Konshuu Volume 56, Issue 6.5

KONSHUU

vol. 56 #6.5

Tony 3!?

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

ON GAINAX, DAICON IV, AND PASSION TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

I'm just not going to mention The Chocolate Panic Picture Show.

I think that as a fan of anime (as well as some other otaku-related media), I generally fetishize passion. In a sense, that very concept is at the root of this medium and various others associated with it. Given the prevalence of, say, original video animations in the 1980s and 90s, which essentially marketed themselves off of reputation and willingness to express unique ideas not often present in more mainstream television anime of the time, I think that anime has in some regard always celebrated expression of the unique.

For that matter, no studio better represents this perspective more than Studio Gainax. As a studio with no roots in the industry’s beginnings, it stands out even by being the first studio created by a second generation of anime creatives who derived inspiration not from outside sources, but from anime itself.

Today, this has led to an incestuous industry which constantly outputs ‘subversive’ material that in reality fits with the establishment and has mass appeal. Indeed, I can’t really say many good things about the consequences of Studio Gainax’s passion, as I believe it eventually introduced factors which fundamentally doomed Japanese animation. In the 1980s and 1990s, however, this was still relatively refreshing given how the industry had only really been kickstarted in any real way in the late 1960s. One could call Gainax’s success as being purely due to first mover advantage, but when their output is looked at closely, you couldn’t get further from reality. Having created classics like Gunbuster, Nadia, and, of course, Neon Genesis Evangelion, the Gainax of the 20th century is arguably one of the only studios which produced a dense amount of high quality animation without much fluff. For that matter, I also enjoy less popular (at least in comparison) anime like Otaku no Video, Honoo no Tenkousei, and Kareshi Kanojo no Jijou.

While the studio released some interesting series after the turn of the millennium, like Mahoromatic, Diebuster, and, yeah, Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, it was diluted far more with forgettable releases. For every Gurren Lagann, there was a Kore ga Watashi no Goshujin-sama. With every Diebuster came a Kono Minikuku mo Utsukushii Sekai. By mixing in releases that did not aspire to the same standard, Gainax’s “glory days” became more and more a thing of the past, particularly when large groups of their staff left to start other organizations like Studios Gonzo, Khara, and Trigger. Ultimately, Gainax today is a relic of the past, something that only exists as a name. Still, all their releases in the 1980s and 1990s exude ubiquitous, pervasive feelings of devotion that are palpable. I may criticize the eventual effect that Gainax had on the industry, but their enthusiasm for anime

production is captivating and enjoyable in of itself. While Evangelion may be their most famous, not to mention my personal favorite work of theirs, I think no series better represents the “otaku” sense of passion, which as a whole defined the studio, quite like the Daicon IV Opening Animation.

The Daicon animations are, essentially, fan made animations made by the Gainax crew prior to the formation of the studio proper. They were meant to be shown at the twentieth and twenty secondth Nihon SF Taikai, which were dubbed “Daicon III” and “Daicon IV” due to being the third and fourth times the convention was to be located in Osaka. Definitely not meeting any proper copyright laws, the Daicon IV animation, set to ELO’s “Prologue” and “Twilight” from their Time album, is essentially a six minute film featuring a bunny girl flying around and fighting various characters and creatures. Series represented include Star Wars, Space Battleship Yamato, Super Dimension Fortress Macross, Lord of the Rings, and so, so, many more.

There really isn’t any plot to speak of. Yet, what is so moving about the animation is the sheer amount of passion that went into it. Not only is the animation stunning and butter-smooth, but the way it captures the sensibilities and interests of the 1980s science fiction otaku is breathtaking. Certain cuts of animation are also unique. Particularly, some scenes at the end bear a striking resemblance to Gainax’s End of Evangelion, which was released around fifteen years later. In a sense, Daicon IV is an anime that could only have been made in its particular time and place by its specific creators. The short anime Otaku no Video serves as a fictionalized account of Daicon IV’s creation, though it itself exists as a metanarrative on dedicated geeks. Within it, the characters detail aspects of just how difficult it truly was to create certain animation bits and cuts.

Coupled with this context, then, Daicon IV is in a sense the pinnacle of anime in how it demonstrates the root core of the fan devotion that leads to self perpetuating creative output. Studio Gainax created works I consider better in the following two decades, but ultimately, Daicon IV is the purest distillation of their efforts as anime fans-turned-creators. Funnily enough, it captures a sort of ‘devil may care’ attitude which defined the 1980s, in both culture and finance. Just as America and Japan encountered economic issues as a result of that trend, anime as a culture experienced setbacks due to certain ideas brought to prominence by Gainax. Still, the period before eventual ruin (for America’s economy it was 2007, in Japan it was 1991) is something that I find enjoyable to fondly look back upon even if I was not a part of it. Hence, I find Daicon IV to be a unique time capsule not just of Studio Gainax’s dedication, but to a more simple time for the anime industry. It’s hard to find good quality versions online, especially given the tenuous legality of featuring numerous intellectual properties without permission, but it truly is worth watching and viewing the birth of, quite likely, the most influential anime studio ever. Gainax may be dead, but Daicon IV forever stands as a testament to their staff’s passion.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

THE “REAL” ENDING OF GINTAMA TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

Quite often, for long running anime series, the second cinematic feature somehow seems to be the best.

The idea of Gintama ending was floated around so many times in the series as a joke that when it ultimately did reach its finale, it felt somewhat underwhelming. Frankly, the ending of Gintama, starting around the Rakuyou arc, always felt a bit lacking whether it be because the overall conclusion felt a bit too much like a retread of the series’ best hits or due to the comedy/drama balance being disrupted. Not helping were the changes in release format. Initially ending on chapter 698 in Weekly Shonen Jump, Gintama’s subsequent moves to Jump Giga and then its own app felt strange. These six following chapters were far longer than the series’ typical length too, and demonstrated the author’s inexperience with a format outside of Weekly Shonen Jump’s typical nineteen or so page count per chapter. Another factor was clearly the flip flops in continuity, as the series entertained multiple timeskips within its last arc alone, leaving the entire narrative feeling disconnected. All in all, the ending to Gintama was decent, albeit the strange circumstances around it clearly left a sour taste in some people’s mouths. While the anime adaptation fixed some of the issues in terms of release format, it still encountered the same setbacks narratively.

It’s odd, because Gintama’s prior “finale” in an anime format essentially accomplished the exact same things as the true finale, all while leaving the series open to future continuations which ultimately happened. While its name is somewhat ironic in retrospect, Gintama Movie 2: Be Forever Yorozuya fundamentally serves as an excellent ending to the franchise. Released after the third season, Gintama’ Enchousen, the second film essentially continues the relevant plot points up until that portion of the story. Delving further into Gintoki’s past, the second film’s narrative is admirable in how it seemingly encounters many obvious pitfalls in storytelling yet avoids feeling cheap. For instance, the film’s plot revolves around time travel, which isn’t exactly easy to write well. Be Forever Yorozuya avoids this by having the film primarily set in the future and showing how Gintoki’s actions in the main series have an impact on events far longer down the line. In a way, it mirrors how the Gintama anime often features flashbacks to Gintoki’s adolescence in efforts to show how his past in a war-torn era defined the goofball he ended up becoming as an adult. Furthermore, this is smoothed out with the film’s beginning, which, in typical Gintama fashion, begins a

rather serious story via comedic fourth-wall breaks. By having the time travel initiated by a parody of anti-piracy messaging in the film’s beginning, which simultaneously mocks Kaze Tachinu and K-On!, it simultaneously hints that the time travel elements aren’t to be taken too seriously, and are more the framing for the actual story. The film’s villainous force is something obviously retconned into the narrative given how it was never present in prior material. The film is at least forgivable in tying its antagonists into the main themes and story, in addition to being conceivable as part of its world. Oddly enough, this heavily mirrors the overly convoluted “true” final villain of the Gintama series, though I would say the second film actually exceeds it tremendously in this regard.

