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Let me talk about BlueLock, because wow, I have some feelings. Season 1? It was interesting. I’ll give it that. It took a sports anime cliché, chewed it up, and spit out something fresh. Forget unity and teamwork—this was about egoism. Everyone wanted to be the star, and honestly, it was a unique, refreshing take. The first episode hit hard: crisp visuals, fiery characters, and enough intensity to make you think, “Yeah, this might be one of the best sports anime ever.”

And then… episode 2 happened. The animation stumbled, not faceplanting, but enough to make you notice. It wasn’t bad—it was “above average,” let’s say. ... As episodes rolled on, the dialogue dipped into cringe territory now and then, but it felt like part of the charm. It was a shonen battle anime disguised as football, and I respected that. It had peaks, it had troughs, and by the end of the 24 episodes, I thought, “You know what? Worth it.”

Then Season 2 came along. Oh my god, what an absolute trainwreck. Episode 1 gave us a false sense of security. The characters were standing around, receiving their next mission, and because there wasn’t much action required, no one noticed the storm brewing on the horizon. The art style looked good, the drawings were solid, and you thought, “Okay, maybe this season will deliver.” But looking back, it was the calm before the disaster. No one realized how much worse it was going to get.

And then came Episode 2. Friends, I’ve seen motion in 1940s Godzilla films that’s smoother than this. BlueLock Season 2 has mastered the ancient art of sliding PNGs across the screen. Forget running, kicking, or even blinking—there’s no movement here. They throw in motion lines to fool you into thinking something is happening, but it’s not. One time, they straight-up used a PowerPoint transition for a scene change. I wish I were joking. I’ve seen kindergarten kids do better animations with macaroni art.

By Episode 4, I was done. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had read the manga for this arc—the U-20 match! It’s one of the best arcs in BlueLock. The hype, the stakes, the story—it’s all there. But this adaptation? It’s an insult to the manga. The mouths don’t move because “they’re always running.” Guess what? They don’t even animate the running. They just float characters around like cursed cutouts from a bootleg sticker book.

BlueLock Season 2 is not cutting corners. It’s cutting through the entire damn fabric of animation. There is nothing good about it. NOTHING. Watching this season felt like they weren’t animating football—they were animating my suffering. I’m angry, I’m disappointed, and frankly, I’m sad for the manga. If you love BlueLock, save yourself the agony. Stick to the manga. Don’t let Season 2 ruin your life.

One Piece is more than just an anime—it’s a mammoth of a journey. A story spanning over 1100 episodes, it’s the kind of fiction that stays with you, not because it’s perfect, but because it’s an emotional marathon. Let me say this upfront: when One Piece is good, it’s really good. The peaks of this series? Absolutely unforgettable. But the lows? Oh. My. God. The lows. Watching One Piece at its worst felt like staring into the void, questioning every decision that led me to this moment.

Let’s start with the good, because honestly, it deserves some love. One Piece delivers moments of brilliance, the kind ... that make you believe in the magic of storytelling. Its world-building is unmatched, weaving a tapestry of lore, geography, and interconnected narratives that are just… chef’s kiss. Every island, every culture, every arc feels distinct and alive, brimming with creativity. The peaks—oh, those peaks!—are the stuff of legends. Watching Luffy punch through adversity (and the occasional celestial dragon), witnessing the Straw Hats’ bonds deepen, seeing arcs like Marineford unfold—these are moments that define anime as an art form.

But then there’s the other side. The side that makes me want to scream into a pillow. Let’s talk about pacing. There are moments—nay, eras—in this show where time itself seems to stop. Arcs like Thriller Bark and Dressrosa are the epitome of torture. The pacing is so slow, so atrocious, that you can practically feel your soul leaving your body. Watching the Luffy vs. Katakuri fight, a 20-episode snoozefest where they did nothing most of the time, was like a cruel joke. And don’t get me started on the filler. This isn’t normal, skippable filler. Oh no. One Piece decided to weave its filler into the main story so seamlessly that you’re trapped in its clutches, unable to escape.

Then there’s the animation. Watching One Piece in 2024 feels like a time machine back to the early 2000s, and not in a good way. Brace yourself for some seriously outdated visuals, because the early episodes… whew. They make 1999 look bad. I mean, sure, it was a product of its time, but even then, movies and shows from the same era were leagues ahead. And the worst part? You can feel the corners being cut because of the sheer volume of episodes. Quality sacrificed for quantity—classic.

