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The current state of Isekai as a subcategory of fantasy has been watered down to a lucrative vehicle–exploited by the industry to rake in easy money and provide a platform for mediocrity. Much of the modern products of this category lacks creativity, effort, and care in producing even able titles. Only several titles emerged to challenge the status quo of derivative and uninspired storytelling produced by that of the Isekai genre–among them, early pioneering works, satirical interpretations, and occasional well-crafted narratives such as Re:Zero, The Eminence in Shadow, and Jobless Reincarnation. These exceptions distinguished themselves through coherent, character-driven storytelling (or clever satire) over indulgent power ... fantasy and superficial fanservice commonly associated with the genre, offering a more meaningful and rewarding experience for the audience.

It is for that reason that makes me wonder why one of the most well loved light novels–boasting the genre’s finest worldbuilding, magic system, character development, and narrative depth was met with such a poor adaptation. This adaptation was terrible not only because of an underqualified studio, low budget, and poor production; but because of the utter lack of care from those incharge of translating the story into a compelling animated form.

Three episodes in, a rushed nature for introduction became painfully clear–overloaded with exposition and character introduction compressed into a brief 60-minute runtime. Instead of taking the time to introduce the characters, magic system, and world coherently, each episode resembled that of a disted slideshow. Compared to the novel’s thoughtful pacing, which allowed the audience to discover the new world alongside Arthur, the anime’s fragmented vignettes gave the impression of a disorganized production, each scene feeling like it was completely separate from the other despite following the correct timeline.

In the world of The Beginning After the End, one of the most intriguing elements of its narrative is the complex magic system beautifully crafted by TurtleMe. However, this complexity is ultimately dumbed down by a poor introduction, where the concepts of augmenters and conjurers are undermined by weak explanations and visual aids that rival those of elementary school presentations.

The animation and voice acting fall significantly short, even when compared to lower-budget Isekai adaptations. Studio A-CAT’s execution lacks the emotional nuance necessary to convey key character traits—Alice’s vulnerability, Reynold’s immaturity yet caring warmth, Sylvia’s selfish yet motherly nature, and Arthur’s curiosity and growth are all diminished. The flat voice direction is compounded by uninspired dialogue and internal monologues that fail to reflect the emotional depth of Arthur’s journey. Rather than capturing the awe and vulnerability of someone discovering magic and family for the first time, the adaptation portrays an overly detached tone that undermines the story’s emotional core. While Grey’s past life justifies some restraint, the light novel never stripped Arthur of his humanity or youthful curiosity—an essential element missing in this project.

Reincarnation stories often feature deadbeat shut-ins or overworked office workers given a second chance at life. While these narratives aim to show growth, many—such as Mushoku Tensei—fall into the trap of instantly redeeming their protagonists, seamlessly raising their intellect by 50 IQ scores and absolving their most damning flaws exhibited in their previous life. In contrast, titles like The Eminence in Shadow embrace their protagonist’s strength from the start, Log Horizon keeps its tactician grounded in strategy as that is his inherent strength, and Re:Zero maintains Subaru’s physical weakness while emphasizing emotional resilience.

The Beginning After the End takes a similarly thoughtful approach. Its protagonist, Grey, was already a prodigy: a trained strategist, duelist, and king with mastery over the Ki system—an energy force akin to mana. This foundation makes Arthur’s progression as an augmenter not only believable but earned. Even subtle details, such as his mismatch between fighting skill and physical maturity, reinforce the story’s commitment to meaningful character development.

The story also offers a subdued, almost apathetic glimpse into Arthur’s past life as King Grey, painting a picture of a man who, despite his unmatched strength and status, lived a life devoid of warmth, connection, and purpose. This emotionally distant portrayal isn’t just background filler—it lays the groundwork for the personal journey Arthur is set to undergo. By showing how hollow Grey’s achievements ultimately were, the narrative gives weight to Arthur’s second chance. It makes his growth feel intentional and necessary, not just in of power, but in learning how to live meaningfully. It’s a quiet yet effective setup that underscores the emotional and philosophical core of the story. My praises end here.