With the film’s focus on the world five years after Gintama, it mostly follows a similar structure to the show. The television series often took a comedic concept and portrayed how each individual member of its large cast would react to it, in a way not unlike less dramatic series like Urusei Yatsura. Be Forever Yorozuya mirrors this approach, spending much of its runtime showing the residents of Edo and how they have changed, whether it be in comedic or dramatic scenes. In doing this, the film’s conclusion, which essentially takes the “canceled Shonen Jump” manga approach of indicating that the world will continue and the characters will move onwards, is made more impactful. Humorously mirroring the series’ actual finale in many ways, the second film’s ending is more powerful in how it shows the world without Gintoki, demonstrating the vitality of his presence in the main cast. A slight problem arises in the finale, though. With the entire cast traveling back to Gintoki’s past and fighting the film’s villain, it makes for a bombastic finale that builds on the series’ main messages. Yet, the plot conceit of time travel, thus far being unintrusive, makes the finale a contradictory paradox.

Still, with Be Forever Yorozuya effectively erasing itself from continuity, this is something that I can overlook. Not only are the time travel elements rather light, but the film’s existence as both a finale and a possible lead-in to future material make the wishy-washy nature of its plot understandable. In many ways, the film is admirable for walking that line of continuation or conclusion and functioning properly as both. As a whole, Be Forever Yorozuya is a film which exceeds the admittedly low standards of most battle shonen films and provides a self-contained conclusive story which still ties into the plot of Gintama. The series’ first film, a retelling of a pivotal arc, and its third feature, the canon finale, both have stronger ties to the main story. Yet its second film, completely skippable if one were to experience the full series, is arguably a better Gintama story than either one.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

BATTLE OF GODS: A DECADE LATER TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

Drunk Gohan is the best part.

It’s odd for me to consider that the Dragon Ball revival project has been going for almost a decade now. I’ve had almost half of my life elapse, moved internationally four times, and incurred at least one misdemeanor offense in the time since Dragon Ball returned to animation with Battle of Gods. And yet, in that long stretch of time I can confidently say that I’ve only been really positive about one new entry in the series: the recently released Super Hero film. New Dragon Ball content, for me, struggles with progressing the series’ narrative in any meaningful way. Instead of long-running character arcs, they have new colored transformations. Rather than continuing past the original series’ finale, newer Dragon Ball media seems content to stay in the preceding ten-year timeskip. Economically, the newer content has been a smash hit, revitalizing Dragon Ball as a pop culture juggernaut even four decades after its inception. But the actual films and tv series have been something of a mixed bag for me.

I’ll let you in on a little secret: my interest in the Dragon Ball franchise has been in the shadow of new content since the very first time I saw the series. Unlike many, I didn’t grow up watching Z on American television. In fact, the first thing I ever saw from the series was a somewhat newly released Battle of Gods, dubbed in Chinese, in a camp bus while I was visiting Asia for a summer. At the time, I was probably in middle school, but had little conception of who or what the characters were. The film was equally intriguing and replusing to me – its large cast and interesting lore was captivating to me (though I probably annoyed a few peers by continuously asking questions), but the action bored me to tears. Because of this, I actively shut out Dragon Ball from my mind for another few years and went back to watching Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Revolutionary Girl Utena, or whatever the heck I was into around 2014. The series only became my favorite anime after I finally watched it in full around my high school years and realized that it contained some of what I consider to be the most satisfying long term narratives in fiction.

But as such, Battle of Gods holds a unique spot in my mind compared to other Dragon Ball media. I would never compare it highly to something like the original manga or GT, yet it’s certainly miles beyond mindless drivel like Resurrection「F」(don’t

get me started). The new characters in Beerus and Whis are actually pretty interesting, and match Toriyama Akira’s penchant for writing godly beings with some level of goofiness to match the horrors of what they can accomplish. Their eldritch powers are matched by their gluttony, a trait that humanizes them and establishes them as possibly the best new-era Dragon Ball characters (Zamasu had potential, but failed to stick the landing). Beyond that, the legend of the Saiyan God is a fun lore bit. It somewhat tramples on the toes of the original series’ build up to Super Saiyan, but the original series could be said to itself be guilty of diminishing that legend. The first half of Battle of Gods is definitely the highlight, as the large cast is given room to bounce off of each other with fun character moments.

The film seems especially keen to include goofy moments like drunk Gohan or the Vegeta dance, perhaps a sign of Toriyama Akira’s increased creative control along with his initial claim to fame as a gag manga author. In fact, there’s very little I can criticize in Battle of Gods’ narrative. Many of the negative things I could say about elements introduced in the film are the result of what later material did with these concepts. They have very little bearing on how I view Battle of Gods itself.

Where I would get rather negative, though, is the latter half. Like most Dragon Ball films, Battle of Gods front loads itself with fun things like characterization and narrative, only to dissolve into a mess of long winded action scenes in its second half. In fact, the film is very much emblematic of the structural issues plaguing later Dragon Ball content, like Super; ignoring narrative issues, new Dragon Ball always seems to have great slice of life and gag writing, but simply cannot engross me in its action.

The original Dragon Ball manga’s later arcs were all rather action heavy, but most of the time, the action meant something. The action had a certain flow to it that progressed the story instead of just being a mindless mush of punches, glowy colors, and screams. Unfortunately, Battle of Gods and later content have reinforced the notion that Dragon Ball is only about dumb buff guys fighting each other. That look is somewhat unfair to this film itself, though. Seen alone and ignoring content released since, Battle of Gods is a fun fanservicey film that introduces interesting characters and has some remnants of the tone that made the original series so great. I feel that its consequences were a disaster for the franchise, but that would be judging the film on somewhat unfair criteria. Battle of Gods is made very average when taking into account its latter half of senseless action, but it is still something I’d say I wasn’t dissatisfied with viewing again.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

A POORLY EDITED RECOMMENDATION OF ADOLESCENCE APOCALYPSE TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

Perfection

I don’t like works that rely too hard on symbolism in order to be understood. Occasionally, as in around every year or so, some series with heavy amounts of implied messages with nothing outright confirmed will release, with its audience claiming that it’s a masterpiece of unrivaled proportions and that it will ultimately change the face of the industry.