Now let’s dive into the power system, which is just pure chaos. Devil Fruits are a mixed bag of “wow, that’s cool” and “what the hell is this?” You’ve got mythical Zoans and god-tier fruits like Luffy’s, but then you have the Jacket-Jacket Fruit. Who thought that was a good idea? There’s no consistency, no logic. You can’t even speculate on power scaling because the rules don’t exist. One moment you’re dealing with someone who can turn into mochi, and the next, it’s a literal deity. It’s wacky, sure, but it’s also infuriating.

And the characters? Oh, they’re memorable, all right—but not always in a good way. The proportions are absurd, the art style is divisive, and sometimes the wackiness just overshadows everything else. A character with a mountain-sized head and a human-sized body is a vibe, I guess, but it doesn’t make it any easier to take the story seriously.

So here I am, torn between love and despair. One Piece gave me moments that made me cheer, cry, and feel alive. But it also gave me moments where I wanted to throw my screen out the window. It’s inconsistent, infuriating, and, at times, downright painful. Yet, somehow, after enduring the torture, you look back on the peaks and think, “Maybe it was worth it.” But honestly, was it?

I don’t know. I’ll tell you this, though: if you’re ready to experience some of anime’s highest highs and absolute lowest lows, then grab your straw hat and set sail. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Here’s the thing: I went into Jujutsu Kaisen Season 1 hoping for something exciting—something that would genuinely stand out in the sea of shonen anime. Instead, what I got was a show that’s just… fine. It’s not bad, but it’s definitely not great either. If anything, it’s the textbook definition of average.

The story kicks off with Yuji Itadori, your typical kind-hearted protagonist, whose life takes a sharp turn after his grandfather’s death. His grandpa’s last words about helping others set the tone for Yuji’s overly simplistic moral compass. He ends up swallowing a cursed object (long story) and becomes the host for Sukuna, a ridiculously ... powerful demon. Cue the standard shonen setup: Yuji is spared from execution because someone has a "genius plan" to have him consume all of Sukuna’s cursed fingers, only to kill him later and eradicate Sukuna completely. It’s a decent premise, sure, but it feels like something we’ve seen a dozen times before in other series.

The middle part of the show is basically a loop: Yuji and his squad encounter curses, fight them, and move on. The fights? They’re good. Some of the choreography is downright impressive, and MAPPA does a solid job with the animation. But let’s be real—most of the time, the animation and visuals are just above average. It’s not jaw-dropping or groundbreaking, despite what the hype might lead you to believe.

Now, the characters… oh boy. Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi are fine, but that’s the problem—they’re just fine. Nobara has her moments, sure, but none of them have the kind of depth or originality that makes you think about them long after the episode ends. Even Gojo, who’s supposed to be the scene-stealer, feels like a trope: the overpowered, carefree mentor we’ve seen a million times before.

Let’s talk about the villains in Jujutsu Kaisen Season 1 because, honestly, they’re just… there. They’re supposed to be these creepy, mysterious curses with a "high boss" pulling the strings behind the scenes, but it all comes across as so childish. Like, sure, they try to give them this air of superiority, acting like they’re above humans and all, but at the end of the day, they’re just monsters pretending to be deep.

And then there’s the big attack during the school tournament. Seriously? Of all times, that’s when the villains decide to strike? It’s such a stereotypical move, and it doesn’t even have much of an impact. They show up, they get their butts kicked, and that’s it. No nuance, no layers, no sense of danger that sticks with you. They’re mid-tier villains at best, trying to be more than they are and failing miserably.


Ultimately, Jujutsu Kaisen is watchable. It’s entertaining enough, and the fight scenes will keep you engaged, but there’s nothing here that screams “special.” It’s a decent distraction, but if you’re looking for a shonen that breaks the mold, this isn’t it. For me, it’s a 5/10—average, mid, forgettable. If you’ve seen one shonen, you’ve pretty much seen this one too.

Dandadan is an anime that In my opinion can simply be defined as a entertaining piece of fiction, albeit with a mix of admiration and some reservations. Having watched seven episodes so far, I can confidently say that it excels in many areas while leaving room for some constructive critique.

