about loss and sorrow. The pattern the anime rinses and repeats raises the question of: Why invest in these characters if they’re not given the chance to evolve alongside Fushi? Are they meant to be individuals with their own journeys, or are they meant to be vehicles that serve a singular purpose — to be a catalyst for Fushi’s growth?

As the series progresses, it becomes evident that the story lacks a clear direction. Fushi defeats the Nokkers, but not really, they ‘escape’ and come back again. Rinse and repeat. What is the ultimate purpose of Fushi’s journey, really? One of the most ironic things in the anime also lies in the fact that Fushi as an immortal being, is constantly confronted with the mortality of humans. It begs the question, can an immortal being truly understand the notion of death and inherently, the fragility of human existence?

The pacing of the show also fluctuates. Each new character that is introduced has their own arc, which makes the series feels episodic. Some arcs are rushed while others meander. Additionally, the supporting cast’s accepting attitude towards Fushi’s abilities further adds to this disjointedness. In the world of Fumetsu no Anata e, nearly everyone seems to embrace Fushi’s immortality and shapeshifting surprisingly well. Their reactions to Fushi are often glossed over, as if the script is prioritising plot momentum over genuine exploration.

Fumetsu no Anata e tantalises with its unique premise and emotional resonance. It delivers a powerful exploration of what it means to live and to feel. But, while the first episode hooked me, the rest of the series ultimately falls short due to its weak world-building and an inconsistent narrative direction. The lack of clarity surrounding Fushi’s existence and the motivations of the Nokkers had me grappling with gnawing questions throughout the series. The side characters, despite their rich potential, often feel like fleeting plot devices. As a result, what could have been a profound meditation on existence becomes a journey marred by unanswered questions. Overall, Fumetsu no Anata e is an emotionally resonant tale with a lot of untapped potential. It offers moments of beauty and introspection to those who value poignant storytelling. But for those seeking a more well-rounded and cohesive narrative, Fumetsu no Anata e might amount to nothing more than a frustrating experience.

[Spoiler-free summary]:

What happens when an anime with breathtaking action sequences and limitless potential falls flat in nearly every other aspect? That’s Solo Leveling in a nutshell — an adaptation that promised greatness but falters under the weight of its own expectations. Solo Leveling follows Sung Jin-Woo, a low-ranking hunter striving for strength. While the visuals are stunning, the characters lack depth and development, resulting in a predictable and stagnant plot. Weak world-building and pacing issues further detract from the experience. The overall execution leaves much to be desired, appealing mainly to fans of action and power fantasy rather than offering a rich story.

[Full review; SPOILER ... ALERT]:

Solo Leveling has been a highly anticipated adaptation, but despite the hype, it faces some serious issues. With stunning visuals, it offers a spectacle for action fans, but beyond the flashy surface lies a narrative riddled with weak character development, overused tropes, and a lackluster plot that leaves the story feeling hollow. What should have been a thrilling rise to power becomes a shallow echo of what could have been.

One of the most significant issues is the lack of character development. The protagonist, Sung Jin-Woo, feels flat, with his primary focus revolving around becoming stronger. His motivations never evolve beyond the repetitive mantra of not giving up, which strips him of any complexity. In the earlier episodes, Jin-Woo displayed a more relatable and flawed personality. He was marked by his self-doubt, vulnerability, and a genuine desire to protect those around him. His struggles as a low-ranking hunter highlighted his humanity. He often acted with a reckless determination that, while frustrating at times, also showcased his courage and willingness to push beyond his limits. This earlier version of Jin-Woo was driven not just by a desire for power, but also by a longing for recognition and respect in a world that consistently overlooked him. Unfortunately, whatever semblance of a personality Jin-Woo had before the double dungeon arc was completely snuffed out as soon as he gained overwhelming power. Before the double dungeon arc, Jin-Woo constantly made poor decisions that put him and others in danger. His actions often come off as rash and short-sighted, making it difficult to root for him even in his weaker state. After the double dungeon arc, while he’s no longer useless, his recklessness doesn’t disappear — it just manifests differently. Now, armed with overwhelming power, Jin-Woo still makes dumb and reckless decisions, charging headfirst into battles with little thought or strategy. His immense strength might compensate for his lack of caution, but it doesn't make him a smarter or more engaging protagonist. This lack of evolution from reckless underdog to thoughtful hero makes his character arc feel stagnant, leaving viewers to watch someone who, despite his new abilities, hasn’t truly learned from his past mistakes. Instead of growing into a more nuanced character with depth, he becomes nothing more than an unstoppable force with no internal struggles or emotional journey.

