Back to Twiiford's Profile Twiiford's Profile

Vinland Saga Season 2 is a brutal, breathtaking masterpiece that ditches Viking vengeance for a farm-bound quest for peace—and it’s unlike anything you’ve seen. Season 1 was blood and blades; this is a soul-deep wrestle with guilt, redemption, and the cost of a violent past. It’s a sequel that doesn’t just follow—it rewrites the rules, hitting you with a slow-burn power that tops any war cry. This is character storytelling at its absolute peak, earning a flawless 10/10 with every weary glance and every hard-earned tear. Trust me, you’re not prepared for where this takes you.

This season swaps steel for struggle—the kind that weighs you ... down. Thorfinn’s no warrior now; he’s a wrecked man, Askeladd’s ghost snarling in his ear as he breaks his back on a slave farm. It lingers, letting every regret sink in as he asks: what’s life worth when all you’ve done is kill? Einar’s his fire—rough, real, unshakable—dragging Thorfinn toward something better. Canute’s the other side: a king forging peace through iron will, his every move a calculated step away from Thorfinn’s quiet fight. They’re opposites—mercy versus might—and it’s gripping. Thorfinn even brushes against Christian teachings here, a nudge toward mercy that’s real, not preachy—fitting for a Viking world steeped in pagan roots, though his heart stays murky, more searching than saved.

MAPPA crafts a world that’s tough to look at and tougher to forget. Thorfinn’s trapped in dull browns and grays, the farm’s endless fields reflecting his broken core, every tired slump screaming loss. His flashbacks—harsh, red-streaked shots of Askeladd’s grin—slash through the gloom. Canute’s world is different: crisp, icy, his polished halls and steely glares a total flip from Thorfinn’s mud. The quiet shots of Thorfinn staring at the horizon hit hard—simple, heavy, pure. It’s not flashy; it’s real, and that’s why it works.

The sound pulls no punches. Yutaka Yamada’s score is all aching strings and heavy quiet, sinking you into Thorfinn’s pain and Canute’s resolve. The opening, “River” by Anonymouz, is a brooding gem—I personally enjoy its slow, mournful pull, a perfect fit for this broken world. Shizuka Ishigami’s Thorfinn is unreal—every cracked line and silent beat is award-level brilliance. Kensho Ono’s Canute is sharp and cool, a king’s voice that chills you. It’s not just sound—it’s the story’s heartbeat.

Vinland Saga Season 2 starts in the dirt—a rough, relentless grind through Thorfinn’s shame and Canute’s ambition. But it grows into something rare. Thorfinn’s climb, sparked by Einar’s grit, is a redemption that stings and soothes—proof you can’t erase blood but you can choose what comes next. Canute builds peace on bones, a dark echo to Thorfinn’s light. I expected battles; I got a flawless, soul-shaking look at living beyond your past. This is a 10/10—a story that carves itself into you and says: survival’s nothing without meaning.

Ping Pong The Animation is, without a doubt, one of the most unique and compelling sports anime to ever grace the medium. It's a series that explores the complex mindsets and motivations of athletes engaged in one-on-one competition, with every match serving as a battlefield of mental strategy, personal growth, and raw emotion. It's a show that dives deep into what it means to face off against another individual, not just physically but mentally and spiritually. It’s a rare anime that manages to blend the thrill of sports with introspective character development, and for that, it deserves every bit of recognition it gets.

This is a ... show that is deeply rooted in the theme of competition, and what makes it stand out is its exploration of the inner workings of each character’s psyche. It’s not just about ping pong; it’s about understanding the characters’ drives, their personal struggles, and the unique mentalities they bring to the game. Whether it's Peco's carefree attitude masking deeper insecurities, Smile's cold and reserved nature hiding a vast emotional complexity, or the stoic Chinese character, the show delivers an intricate look at how each competitor approaches the sport.

The art style is distinctive—rough, raw, and unlike anything you'll see in a typical sports anime. The fluid, almost abstract animation during the matches perfectly mirrors the psychological intensity of the competition. Each shot feels deliberate, each swing of the paddle representing more than just a move in the game, but a move in the characters’ internal struggles. The way the animation exaggerates movements, speeds, and expressions adds an extra layer to the tension, making each match feel like an emotional tug-of-war.

The voice acting in Ping Pong is exceptional, with each actor bringing a level of depth and authenticity to their roles that enhances the experience. Particularly noteworthy is the Chinese character, whose portrayal stands out for its nuance and emotion. The voice actor does an incredible job of giving this character weight and significance, even in moments where they might not be speaking, allowing the animation to carry the emotional charge alongside the performance.

Highly recommend watching Ping Pong The Animation in subtitles to truly capture the essence of the character dynamics and voice performances. While the English dub is good, the original Japanese performances bring an added layer of intensity that fits the show’s tone perfectly.

And I can’t talk about Ping Pong The Animation without mentioning the music. The opening song, "Tada Hitori" by Bakudan Johnny, is an absolute banger. The rock-infused track sets the tone for the series perfectly, blending energy and introspection in a way that reflects the competitive battles the characters go through. It's a great song that you'll find yourself humming long after the credits roll. The rest of the soundtrack, from its more subtle piano pieces to the rock-driven cues, complements the emotional and mental peaks of the show seamlessly.

Ping Pong The Animation is a series that brings forth the full weight of competition, rivalry, and personal growth. It’s a show that takes its time, allowing the characters to develop naturally, and rewards those who are willing to dive deep into the intricacies of their struggles. It’s a rare gem in the sports genre that transcends simple competition and offers a profound commentary on what it truly means to challenge oneself. I give it a 10/10—a masterpiece.