The strongest aspect of the series lies in its voice acting and dialogues. The voice actors deserve immense praise for their stellar performances. They bring every emotion—be it humor, anger, or subtle nuances—to life with remarkable precision. Their delivery enhances the comedic and dramatic elements, making each scene memorable. In terms of voice work, Dandadan stands ... as one of the best I’ve experienced in the industry.

The animation is another highlight. While not groundbreaking, it perfectly complements the tone of the series. It strikes a balance between being visually appealing and staying true to the quirky, unorthodox nature of the story. Certain episodes, particularly episode seven, showcased exceptional direction and animation that added to the excitement. The seamless blend of creative direction and animation in key sequences deserves special mention.

Character dynamics are another charm. The relationship between the two main protagonists is engaging, and their interactions feel natural yet humorous. The introduction of a new character was also handled brilliantly, transitioning her from being perceived as a nuisance to someone viewers genuinely root for. The satire and absurdity of the show—where characters survive impossible situations with a shrug—add to its unique appeal. However, this un-seriousness also has its drawbacks.

On the flip side, the lack of realism, while entertaining, sometimes diminishes the relatability of the story. The characters and their situations, though fun to watch, feel detached from real-world stakes, which can hinder emotional investment. Additionally, the narrative lacks a strong sense of continuity. While each episode is enjoyable, there’s often no lingering curiosity or excitement for what’s coming next. It’s a series that entertains in the moment but doesn’t consistently compel you to hit “next episode” with bated breath.

Comparisons to other works, like Chainsaw Man, are inevitable. Dandadan feels lighter, less emotional, and less profound. This works both as a strength, as it makes for an enjoyable, low-pressure viewing experience, and as a weakness, since it doesn’t leave a lasting impact. It’s not the type of series you’ll remember fondly five years down the line as a life-changing watch.

In conclusion, Dandadan is an entertaining piece of fiction that knows its strengths—fun characters, great voice acting, and solid animation. While it doesn’t aim to be profound or deeply emotional, it’s an excellent choice for those seeking humor and light-hearted storytelling. It may not redefine the genre, but it succeeds in being a fun, entertaining ride for the moment.

Chainsaw Man isn’t just another anime — it’s a raw, unflinching exploration of human nature. What makes it stand out is how it doesn’t shy away from showing the reality of humanity, stripped of the usual black-and-white notions of good and evil. Instead, it delves into how circumstances shape us, how even the kindest person can break under pressure, and how even the most flawed individual can show moments of grace. It’s about the line between good and bad being blurred, about how fragile and malleable humans really are.

Denji, the protagonist, is the most realistic and human character I’ve ever seen in anime. At just ... 16 years old, he’s not chasing some grand, lofty dream or a world-changing ideal. Having grown up in extreme poverty, all he wants is a normal life — a roof over his head, good food, maybe a girlfriend. His desires are simple and raw, which makes him deeply relatable. Denji doesn’t even understand what it means to have "big dreams" because his definition of happiness is rooted in the basics he’s never had. That’s what sets him apart from the typical shonen hero: he’s flawed, grounded, and utterly human.

The supporting cast mirrors this same realism. They aren’t perfect, noble heroes; they’re deeply flawed, selfish, and vulnerable in ways that make them feel real. Even characters with grand ambitions aren’t glorified but portrayed with nuance, showing how such ambitions can alienate and isolate them. The depth of the characters lies in their contradictions — they seem shallow on the surface, but the more you watch, the more you realize how layered and profound they are.

Beyond the characters, Chainsaw Man excels in its art, and creativity. Its fights are brutal yet meaningful, the character designs are unique, and every visual detail feels intentional and fresh. It doesn’t borrow from other series — it creates something new, something that influences rather than imitates.

What makes Chainsaw Man truly remarkable is how it combines gritty realism with philosophical depth. It doesn’t just entertain; it challenges you to think about human nature, survival, and morality. It’s a masterpiece that sets a new standard for anime, and I wholeheartedly recommend it.

Having watched around 100 episodes of Black Clover, I can confidently say it’s one of the most disappointing anime experiences I’ve ever had. The series feels utterly uninspired, with lazy world-building, a generic plot, and a power system that lacks depth or creativity. Most of the side characters are bland and defined by repetitive quirks rather than actual personalities, making it hard to care about them.