Then, about two weeks after it airs, it gets forgotten, only referenced when ardent nerds like me dig them up for discussion years after the fact. This is true of most seasonal anime, but I find it especially relevant for certain psychological dramas with heavy melodramatic elements. Yes, people remember Evangelion, but do many still discuss, say, RahXephon or Soukyuu no Fafner all that often? These shows aren’t necessarily bad, but I find them ultimately forgettable because they exist to scratch an itch which has already been fully addressed by another work in great detail. Series like Monogatari (although I’d argue that its influences could be traced further back to Haruhi Suzumiya) or, say, Madoka Magica, are similar in this sense, where they shifted the popular opinion of how a certain type of media is looked at resulting in an annual wave of imitators that get compared favorably only to be washed away by the sands of time. But again, this seems most evident in dramatic psychological fiction, specifically those aimed at teenagers, as that is an audience where every bold idea is new and thus revolutionary.

Revolutionary Girl Utena is not one of those series. In fact, it is so distinct from the cultural trends of its era, or really any era, to where it’s actually been quite difficult for me to write an introduction into it. The above rambling isn’t really my best work, but I can’t think of anything better.

Utena is a series that speaks on ideas so broad yet in so much detail to where I consider it must-watch media for anyone interested in anime. Its messages regarding the nature of coming of age and conforming to social pressures is perhaps some of the most compelling I’ve seen in fiction, much less the medium of anime. Utena is the rare anime series that I will read deeply into and come out with an idea that I don’t necessarily need to accept under a “death of the author” interpretation as I am fully confident in Ikuhara Kunihiko’s intentions. And yet, I don’t consider

it perfect. There’s slight issues with the pacing – while the repetition of certain elements works thematically and is brilliantly woven into the main concept of revolution, it isn’t always compelling. While I enjoy the Black Rose portion of the storyline as a sort of intermission, I cannot deny that a more complete version of the same story would probably not include it. Additionally, Utena looks absolutely stellar for a television anime with thirty nine episodes due to great direction and shot composition, but there is a decent amount of scene reuse that gets slightly annoying if the series is binged.

Adolescence Apocalypse, then, represents the best iteration of the ideas present in Utena while not outright overwriting the original series. Effectively, the film is a take on the same concepts, such as the somewhat flawed pursuit of an idealized image that Utena Tenjou engages in. However, it refines the ideas. This goes beyond the film’s gorgeous aesthetics (it is one of the best looking anime films of all time) or its soundtrack. Even the most basic ideas within the original series, such as a bit regarding cars (which probably plays on the role that driving a car has attained in coming of age within Western cultures), is expanded. Presenting a far more accentuated version of the original, the film goes far and beyond by also illustrating the inherent themes with more depth and more development. This could be seen in two ways.

Adolescence Apocalypse is somewhat flawed in that it relies on understanding of the series and hence the series and its several faults must be experienced before seeing the film. In a different view, though, the film is brilliant in taking an already superb series and expanding on relevant concepts. Most features considered by film snobs as cinematic masterpieces are standalone in terms of not needing any context to understand. Adolescence Apocalypse could never reach those standards, then, given its ties to Revolutionary Girl Utena, but just like the film implies with its ideas, those standards and labels are simply a construct of collective acceptance. In a manner that I could best compare to End of Evangelion, the Utena film is a film that demonstrates the brilliance of its accompanying series. Thus, it raises the medium of television anime as a whole by showing that even a series aimed at geeks with bizarre passions, can, with enough talent and directorial effort, be raised to amazing heights. While it isn’t my favorite anime, and I dislike descriptions of media using terms implying objectivity exists in art, I do subjectively consider Adolescence Apocalypse a film that is worthy of being considered high art.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

Tony T. Former Treasurer, Former Vice President, Future Konshuu Head(?)

THE 3 ₵EN Ewik Nelson Eats bugs

Angel Mendez Some dude who strolled in and is loitering

Based on what criteria do you rate anime/manga?

I consider 5 as the average and work from there. I try to keep my scores on something of a reasonable distribution. Ultimately, though, it's all based on my personal enjoyment because art is subjective.

How much i enjoy it.

I don't rate anime. I just love, like, dislike, and hate anime. At the end of the day, anime is overall just a beautiful thing.

Why is the Tony Issue the best Konshuu issue?

It's almost over.

Watch Lain.

It's mid + ratio + Peaksona 5 is better.

Have you seen Serial Experiments Lain?

Lain?

Watch Lain.

Watch Lain.

No please make it stop. No more Lain. Please.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

NT ₵ORNER Felix L. Ballin'

Willow Otaka "A real Tony fan"

Sophia Xue Konshuu Artist

Based on what criteria do you rate anime/manga?

Enjoyment alone, although what that enjoyment stems from can be diverse, from a piece of media's ideas to its artistic direction, and many other elements that make something worthwhile to experience.

I like to judge anime based on my personal tastes.

Whether that’s a cute anime girl/ boy, buttery smooth animation, or even an emotion, I know that all of these factors don’t necessarily equate to “good” objectively.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that because my ratings are so personal, I try to understand that other’s tastes are heavily influenced by their personal tastes as well… With the exception of Hatsukoi Monster. All my homies hate Hatsukoi Monster >:)

I usually rate anime based on 作画, 演出, arrangement of the plot, the plot, creativity, and more. You know, anime is something that incorporates so many elements which makes it hard for me just to rate it based on one criteria.

Why is the Tony Issue the best Konshuu issue?

This is rigged and I will not stand for this.

"No, you’re NOT a real tony-tier weeb I’m so sick of all these people that think they’re Tony.

No, you’re not. Most of you are not even close to being tony. I see these people saying “I put well over 100 animes into this MAL, it’s great!” that’s nothing, most of us can easily put 300+ animes in all our MAL. I see people who only have Netflix and claim to be weebs. Come talk to me when you pick up a crunchyroll then we be friends.

Also DEAR ALL “NORMIES”: MHA is not a real anime. Attack on Titan is not a real anime. Jujitsu Kaisen is not a real anime. Spy x Family is not a real anime. Sword Art Online is not a real anime.

Gateway Shounen anime are NOT.REAL.ANIME. put down the baby anime and watch something that requires challenge and skill for once.

Tony Issues always have the best art lol.

Sincerely, all the ACTUAL Tony fans.

Have you seen Serial Experiments Lain?

Lain?

Yes. Watch Lain.

Not yet :,D

Not yet. Might do it during the break.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

THE RELEVANCE (OR LACK THEREOF) OF ONE POUND GOSPEL TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

This was cathartic.

To me, Takahashi Rumiko’s One Pound Gospel would be an otherwise forgettable manga from an artist whose works already feel far too similar to each other, had it not been for one aspect. The fact that the series focuses on boxing is, frankly, what drew me to it. While I am not a fan of any Takahashi work, I do greatly enjoy certain aspects of her works, namely certain portions of Urusei Yatsura as well as Maison Ikkoku. Ranma ½ is often extremely slow, yet the dynamic of the characters is somehow rather charming even if the series never does anything with them. Her recent 2010s work, Kyoukai no Rinne, is what I consider an almost pure distillation of everything her name implies.

The sole long running work of Takahashi Rumiko’s that I have yet to fully consume is ironically her most popular from a Western perspective. Inuyasha probably doesn’t have the industry influence nor the cultural impact of, say, Urusei Yatsura or Ranma ½, but is almost certainly its author’s most known work stateside. Yet, while I will likely eventually read or watch it in some form, its mix of both Rumiko-isms and battle shounen tropes frankly leave me with little to look forward to. Hence, I would call myself a fan of Takahashi Rumiko’s style, but not really a fan of her actual work. Urusei Yatsura Movie 2: Beautiful Dreamer is my favorite anime film, yet it was handled by a director who had major creative differences with Takahashi and seemingly wrote the film to slightly diss her in a slightly trippy and incredibly creative way. It’s great because it’s actively spiteful of her work while still using her style. Basically, elements of Takahashi Rumiko’s series appeal to me, but the whole is far less than the sum of certain parts.