Yes, I’m a fan of the original novel; and much of my criticism reflects my opinion of the source material. However, my opinions regarding the first few episodes of this anime still stand with or without bias. Even with low expectations following the studio and production announcements, the early episodes of The Beginning After the End still managed to disappoint. Despite being handed a compelling and well-structured source material, the adaptation fails to deliver even a able execution. Unless the project receives a significant boost in budget or is entrusted to a more capable studio, this anime risks serving as little more than a promotional tool for the light novel rather than a meaningful adaptation in its own right.

As the adaptation currently stands, there is no indication that this would step toe-to-toe alongside the few isekai anime that truly rises as a cut above the rest despite its potential. If anything, the lack of dedication into producing this project only gives me the impression as a promotional piece to direct new fans to the more delicately crafted manhwa and light novel. And honestly, that’s a direction I wholly encourage–whether you’re enjoying the anime so far or not.

Before diving into this review, I want to make it clear that I’m not here to praise or condemn Mushoku Tensei based on personal discomfort. The discourse surrounding this series often falls into two extremes: either labeling it along the lines of “MUSHOKU TENSEI IS DISGUSTING AND ANYONE WHO ENJOYS IT IS WORSE THAN SCUM,” or the contrary that claims “MUSHOKU TENSEI IS A DEEP AND MEANINGFUL JOURNEY AND ALL OF YOU HATE IT BECAUSE Y'ALL ARE SENSITIVE SNOWFLAKES.” It is either irredeemably vile or praised as a misunderstood masterpiece. I intend to take a more balanced approach while addressing the controversy that surrounds it. ... My goal is to inform readers who are considering giving Mushoku Tensei a try and maybe offer each side a wider perspective.

The reason Mushoku Tensei inspires such polarized responses is because it attempts to be more than just another escapist fantasy. It positions itself as a story about redemption–a character-driven narrative set in a world that gives its protagonist a second chance at life. However, before exploring whether it succeeds in that goal, it’s important to acknowledge its foundations.

Mushoku Tensei is undeniably trite. It borrows heavily from familiar tropes and themes common in the isekai genre, often prioritizing appeal over originality. Yet, author Rifujin na Magonote succeeds in crafting a protagonist with a coherent and believable backstory, whose motivations align with his character. The world–though formulaic–shows effort in its historical, cultural, and political layers, providing a solid narrative foundation. In of isekai, Mushoku Tensei is arguably one of the best. But given the generally low bar in the genre, that claim comes with an asterisk.

Isekai as a genre has a reputation for being derivative and formulaic in nature. The premise limited to ideas around a reincarnated protagonist with a purpose–be it slaying a demon lord or simply indulging in fantasy wish-fulfillment without having a conceivable plot. Mushoku Tensei could’ve easily fit into this description, but it did something different. It used the idea of reincarnation to create something meaningful: redemption. However, it ultimately fails to do so through reckless writing decisions.

Mushoku Tensei is, first and foremost, a redemption story. It doesn’t try to hide that–even marketing itself as such. A protagonist portrayed as an unforgivable bastard in his previous life and shows his regret in life living as a deadbeat. At his lowest, he decided to do one last act of humanity before Truck-kun claimed him as another victim, and lo and behold, he reincarnated in a new world where he can start anew. Unfortunately, that ambition is also where the narrative stumbles. Though Mushoku Tensei is built around the idea of personal growth and atonement, it often undermines its own premise through inconsistent and at times questionable writing decisions. This disconnect between intention and execution forms the core of the controversy surrounding the series.


Rudeus as a Character: Addressing the Controversy

As mentioned, Mushoku Tensei is a controversial title. Before diving into the story, I want to address the controversy. Feel free to skip ahead if you'd prefer. The backlash mainly stems from two things: the main character being a pedophile and the author’s objectification of women—especially children. While these themes are common within Japanese light novel media, Mushoku Tensei is centered on redemption, making these writing decisions especially questionable.