The supporting cast fares no better. They exist solely to either praise or rely on Jin-Woo, offering no substantial development or backstory of their own. Their interactions with the protagonist often feel superficial, serving only to highlight his increasing power rather than to provide meaningful relationships or dynamics. In fact, the supporting characters are so forgettable that they barely leave an impression — so much so that I can’t even remember most of their names. Their lack of personality further amplifies the flatness of the narrative, as no one in the story, Jin-Woo included, undergoes any real growth or transformation.

The writing leans heavily into lazy tropes — a power fantasy where the protagonist inexplicably becomes the strongest, solving all his problems with ease. The battles become predictable, with Jin-Woo overpowering his foes in increasingly flashy but hollow ways, leaving little room for tension or surprise. I mean, come on, the teleportation stone getting knocked out Jin-Woo’s hand TWICE, in the exact same fashion, within the span of a few episodes? Really? He gets conveniently teleported to another realm for his daily quest right when he's about to die? The list of 'coincidences' is endless. It's a classic case of storytelling where the stakes don't feel real because the outcome is almost always a foregone conclusion.

While it's typical for shounen anime to be predictable in that the main character will eventually triumph, Solo Leveling handles this in an especially boring and lazy way. In well-executed shounen, even if we know the protagonist will win, there’s usually some level of uncertainty, tension, or clever strategy that keeps viewers on edge. In Solo Leveling, however, the lack of meaningful struggle or creative battle scenarios makes the fights feel hollow and formulaic. Jin-Woo's power-ups happen without much explanation or challenge, and by the time he reaches his godlike status, there’s little left to root for. Throughout the series, there’s a frustrating feeling that nothing much happens beyond Jin-Woo constantly asserting that he won't give up. While this determination might be admirable in moderation, it's overused here, becoming the show's primary conflict resolution.

Another glaring flaw is the weak world-building. While the concept of dungeons and hunters had the potential to create a rich universe, it’s poorly fleshed out. There’s little explanation or exploration of how the world functions beyond the basics, and many elements feel hastily constructed, serving only as set pieces for Jin-Woo’s ascension rather than as a lived-in world with depth and lore. Don't even get me started on the complete lack of explanation behind how Jin-Woo survived and recovered from the double-dungeon, or the fact that now he's suddenly a player with screens in his vision. Jin-Woo also seamlessly adjusts to this radical shift without much contemplation. The anime conveniently sets up situations without adequate context; Jin-Woo can use potions to heal, until randomly, when the anime deems fit, he can't. This inconsistency reveals a tendency toward lazy scriptwriting and makes the world of Solo Leveling feel more like a collection of conveniences than a fully realized universe.

The pacing issues are especially apparent in the earlier episodes, where the story drags through slow, monotonous episodes before Jin-Woo’s transformation. Once the pace picks up, it’s already too late for many viewers, who may have lost interest.

Despite its flaws, Solo Leveling has a few redeeming qualities that have drawn a dedicated fanbase. One if its strongest aspects is the art and animation quality. While it is nothing groundbreaking in today’s animation standards, it remains commendable. The action sequences are visually stunning, with fluid fight choreography and dynamic effects that bring the battles to life. Solo Leveling also attempts to tap into the appeal of the underdog narrative, particularly in the early stages. Sung Jin-Woo's transformation from an E-rank hunter, mocked and dismissed by others, to the most powerful figure is a story that resonates with audiences who enjoy seeing an underdog rise against the odds. The anime also goes to great lengths to showcase the capabilities of various hunters, particularly emphasising the distinction of S-rank hunters. Although, we don’t ever fully witness their true potential.