The protagonist, Asta, embodies every shonen trope imaginable, but in the worst way. His loud, obnoxious behavior becomes unbearable to the point where I had to lower the volume whenever he spoke. While there are a few interesting moments and ... one or two characters with potential, the overwhelming majority of the cast fails to feel human or engaging. The antagonists and overarching conflicts are equally dull and uninspired, making the show a slog to get through.

Despite my hope that it might improve, Black Clover remained painfully generic, with little to set it apart from better-crafted shonen series. While the manga’s pacing might be more tolerable, the anime feels like the definition of "mid" — a soulless, tedious series that struggles to justify its runtime.

Alright, so let me start by saying this: I’ve been a Bleach fan for a long time, and even watching it from the lens of 2024, I can still appreciate what made it stand out in the past. Ichigo, in the early days, was this bold, confident character who was better than everyone else. He wasn’t some brooding, self-deprecating protagonist—you know, the usual “I’m different from others but don’t fit in” shtick. No, Ichigo was someone who straight-up didn’t care about being hated for his orange hair or his strength. He was that guy—stronger than everyone around him, unbothered by it. The characters, the power ... system, the fights—they all felt fresh, creative, and emotionally impactful. Bleach felt like a breath of fresh air in the shonen world.

Now, fast forward to Bleach: Thousand-Year Blood War - Part 3, and what the hell happened? This season is so mid, I don’t even know where to begin. It’s as generic as it gets. There’s nothing here that stands out. The villains have zero layers. They’re basically just there to exist. No depth, no personality, no real motivations—they’re just bad guys for the sake of being bad. It’s a bunch of “who’s stronger than who” fights, and it’s all just physical battle after physical battle. The philosophical or ideological conflict that made Bleach interesting in the past? Gone. It’s just one big slugfest where the most powerful one wins. That’s it.

Let’s talk about the main antagonist for a second. This guy’s goal is to destroy all three worlds and create a new one where death doesn’t exist. Fine, whatever. But then, when he absorbs the Soul King’s power—basically becoming almighty and omnipotent in the Bleach universe—what does he do? Does he go and obliterate the Soul Reapers who are coming for him? Nah, he just chills in his new royal castle, sitting on his throne, doing absolutely nothing. It’s like the writers didn’t even try to make this villain interesting. He’s just sitting there waiting to be attacked. And when the Soul Reapers finally come to attack, he doesn’t lift a finger. Instead, he sends his minions to do the dirty work. What’s the result? A group battle with random minions, and after some predictable back-and-forth fights, the heroes win. That’s it.

I mean, seriously, where’s the creativity here? There’s no substance, no emotional stakes, no complex battles of ideals—just a bunch of guys punching each other to see who’s stronger. Bleach was once something special, but this? This is just another shonen series following the most played-out, generic formula. If you’re hoping for something fresh or exciting, you’ll be sorely disappointed. It’s honestly disappointing to see a series with so much potential fall into such a lazy pattern.

And while we’re at it, can we talk about Orihime? What the hell is going on with her character design? Her boobs get bigger every single time she’s on screen. It’s like the animators had a meeting where someone said, “You know what would elevate this scene? More cleavage.” Why? For what purpose? This over-fetishization is completely unnecessary and honestly just embarrassing. She’s walking, she’s talking, and somehow it feels like the entire focus is on her chest rather than anything she’s actually saying or doing.

And it sucks, because I used to like her. Orihime was once a loving, caring character with genuine charm. Now, she’s been reduced to the most wasted, one-dimensional character in the series. And let’s throw Chad in there too, because what even is Chad’s role anymore? They’ve both been sidelined to the point of irrelevance. Oihime’s there for fanservice—plain and simple. Chad? He’s just there because Ichigo needs a token friend who doesn’t even participate in meaningful battles anymore.

But back to Orihime: what even is her outfit? Everyone else gets armor or a uniform that makes sense for their abilities or fighting style. But her dress? It’s practically designed to show off her cleavage for no reason other than, what, fanservice? From a logical point of view, it makes no sense. From a storytelling point of view, it’s trash. And as a viewer, it’s just plain cringy.

These characters deserve better. Orihime and Chad used to have depth. Now? They’re background props, and in Oihime’s case, a walking, talking excuse for unnecessary fanservice. It’s frustrating to watch, and it only highlights how much this series has lost its way.

So yeah, that’s my take. Bleach: Thousand-Year Blood War - Part 3 is mid, pure and simple. And it's such a letdown after everything that came before it.