Pedophilia is evil. I think everyone can agree on that. I won't be deconstructing pedophilia as something to be taken personally nor provide thought-provoking commentaries about its evil. It is a sensitive subject, and whether or not it deserves credence in Mushoku Tensei's narrative is still debated. Yes, disturbingly creepy scenes are all over the novel series, but that doesn't decide its overall worth. If personal incapability to cope with unsettling scenes decide a poorly-written story, then works like Nabokov's Lolita would be dismissed, regardless of its critical acclaim. The key lies behind the author’s intent and how they handle a subject matter. For instance, in Lolita, Nabokov uses pedophilia to reveal the true moral decay of a character, all while weaving a deeper narrative without normalizing their behavior. Similarly, The Monogatari Series exaggerates its portrayal of such themes as a form of satire. In Mushoku Tensei, Rudeus’ damning flaws were intended to be a character foundation to create a redemption story. However, the intent and execution behind that decision falls flat. Rifujin na Magonote never addresses this flaw with the depth or intention it could have, reducing it to mere fan service rather than an integral part of Rudeus' growth.

Rudeus ultimately has a solid foundation. Although his competency as a mage was his most identifying development, his identity didn’t revolve around that alone. He is still a very much flawed and vulnerable character with room for growth–an element needed for redemption. He was introduced in his previous life heavily flawed as a person, socially and especially morally; a shut-in, free-loader, drop-out, even refusing to attend his parent’s funeral so he could beat his meat to child porn. Chekov’s gun was loaded, reborn to redeem himself. Unfortunately, the story undermines its own redemption arc the moment Rudeus shows no guilt or remorse for his past life post-reincarnation.

Some flaws are resolved, others dragged out, but the most damning is left completely unaddressed. It’s emphasized through repeated scenes and monologues, suggesting narrative importance, yet never serves as a turning point for growth. Chekhov’s gun is left unfired. Rudeus continues indulging in pedophilic fantasies, rendering that trait narratively pointless—a shallow display of lechery with no thematic weight. The redemption arc collapses further when every woman is objectified–be they adult or child–before Rudeus even considers his second chance at life. Nearly every female character is sexualized—not by Rudeus, but by the author—except the grannies, although I’m sure it has nothing to do with the author’s preference for women, right?

It’s difficult to redeem pedophilia, a sexual preference seemingly inherent in one’s mind. However, despite the lack of guarantee of scientifically grounded treatment, this flaw could have been used as a powerful element to explore the depths of his evil and personal transformation. Rufujin had the opportunity to depict Rudeus slowly confronting the depravity of his desire–maybe using his new relationship with his female friends and family to realize how vulnerable women and children are, thereby challenging his warped worldview. But the author either lacked skills and experience to execute this journey, or just plainly didn’t see anything wrong with that aspect of the protagonist’s character.

That's why I didn't understand the decision to make Rudeus a pedophile in the first place. The story didn’t need that–rather–the story would have thrived in its absence. His terrible qualities as a family member in his previous life would have been the perfect conflict he needed to resolve, but it was overshadowed by the emphasis the author placed on Rudeus’ interest in children. It's a thoughtless decision made by an amateur author who didn't understand the intricacies of what he was writing nor realize how hard it would be to create a string of developments that would allow Rudeus to deviate from the aforementioned problem. Either that or he made that decision to gratify those desperate for fanservice.

I won’t deny that Rudeus experiences growth in other areas. Although many of the changes were just him acting his physical age to avoid suspicion, his maturity in other areas are commendable. He overcomes his social trauma by stepping foot outside for the first time, discovers a sense of purpose in life through his competency in magic, and–after a pivotal moment in the story–acknowledges his shortcomings as a member of a family in his past life. However, there remains a lecherous omission of his character arc: he never grew past his deviant sexual desires. While Rudeus practiced proper manners, kindness, and sympathy, it is important to that propriety alone does not equate to morality. Regardless of personal growth, when the most damning flaw is left unaddressed, it undercuts the entire premise of a redemption narrative.


Worldbuilding: A Strong Foundation Poorly Built Upon

As previously mentioned, Mushoku Tensei relies on a formulaic plot and a generic framework to construct its world. It's important not to conflate the light novel with the anime in this regard. Studio Bind’s meticulous planning and research enriched the adaptation’s setting—going so far as to develop distinct languages with their own writing systems, adding authenticity and depth to the world. In contrast, the light novel shows little effort in these same areas. Aside from its well-structured magic system, most aspects of the worldbuilding feel underdeveloped or glossed over, missing the opportunity to elevate the story beyond its conventional fantasy trappings.