One Pound Gospel is a good representation of my views on media as a whole. It is an intersection of elements that I would seemingly enjoy – it focuses on the one sport that I muster actual passionate fandom of, whilst also featuring concepts fairly common to its author’s works. Using a computer generated algorithm, this series is likely something that I should enjoy. And yet, it annoys me. It uses neither aspect to its greatest extent. While One Pound Gospel is not bad (in fact, I still find it quite tolerable), it embodies both the issues with defining a piece of media on its premise and Takahashi Rumiko’s work.

One Pound Gospel is not a boxing series. Then again, neither is the famous Ashita no Joe, which uses pugilism as

a storytelling device to frame a narrative about the human condition. Its point could be delivered without the plot focus on boxing - it is simply a metaphor that translates internal emotional turmoil into physical turmoil so that it is better understood in a visual medium. In a similar sense, One Pound Gospel is a story that could be written without prizefighting being incorporated. The series’ use of boxing is simply that of a pastime which the protagonist has a bizarre love-hate relationship with, an occupation that he has large skill in only matched by his lack of ambition. Because of that, while Joe’s case has a central dynamic which is already common within boxing resulting in its acclaim from the sport’s fans, One Pound Gospel is not something that prizefight viewers will inherently enjoy.

That part of its premise is completely meaningless as a description.

On the other hand, strip boxing away from the series and all that remains is a standard Takahashi Rumiko romantic comedy focusing on misunderstandings between two characters who obviously have feelings for each other.

It’s a structure that probably made more sense before cell phones became commonplace and made fast communication a non-issue. Yet, it doesn’t really even reach my somewhat middling standards for a Takahashi work – the main characters, while fun as a duo, don’t have the same chemistry that her main pairings generally do. The narrative’s resolution, with the female protagonist basically giving up on her dreams, feels rather unbalanced. By removing the boxing florishings from One Pound Gospel, it becomes representative of the very worst things that Takahashi Rumiko has put her name to.

I should reiterate, though, that I don’t hate the series. Both the small elements of Takahashi Rumiko that I enjoy and the superficial boxing storyline are fine enough to where I think it was worth reading. Yet, I probably possess very peculiar taste – I feel like fans of both George Foreman and Beautiful Dreamer are probably not that common. To a different person who lacks the unique hobby intersections that I possess, One Pound Gospel is likely next to meaningless. Thus, while I enjoy it, I believe it is ultimately a failure in that it probably fails to entertain anyone outside a very specific group (me), while exposing the flaws of its creator (Takahashi) and shows of its ilk (as in, media that sell themselves on premise itself). Perhaps in this way, my view of it mirrors my view of the very medium of anime as a whole – strongly appealing to a particular niche while ignoring everyone outside that specific Venn Diagram intersection. And in that way, it has remained relevant to me regardless of actual quality.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

PRIPARA NEEDS AN IDOL TIME(SKIP) TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

The anti Yu-Gi-Oh GX.

As a whole, the original 140 episode Pripara series is engaging due to the presence of a great cast and fundamentally interesting conflicts arising from its characters’ differing views of the direction of their artform. The first season juxtaposes the main six characters (the members of SoLaMi Smile and Dressing Parfait), all of whom represent varying types of individualism in their art, with an antagonist in Falulu who is anything but. Falulu is the antithesis of the protagonists in that she amalgamates popular ideas, such as the main characters’ catchphrases, and thus is the most consumer friendly, common denominator product. The second season manages to surpass this with a conflict regarding the series’ titular platform, with villain Hibiki wanting to refine it into a curated area where only the best are highlighted, whereas the main characters wish to leave Pripara as a place allowing all voices to be heard. With Hibiki’s aesthetic and performances unsubtly being inspired by Hollywood and American film productions, the clash feels reminiscent to the ongoing struggles between new and old media. Pripara does not seek to answer this question, as Laala and company do not exactly represent new media in its positives and negatives, but merely poses the question.

The third season, realizing that the second season’s climax wherein both Laala and Hibiki are edging towards the level of gods cannot and should not be surpassed, instead turns its focus towards interpersonal conflict. Calling to mind fictional tournaments like Dragon Ball’s 21st Tenkaichi Budokai, Pripara season three’s Divine Idol Grand Prix derives its intrigue from watching titans clash in attempts to define who amongst them are truly worthy of the title of greatest. In this sense, while the third season is not at all as conceptually interesting as the previous two, it makes up for it in being emotionally interesting.

Where the first two seasons reminded me of other fictional stories, such as Revolutionary Girl Utena, Pripara season three took a tone similar to real life athletic competition. In this sense, while its structure is similar to other anime tournament arcs, the third season’s conflicts, particularly the final showdown between close rivals SoLaMi Smile and Dressing Parfait, evokes similar emotions as, say, the three fights between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. In this way, Pripara may be a rather inconsistent show, but its three seasons all remain powerful in varying ways.

None of what I’ve said above is necessarily intentional. Pripara is, after all, a highly merchandised franchise focused on getting young children to buy superfluous toys. That being said, whether or not the series’ interesting writing was purposeful misses the point as, within a storyline broadly following a sports dynamic, the series manages to touch on interesting ideas with its colorful cast.

In contrast, the fourth season, a soft reboot called Idol Time Pripara, is less interesting in that the central plot of the series, the rise of SoLaMi Smile as the divine idols, has already elapsed.

It introduces a new protagonist, Yui, but still has the series’ original protagonist, Laala, as a main focus as a sort of mentor character. The intentions behind this move are fairly clear and understandable. After all, media directed at children need to consistently restart so as to keep engrossing newer younger audiences in whatever product is being sold. That’s why Precure has new entries every year. The problem comes with Idol Time’s half measures in doing this, resulting in a series that is neither a departure from the original series nor a satisfying continuation.

The main problem comes with how the main six characters are seemingly still present within the world whilst not meeting audience expectations in terms of narrative contributions. Laala, for instance, remains one of Idol Time’s two central characters, but still suffers the same setbacks that she learns to deal with in previous seasons. It feels as though her character has been reset in a rather abrupt manner, as the time between Pripara season three and Idol Time should only be a few months. Yet, others from earlier seasons feel rather out of character as if a far larger time has elapsed. Beyond that, the new characters like Yui, Michiru, and Nino follow archetypes that already existed in previous characters.

In my view, the most effective solution to almost all of Idol Time’s problems would have been a longer timeskip. The audience for the previous series would feel vindicated in seeing the same characters grow to a certain degree, and younger audiences would still be able to latch on to the newer cast. Laala’s mentor role would particularly benefit from this type of change, as she would be able to fit the image of the ‘retired legend’ akin to how a character like Rocky Balboa is able to function brilliantly as a mentor in Creed. With this small change, Idol Time would be able to imply far more with its narrative and capture a far larger audience. That isn’t to say that it is a terrible series altogether, as it still features many of Pripara’s interesting writing quirks. However, it feels lacking compared to its extremely fun predecessor in large part because it is unable to tow the line between being a full continuation or a new series. An Idol Time(skip) would almost instantly allow it to truly function as both.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

THE SUPER SIX: A MODERN CLASSIC TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

I want to see a World Boxing Super Series at 115 pounds.

