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Court One is adjourned, and the verdict is in: Subaru remains as insufferable as ever. He’s the human equivalent of stepping on a LEGO—a walking cringe factory who constantly makes you question, "Why am I still watching this?" To make matters worse, he’s still parading around in that atrocious tracksuit, an outfit so out of place in a fantasy world it feels like an insult to the genre itself. Even Kazuma knew better and kept his tracksuit antics confined to home. Who in their right mind thought this was a good look for an epic tale? And yet, here I am. Stuck. Trapped. Wondering, "Why ... am I like this?"

The highlight of this court? Meeting more of the Sin Archbishops. Not exactly “refreshing” (let’s be honest, nothing here is refreshing except when Subaru shuts up), but still undeniably cool. Watching these villainous maniacs do their thing is like catching glimpses of what this series could be. Sadly, they’re buried under a sea of bland characters who contribute little except to clog up the runtime with meaningless dialogue. Plot points drop from the sky like a badly written gacha game story, and you’re left wondering, “Did anyone actually proofread this?”

Echidna. Oh, Echidna. Where art thou, my smug, tea-sipping queen of ambition and charisma. The sparkle in your eyes as you manipulate everyone around you with that perfectly smug smile? Perfection. I could write entire volumes about your charm, your intellect, your everything. Bring her back. Let her monologue. Let her plot. Let her condescend to Subaru until he realizes he should be learning from her brilliance instead of fumbling his way through every situation. Without her, the show feels like it’s lost its edge, like it’s missing the most intoxicating part of its brew.

And then there’s Priscilla. Sweet, dominating, high-heeled goddess Priscilla. Every time she graces the screen, I remember why I’m still here. She could step on me, set me on fire, call me trash, and I’d thank her. Loudly. With a bow. Someone help me, I’m beyond down bad. I’m subterranean bad. Voluntary submission. But if you saw her, you’d understand. The things I would endure just for a second of her screen time.

Now, to the matter of ratings. It’s baffling how high they are. I guess the sane people—the ones with functional taste—dropped this shipwreck seasons ago. Meanwhile, degenerates like me remain. Chained by the waifus. Tortured by Subaru. Witnesses to a show that dares us to ask, “How much suffering can one anime inflict before we tap out?”

The answer, apparently, is infinite. Pray for me. Or don’t. I’m too far gone.