The world is rich in culture, diverse in races, and nuanced in political conflict. The only other gripe I have is a one-dimensional history. Everything built upon one line of history, a legend foreshadowed to be repeated. While not a critical flaw in the writing, it becomes tiring to hear how such events and cultures were built upon Laplace’s intervention, diminishing the complexity a world of this scale deserves.


Side Characters: A Weak

Past Rudeus as a central figure to the story, there aren’t many characters whose depth and narrative relevance can stand on par with our protagonist’s. Look no further than Paul, Gisu, Orsted, and Hitogami. Unlike our main character, Paul, in spite of his failures as a father and husband at times, acknowledged his shortcomings and didn’t run away from his past. He faced them head-on, redeeming his character, and was met with a complete and satisfying character arc. Gisu, meanwhile, hid his complexity behind a simple guise and utilitarian worldview–believing his actions served the greater good–yet still expressed remorse, highlighting internal conflict born from uncertainty rather than inherent villainy. Finally, Orsted and Hitogami, whose characters and conflict upscaled the plot so much, they took the main character role away from Rudeus.


Syphy, Roxy, and Eris: Rudeus’ Trophy Collection

The three love interests–Sylphy, Roxy, and Eris–could have been great characters. Their introductions and small personal journeys void of Rudy’s intervention allowed them to shine. However, once they become involved with our main character again, they are reduced to damsels in distress whose goals were ultimately turned to bearing our big-dicked protagonist’s children. I mean screw the “who will win the harem” theme, let my boy wife up all three love interests, I guess.

I was disappointed, especially with Eris’ development. Unlike the other two, she had her own journey–consciously making the choice to separate herself from Rudeus so she could grow independently–and for a time, she did. Upon reuniting with Rudeus, she held her own well enough. But apparently, Redeus’ big dick energy was a force so strong, it can collapse any semblance of female agency. Eris’ journey as a swordswomen and as a person ultimately feels futile–forgotten in favor of her being a trophy in Rudeus’ collection.


Forgotten Protagonist: The Cost for a Grander Plot

Orsted and Hitogami, to their credit, are arguably two of the most intriguing characters in Mushoku Tensei’s world. Their deep-rooted enmity, backed by ancient history, cosmological manipulation, and clashing motives, is ripe with potential–not only for the ultimate fate of their world, but as an avenue for Rudeus’ growth.

Orsted, the Dragon God–cold and fearsome, bound and cursed by duty and existence–acts with a sense of responsibility that shows a more complex figure beyond his stoic demeanor. Hitogami, the Human God, operates through charm and manipulation–his benevolent façade masking his selfish and malicious core. These opposing forces could have served as a rich backdrop: enhancing Rudeus’ arc, challenging his values, and pushing him toward maturity.

Instead, the narrative pivots in a direction that ultimately places Rudeus on the sidelines. As the tension between the two gods takes center stage, Rudeus ceases to be a protagonist and is reduced to nothing more than a tool–Orsted’s errand boy, caught in a war he barely understands. The focus shifts toward a more celestial conflict, abandoning the character-driven and introspective story that was promised–the redemption of a deeply flawed man.

The issue isn’t that Rudeus gets pulled into a grander plot. It’s that the story gives up on his character arc completely. Instead of using the conflict between Hitogami and Orsted as an avenue for moral growth, it uses him as a mouthpiece akin to that of a personal secretary. The Rudeus whose journey was once built on psychological conflict and a troubled past falls flat. His development stagnates, redemption is forgotten, and what remains is a character no longer driving the story but being driven by it.


Final Thoughts

If you can look past the ill-intended use of pedophilia, excessive perversion, and misogyny, Mushoku Tensei might still be worth your time. For all its faults, it remains one of the more polished and ambitious titles the isekai genre has to offer–though, given the genre’s baseline of mediocrity, that may not be saying much. But if you can’t stomach lecherous portrayal of pedophilia and underlying misogyny–consider this your way out. I read Mushoku Tensei so you don’t have to. Instead, I’d recommend The Beginning After the End–an isekai light novel that tackles reincarnation and redemption with far more nuance, restraint, and respect.