It’s often said that pugilism is dead. This idea is particularly spread around by fans of other martial arts competitions, like mixed martial arts, who point to boxing’s complex political structure. Given the plethora of major promoters, seventeen weight divisions, and roughly five top world championships per division, it really isn’t hard to see why cries of “the best don’t fight the best” have gained some ground in the last twenty years. To an extent, this concept has validity, as compared to the mid-80s and earlier, recent boxers fight less overall and thus fight less top competition. However, when prior eras had the sport dominated at times by crime syndicates and even then had numerous cases of dodging existing throughout, I don’t necessarily think the sport is currently in that terrible of a state. In fact, the numerous undisputed champions crowned in the last two years like Jermell Charlo, Josh Taylor, and Devin Haney seem to indicate boxing is at a relatively healthy state. As of this article’s writing, Inoue Naoya looks primed to join that group as well; as an individual unanimously rated amongst the sport’s top five fighters, pound for pound, the fact that someone like Inoue is striving to become undisputed is a very positive sign.

However, no fighter better demonstrates the current trend like Canelo Álvarez, who in the span of twelve months managed to completely dominate and take over the super middleweight division as its first undisputed champion. Given the relative youth of the 168 pound weight class, having only existed in its current state since the late 1980s, this achievement has rightfully been considered extraordinary for this generation’s boxing fans.

Amidst all the press surrounding Canelo, though, I feel as though many forget perhaps the most important event in the division’s history, choosing to downplay it in favor of more recent achievements. Indeed, the Super Six World Boxing Classic was and still is one of the best tournaments in combat sports history and likely the critical point where the super middleweight crown transformed into something to actually be coveted. Conceived

of by Showtime Boxing and spanning from 2009 to 2011, the Super Six tournament not only was crucial in their broadcast war against HBO sports, but also served as a means to get people interested in boxing. In fact, the tournament serves as one of my earliest memories of watching pugilism. Beyond even that, the tournament’s twists and turns are, in of itself, dynamic and worth rewatching as, in a narrative sense, it provided the drama and excitement that sports and bracket tournaments should deliver.

Having said all that, it’s funny to look in retrospect at the Super Six, given how many issues the organizers had to overcome when planning a long term series of boxing fights. The obvious thing to point to is how despite being advertised as a gathering of the world’s top six super middleweights, the tournament actually featured eight fighters. Another oddity was in how several of the pugilists were former champions from other weight classes who were moving into the 168 pound division without having competed there before. Finally, the prominent lack of Lucian Bute, then a long reigning IBF super middleweight titlist, somewhat diminished the reputation of the tournament at first, albeit in the long run Bute was probably hurt the most by not participating.

Without going too deeply into the Group Stage bouts, wherein the participants participated in a round robin, I find them particularly memorable for one individual. When one thinks of this tournament, they often think of eventual winner Andre Ward, given his eventual accession as the pound for pound king a few years following, or Carl Froch, with his display of extreme grit and willingness to overcome adversity. Yet, I think the most notable pugilist in the Group Stages was actually Mikkel Kessler, who entered the Boxing Classic as a reigning two time champion that had only previously lost in a unification fight to Joe Calzaghe. Even with Kessler’s loss in the first Group Stage to Andre Ward, then known simply for his gold medal at the 2004 Olympics, I find his performance in the round robin admirable.

Specifically, Kessler’s dominant decision over Carl Froch seems to go relatively underrated, especially with the historical context of Froch’s subsequent bouts in mind. While I’d struggle to call Kessler’s entire body of work terribly convincing, the fact that

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5 the two people he fought against ended up being the finalists makes me sad that he had to pull out of the tournament due to injury.

Arthur Abraham was an interesting fighter in the early stages of the tournament. Having made ten title defenses of the IBF 160 pound title, one could assume in retrospect that he was highly favored in his move to 168 pounds. Yet, that opposition left a lot to be desired, and while Abraham ultimately did score a win against former undisputed middleweight champion Jermain Taylor in the first Group Stage, he ended up losing the rest of his fights in the tournament. Keeping Abraham’s subsequent WBO 168 pound title reigns in mind, as impressive as they are, his presence legitimized the tournament in my eyes because his limited success demonstrated the distinction between titleholders and actual bona fide champions. And to stretch this a bit, I could argue that this mere fact instilled a love of martial arts in my mind, by showing how even amongst expert pugilists, there is always something more they can learn. Beyond trying to fight the best fighters in the world in a truly competitive sense, then, I have to respect Arthur Abraham for the role he played in the Super Six.

Outside of those two along with the two eventual finalists, I have to gloss over the other participants in the Super Six World Boxing Classic. It isn’t as if they weren’t great fighters. Glen Johnson was a former 175 pound champion who had beat both Roy Jones Jr. and Antonio Tarver. Similarly, Jermain Taylor had once beat Bernard Hopkins twice to win the undisputed 160 pound championship. However, I feel as though both of them were past their peak, with both only fighting once in the tournament, which somewhat defied the original round robin concept of the Super Six. On that note, while Andre Dirrell was a decent fighter who had won a bronze medal at the same Olympics as Ward, he didn’t do much worth mentioning in the tournament.

The same could be said for Allan Green, who was a replacement for Jermain Taylor after Taylor withdrew from the tournament.

Ultimately, the Super Six World Boxing Classic can, in a narrative sense, be narrowed down to the clash of two men: Andre Ward and Carl Froch. In their contrasting paths through the tournament and ultimately through their boxing careers, I think that they represent two equally present and admirable aspects to boxing.

Andre Ward was what one could call a “blue chip” prospect, having won Light Heavyweight Olympic Gold in Athens prior to a rather forgettable streak of 20 wins with no losses. While he held no title entering the Super Six, Ward seemed to embody a sort of Floyd Mayweather Jr. or Ricardo Lopez aura of mastery over pugilism, only dampered by promotional issues (which, frankly, continued to follow Ward for his entire career). Though Ward retired undefeated at 32-0 in 2017 as a unified 168 and 175 pound champion, his legacy is a bit strange given how he retired at his peak, at the moment he was considered the world’s top fighter. Thus, while it may sound a bit cheesy, Andre Ward

is in my mind the very definition of a true master over the art of boxing. This is obviously heavily biased due to the Super Six introducing me to top level boxing, but Andre Ward represents to me what Floyd Mayweather Jr. might be to others. Even though his fights were often extremely boring, Ward was simply dominant throughout his entire career and displayed ludicrously high proficient boxing. Thus, it could be said that the Super Six, in a sense, served as a sort of coronation ceremony for Ward as boxing’s next top fighter as it gave him a platform to dominate.

Yet equally compelling was the other finalist, Carl Froch. Having suffered a defeat to Mikkel Kessler in the second Group Stage, Froch entered the tournament as the WBC 168 pound champion yet had to win back the title (vacated by Kessler after withdrawing) during later parts of the tournament. If Ward was the perfect fighter, Froch is anything but. Describing himself as something of an overachiever, Froch made a strong impression due to naturally playing the role of an underdog, staying competitive with willpower. In a sense, Andre Ward and Carl Froch’s dynamic in the finale of the Super Six World Boxing Classic was my Muhammad Ali vs. Joe Frazier, a perfect champion fighting against an unrelenting tough pugilist. While Froch ultimately lost, his later career more than expanded my respect for him.