Solo Leveling Season 2: Arise from the Shadow struts in like it’s got something to prove, and for fans of overpowered juggernauts, it just about does. Jinwoo’s an edgy god now—smirking through shadows, flexing on fools—and the show’s drooling all over him. The pacing’s tighter, the fights (hello, Beru) hit like a truck, and if that’s your jam, this barely scrapes a 7/10 worth watching. The rest? Wallpaper cast, a snoozy mom plot, story thin as a dollar store blade. But Jinwoo’s smug chaos might just carry it—if you’re the type. Let’s tear this flashy mess apart.

Jinwoo’s the beating heart of this season, and boy, ... does he know it.

He’s fully locked into his role as the ultimate edgy cool guy—slicing through shadows, smirking at danger, and basically jerking off to his own reflection while the camera nods along. It’s shameless, it’s over-the-top, and damn if it isn’t the main reason to stick around. The show’s obsession with his power creep is what hooks you—eye rolls and all. He’s not just leveling up; he’s a one-man apocalypse, and the animators live for it.

Trouble is, that leaves everyone else in the dust. Cha Hae-In? Yoo Jinho? Might as well be handing out water bottles on the sidelines. Jinwoo’s so absurdly strong the power scaling turns his crew into glorified cheerleaders—nice to look at, not worth a damn. They’re not awful; they’re just pointless next to Mr. Shadow King.

Pacing and action are where Arise from the Shadow finally gets its act together.

Season 1 dawdled like a kid with a new toy, but this time, the story moves with some purpose. It’s not a sprint—more a brisk jog with stumbles—but it’s better. Early episodes set the stage without drowning you, and the second half finds its groove.

When it swings, it swings hard. The action peaks late, and the Beru fight’s the crown jewel—a brutal, shadow-soaked climax that screams, “Yeah, I’m that guy.” Teeth, claws, animation so slick the budget must’ve tripled overnight. The final episodes land like a blockbuster flick: big stakes, bigger flexes, and a cliffhanger winking at Season 3.

So, what’s the verdict?

If you drool over OP characters and slick fight scenes, Arise from the Shadow just barely earns its keep. Story’s average at best, below if you squint at the cardboard cast. The finale teases Season 3 nicely, but this ain’t deep. Jinwoo’s absurd power and smug grin make it a grudging 7/10—if you’re here for overpowered chaos, like me, it’s a recommend. Otherwise, meh.

Sports anime often stick to familiar rhythms—training, rivalries, big matches—but they’ve got to keep the spark alive. Haikyuu!! lives and breathes volleyball passion, and Season 3 takes it up a notch. This isn’t some lazy sequel; it’s a focused love letter to everything the show’s built up, packed into one intense match. Ten episodes, no filler, all heart.

The season picks up right where we left off: Karasuno’s earned a shot at the Spring High Preliminary finals in Miyagi, facing Shiratorizawa Academy, a powerhouse led by one of Japan’s top high school aces. The setup’s straightforward: one big game, five sets, everything on the line. No ... side tangents, no extra drama—just volleyball, start to finish.

The pacing’s unreal. Ten episodes might sound short, but they stretch this match into a ride that never drags. It kicks off with Karasuno hitting the court, nerves high, up against a team that’s ruled the roost. Each set keeps the tension humming, pitting raw strength against scrappy teamwork. There’s no fluff here; every moment’s got weight, and the way the episodes flow keeps you glued. It’s all about the game, and it’s put together so well you don’t even notice the lack of downtime.

Production I.G.’s animation is a standout. The volleyball scenes flow smooth—quick jumps, diving saves, spot-on sets—it’s like watching a real match with a little extra shine. The camera stays close, catching every bead of sweat and tight grip. Shiratorizawa’s purple-and-white uniforms pop against Karasuno’s black-and-orange, and the characters carry that familiar look with just enough tweak to feel fresh. Sure, some moves lean a bit wild, but it’s part of the charm. The action’s crisp and keeps you locked in.
Sound’s a big piece of it too. The opening, “Hikariare” by Burnout Syndromes, comes in fast and fierce, with visuals of the team charging that get you pumped. The ending, “Mashi Mashi” by Nico Touches the Walls, has a light, upbeat kick, like a well-earned breather. Yuki Hayashi and Asami Tachibana’s music fits right in—quiet builds that make a solid play hit harder. The ball’s thump, the crowd’s roar, the shoes squeaking—it pulls you in. The English dub’s solid, though it’s a touch less raw.

Characters are the soul here. The team’s got this mix of grit and heart—some loud, some steady, all in sync. Shiratorizawa’s no pushover either; their ace leads with confidence, backed by players who bring their own flavor. The dialogue’s sharp, full of that underdog spark that makes you root for them. Everyone gets a chance to shine, and it builds this sense of a real crew fighting together.

Why the 10/10? It’s the focus. Ten episodes of straight volleyball could’ve stumbled, but it doesn’t. Every serve, block, and timeout keeps things moving. It’s not just a game—it’s about hustle and teamwork clashing with pure power, and it hooks you the whole way. Could it use more off-court time? Maybe if you’re into that. But this is about the match, and it delivers. It doesn’t mess with what makes Haikyuu!! great; it doubles down—high stakes, slick animation, a team you’d cheer for any day. Watching it felt like being back on a team, yelling for my own squad. It’s all about volleyball and heart, and it’s as good as it gets. 10/10—I’d watch it again tomorrow.