Solo Leveling has been entitled by many fans as something exceptional–”not like the other manhwas,” or “not like your other power fantasies.” Although I commend them for the awareness of the type of content consumed within the medium–a nod to the saturation of formulaic projects–they ultimately misrepresent what Solo Leveling is. Because, make no mistake: this is your typical power fantasy–a blueprint of one, only adorned with the silk of high production value. Solo Leveling is not necessarily a masterpiece, it’s just simply good at what it does.

Despite what I would consider mediocre character writing and world-building, the series never really sells itself as more ... than a power fantasy. While I do believe that the overall story is poorly written, the lack of nuance in its story is also its strength, only delivering exactly what its audience wants: a clean, visually stunning power trip, free of pretense.

Jin-Woo has a front-loaded development. Only early on can you find a well-paced, even engaging climb from weak to powerful. However, once he got a hold of how the system works, the fights become increasingly one-sided. No more questioning if he’ll win, thereby failing to keep readers at the edge of their seats. Still, the story deserves credit for decently escalating the stakes. The scale of conflicts moves past minimal threats as global consequences are introduced–keeping the story from stagnating, regardless if Jin-Woo’s win remains foreseen.

For all the narrative flaws, what truly carries Solo Leveling, and likely what pushed its success, is the art. Visually, the manhwa is above every other project. Fight scenes are fluid and dramatic, colors are vivid and striking, and the artist’s scale and perspective evokes an epic quality–for lack of a better term–in each and every . Jang Sung-rak, the artist, had one job and absolutely killed it.

However, for all its highs, Solo Leveling still lacks in many areas. At its core, this story is about Sung, Jin-Woo, an underdog turned unstoppable god. That’s not inherently a problem; the issue is that Solo Leveling past the first few chapters lacks tension, risk, and emotional weight. You are never in doubt that Jin-woo would always win, and I guess that’s the point behind every power fantasy. He suffers no real losses, overcomes every challenge with ease, and his enemies only exist solely for him to overpower. The outcome of every battle is evident from the start–there is no “if,” only “how fast.”

There exists an inverse relationship between Jin-Woo’s growth in power and how compelling he is as a character, exhibiting vulnerability and emotional grounding before his reawakening and in a few moments afterward. But with each level-up, his personality fades. Don’t confuse this with the plot’s intention to make Jin-Woo lose certain emotions; he genuinely becomes a duller version of himself in exchange for aura points. What remains is an uncompelling character meant more for projection rather than reflection.

Look further from our protagonist, every character has the same amount of nuance–or lack thereof, each only playing a part in helping Jin-woo show how big his dick is rather than challenging him. Allies exist to ire him; enemies exist to fall before him. Even S-ranked hunters–figures who should carry their own gravitas–are ultimately sidelined in favor of Jin-Woo and his shadows. By the final battle, every major moment belongs to him alone—everyone else is simply irrelevant, or worse, a liability.

Among the sea of one-dimensional figures, only a few can be considered able and offer a semblance of emotional grounding. The only decent side characters are his family who treats him as a brother or son, and Lee, Joo-Hee, a potential love interest who sees past Jin-Woo's identity as a hunter only for her to be forgotten halfway through the story.

Each character, fight, and narrative turning point exists only to elevate Jin-Woo. The story offers no complexity–only a setting crafted for our protagonist to thrive on. But to its credit, that’s all you ever really need for a power fantasy.

Ultimately, Solo Leveling is anything but unique. It doesn’t push the medium forward or challenge the genre’s status quo, but it understands its appeal and wears it with confidence. Despite its shallow story, it’s clean, coherent, and tailor-made to satisfy anyone looking for a turn off your brain, visually stunning power fantasy.

Welcome to Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School where we take in the most competent among the elite students for the sake of Japan's future. Or at least that was what the story was supposed to do. Instead, we are left with an incoherent group of students who competes for the title of Edge Lord.

Honestly, I enjoyed Classroom of the Elite. This light novel series intrigued me enough to complete two volumes a day. I don't usually find stories set in school enjoyable, but this was indeed a page-turner. But although engaging, is the story in its ... entirety good? My answer would be no. My enjoyment is, after all, subjective, and not everyone would have the same experience. Enjoyment does not equal being objectively good, and it took me a while before I decided to write a review so I could remove any bias I may have. I don't want it to look like I dislike the story (Which I don't), so I'll say this now; this review is mainly criticizing the flaws of Classroom of the Elite. Spoilers are mentioned further in the review.