First annihilating Lucian Bute for his IBF super middleweight title and then winning a rematch against Mikkel Kessler, Froch’s two showcases against George Groves are perhaps some of the most entertaining fights I’ve seen. Today, Froch is something of a meme, given how he seems to remind everyone at every turn that he fought Groves in front of 80,000 at Wembley Stadium, but the Super Six World Boxing Classic and the subsequent fallout in the super middleweight division gave Froch a platform to display just how tough he was.

In this way, the Super Six World Boxing Classic is what I consider to be the quintessential combat sports tournament, strongly featuring staple dynamics that fictional media attempt to replicate with varying results. I don’t think it’s as strong as, say, the Pride 2000 Openweight Grand Prix tournament in mixed martial arts. Super Six is also not nearly as well produced or organized as the more modern World Boxing Super Series, which itself saw legendary moments like the dominant displays of Oleksandr Usyk, Inoue Naoya, and Josh Taylor in their respective Super Series. Yet, the Super Six World Boxing Classic set the foundation for what a modern boxing tournament with contests between the world’s top pugilists should look like. Its very existence allowed for Showtime to eventually outlast HBO in broadcasting boxing. Even with all of its faults, such as not featuring Lucian Bute or the rather disastrous results of trying to have six boxers in a round robin without any injuries, the Super Six World Boxing Classic showed me what top level boxing looked like. Both in a competitive and narrative sense, the Super Six was a perfect introduction to boxing for me, and as such it deserves far more attention given the resurgence of interest boxing has received in the past ten years. True to its name, it was a classic, yet it brought that golden age feeling into the modern day.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

Mitchell Madayag Victim

THE 3 ₵EN Halley Halim Future President(?)

Sebastian Estrada Future Vice President(?)

Based on what criteria do you rate anime/manga?

I personally do not give any numerial ratings to series as I don't believe a single number is enough to properly express my opinions on a series. I'm also just really lazy and feel it would be disrespectful to haphazardly give out scores to anime/manga I can hardly remember. Regardless, some criteria I use to judge an anime/manga is based on how much it keeps me addicted that I can't stop thinking about it, as well as if it makes me want to recommend it to friends or family.

Personal enjoyment! I don't really have any objective criteria - just things like if I feel invested in the storyline, attached to the characters, vibe with the music, and of course have fun while watching.

The criteria I rate anime/ manga is how much I enjoyed the story, animation, and overall feelings after watching or reading it.

Why is the Tony Issue the best Konshuu issue?

Cause I do the layout for the whole damn thing.

This is Anime Destiny pamphlet erasure >:(

That exists? What's the difference?

Have you seen Serial Experiments Lain?

Lain?

Yes, I watched it back in the old days of CAA when "based" and "cringe" were what everyone said constantly (based), which predated the TikTok Lain craze (cringe).

It's one of the many series that I have watched a bit but intend to complete... eventually...

I have not seen Serial Experiments Lain.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

NT ₵ORNER Mohammad Shahnawaz Tech Officer

Rahm Jethani Konshuu Writter

Lionel Verano 未来の海賊王

Based on what criteria do you rate anime/manga?

Enjoyment, genre, creator’s goal and how well they accomplished it, presence/type of overarching theme, art style, memorability.

I rate anime/manga by the emotions they evoke, the concepts they discuss, and how many references there are to the hit cable-tv series “House Hunters.”

I rate anime and manga based on the impact it leaves on me. An anime can have great production value but what I think makes a great show is that you still think about it long after you have finished it. Not a lot of anime do that.

Why is the Tony Issue the best Konshuu issue?

Cause at this point Tony probably has more practice writing than anyone else (I dunno I don’t read Konshuu).

The Tony Issue is the best Konshuu issue for a multitude of reasons, such as relatability, human connection, and the discussion of intellectual philosophies. But the number one reason why the Tony Issue is the best Konshuu issue is because Tony is simply based.

Because it is, duh.

Have you seen Serial Experiments Lain?

Lain?

Nah.

Texhnolyze is better :/

I don't know what that is.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON UMINEKO NO NAKU KORO NI TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

10/10.

Writing about Umineko no Naku Koro ni is tricky for me. Not only is it something I’ve just finished and am still digesting, it’s also a work that appeals to me immensely in spite of possessing elements that I inherently disdain in other works. While the existence of recency bias is obviously something that should be kept in mind, Umineko is a work which like, say, Neon Genesis Evangelion, says so much to me to where it’s almost hard to put my appreciation into words other than consistent urges to other people that they should play it.

The aspect that I enjoy the most about Umineko is probably the writing. Now, without any context, that should be obvious – it’s a visual novel. However, visual novels are a medium which I’ve never really enjoyed; this has little to do with the actual strengths that it possesses, but more so the fact that none of its strengths are actually properly utilized. The majority of visual novels are what I’d describe as pornographic. I don’t use that term to imply the most inherent implication that its usage would connote, although that definitely isn’t that uncommon. Yet beyond strange sexual content, the gratuitous nature of visual novel writing is something that I find extremely annoying and repetitive within the medium. Too often, decent concepts are completely wasted on being emotional pornography, relying on cheap tropes or overwrought concepts to have any meaningful impact. I particularly remember Key for having a plethora of releases that simply exist because watching anime girls being melodramatically sad is something that people really enjoy for some reason.

Where Umineko differs for me is in author Ryukishi07’s writing, which is absolutely brilliant in how certain themes are woven throughout several disparate but interconnected storylines.

Oddly enough, my favorite portion of the story is the first one, the repeated and often contradictory portrayals of the Rokkenjima Mass Murders. And yet, I can’t simply point at those aspects as the best part of the series, as the other layers, like the anti-fantasy vs fantasy debates, to the 1998 storyline of consequences, to the metafiction layer of Featherine, all add thematically to this initial core. The second half of the novel is fittingly subtitled “Chiru” given how the story as a whole starts with that initial storyline of October 4 and 5, 1998, and scatters into numerous storylines that all somehow interconnect. In keeping a sense of consistency through what is for most people a 150 hour experience, Ryukishi07 honestly accomplished a task of sisyphean proportions.

The characters which I found most compelling within Umineko were Ushiromiya Rosa, Ushiromiya Eva, and Ushiromiya Ange.

For the first two, while they are never what I’d call pleasant, they possess so many dimensions to where I can’t help but be engaged thoroughly in them. Even if Rosa and Eva are ultimately

extremely flawed people, the manner in which these flaws present themselves, not to mention the characters’ (perhaps misguided) attempts to overcome them, are enthralling. With Rosa, her abusive relationship with her daughter is something I find inexcusable, and yet something that is the tragic product of her background and the societal standards given the time she lives in. In spite of this, Rosa gets some of the most heroic moments in the entire series where she affirms certain extremely positive traits. In a similar light, Eva is painted in an extremely negative light. Her portrayal as a witch in Eva-Beatrice is itself likely a representation of how mass media presents itself. But given the often repeated phrase of “without love it cannot be seen”, Eva is a far more complex individual, disliking the role that she plays and wishing she could move beyond her inner childish desire for power. It’s these dynamics that make me sympathize with characters who, at first glance, appear just as one-dimensional as the casts of most visual novels.