Ultimately, Solo Leveling struggles to deliver on the potential that its premise suggests. While the anime boasts impressive art and animation, its narrative shortcomings overshadow these visual achievements. While it might appeal to fans looking for pure action and power fantasy, its lack of meaningful development, reliance on tired tropes, weak world-building, and pacing problems prevent it from reaching its full potential. Despite the brief glimpses of excitement and the appeal of an underdog story, the overall execution falters, leading to a predictable and uninspired journey — a missed opportunity for a tale that could have been so much more.

[Spoiler-free summary:]

"We humankind are not ready for freedom and equality, Lena. Maybe we will never be." — Jerome Karlstahl

This quote encapsulates the core tension of Eighty-Six, a series that examines the dehumanising effects of war and systemic oppression. Central to the story is Major Lena Milizé, who, while symbolising hope, operates from a privileged position, revealing the irony in her attempt to aid the Eighty-Sixers. The anime skillfully balances nuanced portrayals of both oppressors and oppressed, presenting flaws without reducing characters to mere victims or villains. Despite some issues with dialogue and character development, Eighty-Six offers a powerful exploration of systemic inequality and human complexity.

[Full ... review; SPOILER ALERT:]

Eighty-Six follows the story of the 86th district, home to the "Eighty-Sixers," a group of people who are not recognised as citizens and are forced to fight against unmanned drones known as the Legion. Through the lens of war-torn futures, Eighty-Six asks profound questions about humanity’s capacity to evolve beyond its prejudices and fear. The story, set in a dystopian world where the Republic of San Magnolia uses a class of oppressed people to fight its wars, feels eerily reflective of real-world issues. A-1 Pictures is not known for consistency in the quality of its productions, but thankfully, it delivered with Eighty-Six.

At the heart of the anime is the relationship between Major Vladilena "Lena" Milizé and the Spearhead Squadron, a group of soldiers treated as expendable assets. One of the most striking narrative elements of Lena is her dual role as both a symbol of hope and a figure of unintended hypocrisy. While she outwardly appears to be the “angel” offering support to the oppressed Eighty-Sixers, she commands them from the safety of her country’s privileged walls. This contrast is particularly emphasised by the Spearhead Squadron’s skepticism, most notably in moments when they question why their leader, Shin, bothers entertaining her at all. Lena, filled with a sense of righteousness, believes she can make a difference. However, the irony lies in the fact that while she fights for their dignity, she’s unaware of the emotional burden she places on them. The very people she’s trying to "save" are forced to listen to her vent frustrations and guilt that stem from her insulated life as a member of the dominant race. One of the most poignant moments in the series occurs when Lena realises she had never even asked for the Eighty-Sixers' real names. Until they mentioned it, she hadn't noticed the glaring omission — she had been so focused on being a saviour that she overlooked one of the most basic forms of human connection. This moment reveals just how deeply the systemic de-humanisation of the Eighty-Sixers runs. It's a stark reminder that her good intentions cannot fully erase the gap between her reality and theirs. It becomes clear that Lena, despite her well-meaning intentions, lacks a full understanding of the lives of the Eighty-Sixers. Her interactions with the Spearhead Squadron reveals the complexity of her position. She isn’t a saviour; instead, she represents a flawed system where even those trying to help are still part of the machinery of oppression. The Squadron entertains her idealism out of politeness, though they, too, recognise how disconnected she is from their reality. Shinei Nouzen (Shin), leader of the Spearhead Squadron, in particular, engages with her, but not out of loyalty or belief in her ideals. Instead, there’s a somber acceptance of the irony — they are the ones fighting for their lives, yet they have to shield Lena from the truth of her own limitations. The anime brilliantly uses these interactions to explore the blurred lines of allyship and patronisation. Lena is sympathetic, but the narrative doesn’t let her off easily. Her growth, especially towards the end of Part 1, is tied to the painful realisation that her empathy alone is not enough. She has to confront the fact that she has been protected by the very system she opposes.