The story takes place in a school ed by the Japanese government to raise students to lead the country in the imminent future. Basically, a standard school's vision but put to the extreme. They don't accept students with academic superiority alone but students who are also competent in separate fields like judgment, physical ability, and cooperativeness. So everyone has a chance to enter the school. This sets up the first flaw, which is the students present in the institution. It just seems too easy to be accepted. Each year 160 students from Japan can enter the school, meaning that 160 out of millions of students in Japan are selected to enter the country's top school. This part makes me question why students like Ike, Sakura, and many others got accepted in the first place. With the school's standards, I can understand why Sudou got in and why students like Koenji and Horikita are in class D despite their overwhelming competence. But students with straight C's and even B's in all the fields by logic should not have ed the school's standards. Mediocrity being allowed in the country's best school doesn't make sense. It's the same flaw I find with My Hero Academia, with students like Mineta and Hagakure ing UA High school and in the hero course at that. It may look like I'm nitpicking characters, but it's clear that students incompetent in all fields of ability are present in the institution.

After ing the entrance exams and the interview, these said students are assigned to a class decided by their competence. Many institutions use this method in real life, but what makes this interesting is that this is the part of the narrative where the author associated the question involving equality, but inherently, does that even matter? Are the different classes representative of hierarchy? The higher classes as a representation of those with power and the lower ones as powerless? The first scene of the story shows an exchange of words showing a brief social commentary that explains the topic. However, once the story arrives at the school, it doesn't matter anymore or, at least, fails to bring correspondence. It's just a poor attempt to use the flawed school system and characters as an analogy of society.

Yes, the school is indeed flawed. Firstly, how rich is Japan? The school gives free money to the students each month and supplies the items in each store throughout the school, including an entire mall. Not to mention that the school hired all the employees for all the stores, owns crews ship, and gives extra class points and private points given as awards for tests.

The amount of money used for the school brings up another question; is the result worth it? Using this method to create "Elites," I mean. Half of the graduates would probably just work jobs that ordinary graduates could do. With wasting millions of Yen on students' allowance, billions or even trillions on infrastructure, employment, and miscellaneous. Japan is just going to add more to its debt before any of the students here makes a change for the country's economy. A competitive school environment where students are left to their own devices isn't needed to make these elites. If anything else, the white room seems to be a better place to use that money.

Let's see, what else... A student council that has all power over the school, check; rules left with holes to be bent for the sake of the plot, check; that's about it, I suppose. Tell me if there's anything else I've missed.

Now for the characters. Firstly, Kiyotaka Ayanokouji; Arguably the only character worth criticism, but I'll still tackle the general cast later. Ayanokouji is portrayed as this super-genius, well-hung kid, but he chooses to hide his genius to fit in with the rest of the students and have an ordinary student life. In doing so, he purposely scored a half-perfect score in all subjects of the entrance exams and a few others after that. He should have at least tried to have an arbitrary set of scores for each subject so it wouldn't look painfully obvious. In addition, his scores would have been more believable if he hadn't answered the hard questions correctly while he answered wrong to some of the easy questions. In any ordinary school, his performance wouldn't have been that important. However, in his environment where competence is needed and filled, or supposed to be filled, with other geniuses, wouldn't appearing to be competent be a better way to not stand out?

Ayanokouji's initial motive was to live as an ordinary student, but this was interfered with due to being caught up in other people's business. He got the attention of highly acclaimed students and competition, and Chabashira sensei threatened him to compete for class A. Of course, this could have been avoided if he didn't stand out too much due to his test scores and going overboard on special tests like the race with Manabu. That's all my criticism for our protagonist, everything else about his character is very thought out, especially his development in connotation to his past and initial personality, from a very apathetic person to slowly developing feelings for someone and accepting his friends. However, that does render his infamous monologue in volume three irrelevant.