Ange’s role is a bit different. While still a flawed individual like other characters, she is a character that drives the plot thoroughly. As someone who avoided the unfortunate Rokkenjima Mass Murders which frame the initial narrative, she is nonetheless a victim due to the widespread media backlash. Her struggle to move beyond the tragedy in a repeated sway between wanting to learn more and being content with a perhaps skewed interpretation is something that is compelling while also developing the other layers of the story. As one of the two main characters alongside her brother Battler, Ange is a character I like a great deal due to her internal thoughts being examined in great detail. Beyond being well fleshed out, the story can almost entirely be viewed through the lens of a fiction she creates, which I guess could explain interesting anachronisms like Battler knowing Higurashi or Jessica being a Touhou fan.

All in all, Umineko is a work which has had a large impact on me. Having previously read many visual novels in the past and enjoying none of them, the series managed to surpass the limitations and pitfalls that generally befall visual novel writers and ends up rather poignant in what it conveys. At the risk of sounding overly corny or sentimental, the writing of Umineko implores the reader to be empathic and understanding via its characters.

That the series largely succeeded at evoking emotion from me is a clear indication that its messages were solidly constructed and expressed. Umineko no Naku Koro ni is a masterpiece.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

POKÉMON X AND Y ARE OVERLOOKED. TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

(in that they’re pretty flawed games)

Complaining about new Pokémon games has become particularly popular within the last three years with the release of Pokémon Sword and Shield. A common criticism of the game revolves around how its ostensible ideas of progressing the franchise are seemingly uninteresting, with the main gameplay loop remaining stagnant. Others also believe that the franchise’s typically reductive overworld presentation, particularly with how cities and towns are portrayed with, at most, a few dozen actual houses, is limiting in the high definition three dimensional world of Sword and Shield. In spite of high sales, these fundamental criticisms have been utterly damning for the reputation of these games.

As a begrudging fan of the Pokémon games myself, I don’t think that there’s any error towards the issues most have towards Sword and Shield. I simply think it’s misplaced. There appears to be a sort of nostalgic haze that overcomes most Pokémon fans when considering older entries as newer ones release.

Don’t get me wrong, I think the games have been progressively deteriorating in quality. Still, it’s interesting to me how games like Black and White have become retroactively beloved in spite of being utterly ridiculed around release date just as Sword and Shield have. However, my biggest contention is not with Black and White, as I view those games and their direct sequels to be solid and structurally consistent, if not eclectic, entries. The Pokémon games that, in my view, are both the source of the commonly cited issues in Sword and Shield and the recipient of by far the most undeserved retroactive whitewashing, are X and Y. The primary issues Sword and Shield face boil down to a formula designed for sprite-based two dimension games being fitted onto a three dimensional game using polygonal models.

As the franchise’s first foray into said style, Pokémon X and Y embodies most of these issues – most locations in its overworld feel bizarrely small due to being designed for a different presentation style. The obvious exception is the game’s large Lumiose City, which whilst interesting, set a worrying precedent of newer games generally only spending time on thoroughly developing one location extensively and leaving other cities and towns barren. Another issue that Pokémon X and Y introduced is the fact that the series’ battles seem lackluster when present-

ed with polygonal models. The basis of Pokémon battles in the original games was based on how the designers strayed away from complexly designing unique interactions between every single Pokémon to every single move. Instead, the games have almost always had separate animations for Pokémon and the attacks. There’s a sort of suspension of disbelief that made earlier games’ battles still feel intense, likely because, again, the player inherently understands that what they are seeing is a representation of a battle, not a battle itself. As in, the fight against Rival Green in Pokémon Red and Green is very different from how it was adapted in the anime Pokémon Origins, but it’s understood that the game’s battle is supposed to represent what the anime adaptation ended up showing in greater detail.

However, with more complex presentation, particularly with Pokémon X and Y’s polygonal models, that effect is diminished and the battles feel far less suspenseful and climactic.

All of the above are problems, but most Pokémon games have their individual issues – part of the intrigue/nuisance of enjoying the series is seeing how the developers take two steps forward and two steps back in every entry. What makes Pokémon X and Y the most egregious in my opinion, however, is that it has nothing unique to offer in of itself. Most games in the franchise have some unique selling point that make them stand apart.

It’s why, say, the Nintendo DS games still have high resale value online; people still want to play older Pokémon entries because they’re all different in some way. Generation Two had multiple regions, while Three had a vast oceanic world with two villainous groups complementing said world. Generation Four had a plethora of secrets in a historied world, Five had literally the only competent story in the entire franchise, Seven had a world split into multiple islands with a unique culture, and even Eight had the Wild Area. In contrast, Generation Six’s Pokémon X and Y really don’t have anything unique to offer in of themselves outside of the shift to three dimensions, something which I’d argue Sun and Moon did far better with more realistic world and character proportions.

As much as people complain about Pokémon games nowadays (and there’s a lot to complain about), X and Y feel to me as the series on autopilot. Along with focusing too hard on aesthetic shifts, which later entries have taken heavy criticism for, X and Y really don’t have much to make it a unique entry. Later entries (particularly Sword and Shield) are likely more egregious in their faults, but Generation Six is the origin point of the franchise’s many problems in the modern day. I don’t think that X and Y are bad games, but they’re incredibly uninspired and are likely my least favorite entries in what they represent for an already extremely stagnant series.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

PART FOUR IS NOT CRASH TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

Aria-core.

As I mentioned in my prior article on Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, I’m not a huge fan of most parts of the series. With two exceptions, each part is either too formulaic for my liking (Stardust Crusaders, Vento Aureo, Stone Ocean), fun but too simplistic (Phantom Blood, Battle Tendency), or something I have very little desire to finish (Jojolion). This obviously excluded Steel Ball Run, which I found to be a refinement of earlier parts’ structures in how it better focused on its principle cast and delivered extremely satisfying emotional climaxes to character arcs via symbolism with their fighting abilities. Steel Ball Run is, in a sense, a series I find next to flawless in how it fairly concisely portrays the story of one man’s journey to redemption. While slight issues prohibit me from considering it a 21st century version of Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy, it is superb. Don’t worry, I’m (mostly) kidding with that comparison.

That obviously leaves out the fourth part of the series, Diamond is Unbreakable. Unlike Steel Ball Run, Part Four is not what I’d consider to be a perfect work in that it isn’t “clean” in how it portrays its characters and their development. For that matter, I really only think that one Part Four character has an excellent arc, a direct consequence of the series’ cast being perhaps too big. The series doesn’t have any aspects I consider perfect, in that no part of its narrative is in any way such a pure distillation of any idea to where I think it is the epitome of representing that concept.

Yet still, Diamond is Unbreakable has certain outstanding qualities that I believe more than makes up for its flaws and I overall consider it extremely highly.