What makes 86 stands out for me is its nuanced portrayal of oppression, avoiding the trap of painting the Eighty-Sixers as pure “victims” while resisting the urge to depict all Alba as irredeemable “devils”. Instead, the series recognises the complexity of both the oppressors and the oppressed. This depth is particularly refreshing in a genre where racial conflict is often simplified into good versus evil. The narrative doesn’t shy away from showing that Eighty-Sixers are not flawless. While rare, the show hints at internal conflicts and moral ambiguity within the oppressed group. A subtle but powerful example of this is Anju, a mixed-race character who occupies a unique space in the story. What’s striking is that Eighty-Six doesn’t overemphasise the internal flaws of the Eighty-Sixers. The narrative understands that constantly casting the oppressed in a negative light would undermine the story’s central message. Instead, the show presents these flaws in a subtle manner, carefully threading the needle between realism and narrative focus. Anju’s discrimination by her fellow Eighty-Sixers serves as a reminder that oppression can create further divides within the oppressed. Eighty-Six excels because it doesn’t just tell a story of oppression; it delves into the intricacies of how it affects individuals and communities in multifaceted ways.

As expected of A-1, the animation in Eighty-Six is stunning, especially in its depiction of mechanised warfare. However, as with all things, nothing is perfect and Eighty-Six is not without its own set of flaws. While the visuals are generally strong, the sound design did little to enhance my experience. One of the most noticeable issues in the anime lies in its dialogue. Information in a light novel is naturally delivered through prose. Translating it into a dialogue in anime can be tricky, and at times, this is where Eighty-Six stumbles. This heavy reliance on exposition, due to its novel origins, also slows down the pace in certain episodes. The series also focuses heavily on Shin and Lena, and while the squad’s dynamics add emotional weight to the story, they don’t particularly get much attention or development. Understandably so, given it is only 11 episodes long, and spending time developing characters only to kill them off would be counterintuitive.

Lena, as the central character, presents another challenge. While she’s portrayed as compassionate and driven to fight against the discriminatory systems of her society, there’s little in her upbringing or environment to justify her intense desire to rebel. It’s hard to believe that someone raised in a world that reinforces racial superiority would develop such strong convictions against it without more personal motivation. Yet, Lena is idealistic to a fault. Her behaviour comes across as the classic "main character syndrome" — she’s unyieldingly righteous, always fighting for what’s right, without much internal conflict or struggle. It feels a bit too convenient, and while her unwavering moral compass may work on a surface level, her character feels like it leaves room for deeper exploration. Lena’s journey could have been more compelling if the anime had delved into what truly drives her. Perhaps if we saw more cracks in her resolve or moments where her beliefs were challenged, her development would have felt more authentic.

Despite its flaws, Eighty-Six remains a powerful and thought-provoking anime that offers a deeply realistic and poignant take on themes of war. Eighty-Six is a heavy and somber anime, but the series manages to skillfully insert moments of comedy, offering brief but essential relief from its otherwise oppressive tone. Eight-Six definitely isn’t the first to attempt the theme of a military sci-fi. However what sets it apart from its predecessors is how it tackles complex themes of systemic inequality with a level of nuance rarely seen in anime. The moments where the dialogue feels inorganic or the sound design falls flat didn’t detract from my overall enjoyment. While Lena’s character could have been more deeply explored, her growth and the underlying tensions in her interactions with the Spearhead Squadron still manages to evoke strong emotional impact. Ultimately, Eighty-Six left a lasting impression on me, not just for its stellar visuals and ambitious narrative, but for its bold exploration of the human condition amidst war and division. Even with its imperfections, it stands as a solid 10/10 in my book — an anime that doesn’t shy away from difficult topics and weaves a complex web of human emotions in a dystopian future. The line “We humankind are not ready for freedom and equality” lingers as a haunting reminder of how far we still have to go.