Now for the general cast. We have the perfect stereotypes to create a generic high school classroom. Sudo, A tuff guy who can't control his temper; Hirata, the class' heart rob and representative; Kurizawa; an annoying girl who is in a "relationship" with the said handsome class representative; Suzune Horikita, the class genius; Kushida, our yandere with big fucking tiddies; girls in the "hot girls" clique, a few introverts, and a bunch of morons who have no significant qualities (As I have already mentioned, these idiots shouldn't even be in the school, to begin with). Also, why do some high school students look like divorced fathers in their forties? While generic, that doesn't mean all of the characters are inherently bad. There are a couple of exemptions; Sudou and Kurizawa.

Sudou's character is great to show the audience of the school's standards (If it wasn't for other idiots, at least). The school's description in the light novel places high emphasis on not accepting students who are only intellectually competent. In Sudou's case, it's his athletism that got him itted. And his development on slowly improving his grades, whether having his motivation (Suzune) or not, makes him an even better character. I only have a couple of minor problems with his character, that would be that he was too dumb initially, and the other being his sudden affection for Suzune Horikita. I wish there could have been a gradual development to his feelings rather than "If Ayanokouji doesn't like her, then I'll like her instead." Kei is also a decent character, but that was only prominent after being Ayanokouji's tool. Loving someone she hated might seem like an overused cliché, but her relationship with Ayanokouji prior to the confession scene makes it work.

Despite my criticism, I would actually like to recommend this to anyone, unless they absolutely hate edgy characters and pseudo-intellectual dialogue. Yes, it's filled with flaws but, the author was able to make it engaging, especially to those fond of power fiction in the shape of an intellectually prominent setting. If you believe I may be wrong with any of these statements or if I left something out, feel free to discuss it with me as my main objective is not to hate on the story but to give voice to the minority.

In completing the series, I was left with a lingering sense of disappointment. I’ve had my fair share of commercially successful works whose acclaim I’ve long since learned to distrust. My experience with this light novel, therefore, was unfiltered–reactions completely honest as it is unembellished. As the story progressed, a sense of obligation began to override my enjoyment–finishing the story not because I found it worth it, but because I've invested way too much time to not reach the conclusion. In the end, it was a story that didn’t resonate with me–but one I had to endure.


Despite being a teen myself at the time of ... reading My Youth Romantic Comedy is Wrong, As I Expected (Oregairu), it’s difficult to find these characters entirely relatable, or at least believable within the context of their nature.

Hachiman Hikigay is a character grounded in pessimism–a self-titled cynic whose worldview is steeped in people and the society surrounding them. Those who share his misanthropic tendencies, he might initially seem relatable. And while some of his observations abide by a shallow truth, much of it feels less insightful and more self-important. A worldview that brings nothing new to the table–at best, he embodies a kind of surface-level cynicism found within the minds of edgy teens who knew about Nietchzche for roughly around a week.

A popular sentiment shared among fans is how Hikigaya is the more relatable character in the story. Given the roster of characters, that is not a reach–but that speaks more to their own projections than to any meaningful depth in his characterization. An outlook brimming with contraindications; shifting values depending on the demand of pivotal points. These contradictions can be seen as a character’s personal growth–there lacks a coherent throughline that makes these acts of maturity believable. This hinders him from outgrowing his worldview in exchange for fixing relationships he has no business with. He’s less a fully realized character, but a mouthpiece for expressing the author’s opinion, but too often comes off as something–for lack of a better word–edgy.

His acts of martyrdom–acts of destroying his own image for the sake of others he openly despises–rings hollow. It isn’t something I’d call noble; it’s performative. An act of sacrifice only Jesus Christ himself would embody. The protagonist is less a mirror of someone you’d meet in real life, let alone if that someone is in highschool, but more a bundle of contrarian talking points. That said, he is depicted as a dramatized version of an introverted, intelligent, selfless otaku that manages to attract a decent circle of friends. If you think that’s relatable, sure I believe you; but I’ve yet to encounter someone that exhibits all these traits.

If you’re reading this with your MyAnimeList tab open, odds are that you see yourself, to some degree, in him–minus two hot girls slowly developing feelings for you.

Jokes aside, our protagonist does have a certain depth and charm to him that most likely marketed the success of the novel. He is still flawed and develops significantly throughout the novel series, but just falls short due to Wataru Watari’s execution. He felt more like a tool for the author to project his worldview, rather than a character that exhibits these opinions. An adult’s experiences and behavior molded to a teenage character that realistically wouldn’t bear these burdens.


And speaking of those two beautiful women, I feel like they are the most flawed among all the characters. Yui Yuigahama and Yukino Yukinoshita. First, let's talk about Yui. If I can describe her character with one word, it would be "convenient." She feels more like a tool than an actual character. An instrument to keep Hikigaya's and Yukinoshita's relationship from falling apart. She was there just for the sake of having a love triangle. On the other hand, Yukinoshita plays the role of our main heroine. A character so similar to Hikigaya, yet so different. Like our main character, she has no friends, but this time by choice. She was loved throughout the whole school despite her cold attitude towards everyone. A bleak and flat character. And despite receiving almost all of the character development in the story, her character is still flawed. She and Hikigaya, despite being heavily entitled to their ideals, were easily manipulated by a single word.

There are only three likable characters in my opinion, and one is Totsuka for totally non-gay reasons - I swear I'm straight (But seriously, he is such a lovable character). Next is Hiratsuka sensei who I honestly believe is a great role model. And the last one being Hayama. Now, if you're the majority of people who love Hikigaya's character, you're probably shaking your heads. But Hayama is the best representation in the show not only for a good character of a story but also for a good person in general. He is only disliked because his character is meant to serve as Hikigaya's rival. Possessing ideals and methods opposing the main character's. Wataru Watari placed too much weight between Hayama and Hikigaya's relationship to the point where Hayama is villainized. He cares about his friends so much so that he asked help from someone he hates. He didn't reveal what his plans for the future are so his friends can make their own decisions, and Hikigaya tried to ruin that just because of a request.

That's another thing I find flawed about the story - the service club, with a goal or duty to help students with their needs. The idea, in the beginning, was a breath of fresh air. A slice of life where the main character isn't part of a literature club. It was a great idea at first but it started getting out of hand. It was all just simple requests at first but then they started working with the student council. It was all logistics, logistics, and logistics. I could not have imagined that a span of several pages could be filled with vague logistics alone. It was one of the most annoying parts of the story, where instead of the story progressing, we are presented with several pages of useless information. If you were to read the story, I would suggest skipping over these parts as it holds nothing of importance to the story (Except the volume where their school collaborated with another to hold an event, where the logistics are actually an important part of that section of the story). They were working so much with the student council that the possibility proposed by the previous student council president of all three leaving the service club and moving to the student council was a more preferable turn, as they still have a duty of attending to the student's needs. And then we get requests that were too personal. This was something more convenient than logical in the story. Normal regulations would cause to disregard personal requests like helping with a confession or finding out what choice someone had for their future even though they have explicitly said they don't want to reveal it. Hikigaya was a reasonable person with intellectual competence, so he should be able to know when a request is getting out of hand. He should know that some of these requests were an invasion of privacy and plain out insensitive. Yet he still went with them. What for? To show the struggles of adolescence? To show that humans don't need anyone's validation to make their own decisions? If so, then the message is exaggerated and poorly executed.

The dialogue and situations in the story felt way too convenient. I know I've been using the word "convenient" a lot in this review, but it is one of the flaws in the story. Instead of being believable or natural, many parts of the story felt like it was just conveniently and weakly planned. All the drama in Orgairu was just the source of miscommunication. The author chooses words for the dialogue to conveniently create misunderstandings and conflicts. There were also times when the conflict came out of nowhere, where no reason was given on why there was stress in the situation (e.g. the reactions when Hikigaya faked a confession).

For clarification, I understand that many things within a story have to hold convenience to devise a plot as what makes a good story good is meticulous planning. Many aspects of Oregairu had devices that only hold importance to a specific subject and not the entirety of the story or part of the story's development.

As I've seen from Wataru Watari's work, he is no doubt a great author, but his mistake was putting too much of himself in his work. Getting attached to your story, especially your characters when writing is common, but sometimes, it can be too much. It is okay to put your feelings into the story but it is also important to not put too much of yourself into it as well. Looking forward to reading more of his works.

I still would like to recommend this light novel to people despite the criticism I gave. The majority of people seemed to like it, and I can see why this is a commercially successful story. So if you like your basic harem but with a little bit of edginess, feel free to give Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Comedy wa Machigatteiru a read.