Part Four’s biggest strength is directly stated in the first opening of its animated adaptation, “Crazy Noisy Bizarre Town”. More than any character, the town of Morioh serves as the effective protagonist of Diamond is Unbreakable, in much the same way I once described Neo-Venezia as the greatest part of the Aria series. The intrigue of Morioh isn’t really in individual unique inhabitants, but rather how the plethora of strange individuals residing within coexist in a web of strange relations. A great touch that the adaptation made was putting a special highlight on certain landmarks of the town, which goes a long way in making such a wacky, strange location feel alive. While Part Four still goes with the same formula of having villainous individuals attack members of the main cast in various mini arcs that make up much of its middle stretch, this still feels integrated within the world. These fights often begin while characters are doing more mundane tasks, like walking down the street or wondering about a mysterious abandoned house in town.

Where Part Three’s structure was rooted in a largescale quest spanning a vast distance, Part Four’s decision to scale down the conflicts to suburban slices of life does wonders. In this sense, I strongly stand by that Aria comparison - Diamond is Unbreakable has far more in common with that than the rest of Jojo. It also makes frequent departures from what the audience would expect. Even the “stand of the week” opponents aren’t all villainous. There are petulant but innocent children, well-intentioned foreign chefs, and somewhat misguided yet ultimately friendly female classmates. For that matter, the town even has elements that have nothing to do with stand

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

abilities, like a mysterious ghost alley that has properties akin to the Greek myth of Orpheus. All of this just further emphasizes Morioh as a town that, while strange, has its own contained history, culture, and society that breathes.

In subverting the laws of this (somehow) functioning society, Kira Yoshikage serves as an excellent antagonist. I could perhaps make the argument that his passive behavior makes him particularly opposed to Hirose Koichi, who develops in a very “battle shounen” manner and upholds a sense of proper status quo in the town. Indeed, Koichi’s abilities are brilliantly tied into this, with his stand developing in a way that almost certainly inspired Johnny Joestar’s growth in Part Seven. Yet, Kira is probably best described as a foil to Morioh itself, with how he turns the town’s society on its head. What was once a (somewhat) trusting society becomes intimidating, as this mass serial killer can seemingly loom around any corner, posing as anyone. In particular, the arc wherein an otherwise not relevant grade schooler begins to feel as though something is deeply wrong with his father, who Kira poses as, is great. It embodies a complete opposing feeling to the sitcom tone that Morioh has thus far represented. The majority of Diamond is Unbreakable’s world building serves to make more mundane aspects of daily life more interesting with bizarre abilities, locales, and self-described possible aliens. Hence, Kira’s presence in another person’s body and home is the antithesis, creating tension and anxiety in otherwise innocuous situations. In this way, while I wouldn’t necessarily call Part Four’s characterizations excellent in the same way as Part Seven, its establishment of Morioh makes up for it in spades. This is especially notable by contrasting the series’ feel before and after Kira’s introduction, as, while Kira isn’t exactly a character I’d call deep or complex, the impact he has on Morioh as a whole is notable.

Surprisingly, the animated adaptation is also probably the best version of the story. While the manga is fine (I actually started with the old Duwang scans), readers clearly see the author transitioning his art

style from the muscular builds of earlier parts to the more slender designs featured prominently starting from Vento Aureo. The inconsistency is fine, but occasionally distracting. The backgrounds, while adequate, don’t necessarily exude the above mentioned feeling that Morioh should express. Both of these issues are improved upon in the anime, where they choose a firm middle ground between muscular and slender physiques in addition to having many wider shots that show the town in all its glory. Another point in favor of the anime is its pacing. To compare to Stardust Crusaders, the manga for Diamond is Unbreakable is actually 22 chapters longer. Yet, the Part Three anime is a full four cour whereas Part Four’s is only three, as Diamond is Unbreakable makes good use of its time and doesn’t stretch out arcs like its predecessor often did. The manga for Part Four isn’t bad – I still firmly love it. Yet, even with my general preference towards older media, the anime outclasses it and I daresay makes it obsolete. The anime simply offers so much in addition to what the manga provides, and its new inclusions never detract from the overall product. The animated adaptation of Diamond is Unbreakable expands the manga into what it always strove to be, and then some.

In short, Diamond is Unbreakable is nothing short of amazing. A fittingly bizarre shift to suburban Japanese slice of life after three prior entries of world-spanning adventures, Part Four manages to transition the action formula seamlessly. Its highest point comes with its worldbuilding, making a truly inconceivably strange world believable. Despite being a crazy noisy bizarre town, the idiosyncrasies of Morioh come across akin to the strange elements that any small town might possess, which adds to the show’s interesting atmosphere. Other elements support this like the slight tone shift from unstoppable foes to normal civilians. Furthermore, its animated adaptation manages to actually improve on the source material, with small effects that further emphasize Morioh as an excellent setting. Beyond that, it keeps the character art far more consistent and thus easy to follow and features excellent pacing especially compared to other Jojo adaptations. Diamond is Unbreakable is not a perfect series, in that I still find some faults with its usage of battle shounen elements and the overall Jojo structure itself. Yet, the 2016 anime adaptation

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

Astral Huge Idol Fan

THE 3 ₵EN Other Max Freaky Robot Guy

👍

Blake Morrison

Nicholas Wonosaputra Deranged Waifu Neurobio-Psychosocial-Scientist

Based on what criteria do you rate anime/manga?

[I] Is it good?

[II] Is it enjoyable?

[III] Is it peak?

I don't.

Excluding the ones that click with me on a more personal than analytic level, I usually rate anime and manga like I would any other piece of narrative media. I try to determine what any given series was trying to accomplish. I don’t try to determine authorial intent per se but rather what I think the series itself is trying to communicate. I then judge how well it met or exceeded its goals. Bonus points if it makes me think something new, but I don’t mind a good execution of familiar ideas either

I’m attempting to rate emotional attachment via a 9 point scale with scores 2-10 as a linear comparison while 1 and 10 are equal attachment based on different emotions 1 = anger/ frustration/disgust and 10 = joy/anticipation/

Why is the Tony Issue the best Konshuu issue?

Because I drew one of the covers.

cant wait for issue 4

👍

A work made under a single visionary always seems to be interesting.

Have you seen Serial Experiments Lain?

Lain?

Yes. Texh > Lain > Haibane.

The ONLY thing I know about Lain is someone said "she becomes internet." Don't know who or what that means. I should watch Lain.

👍

Yes. It’s a relevant story to the modern world.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

NT ₵ORNER Jose Cuevas Wrote 2021's Konshuu article of the year

Heaven Jones Treasurer, Konshuu Artist

Carlos Solano Video Officer

Jacob Malach Tech Officer

Based on what criteria do you rate anime/manga?

On a scale of 6 to 7, how much does this pander to me?

If it has Sailor Moon it gets a 10, everything else is lucky to even get a 2.

I think there’s a lot of factors for me in terms of storytelling.

How the story is told, how strong it is, consistent characters, how compelling it is, and how solid the story is overall.

I’ve never watched an anime in my life.

Why is the Tony Issue the best Konshuu issue?

"Well, it is in the name.

T(hat one guy who likes Lain I think) O(nce hated on Sailor Moon) N(umber one issue) Y(eah)"

Mid.

This is Tony we are talking about. Why wouldn’t it be the best issue?

*blinks twice* Uhh, Tony’s just such a down to earth guy.

Have you seen Serial Experiments Lain?

Lain?

Omg yes I love Lain she's so cute.

I don't watch anything that has big words in the title, like, what do you mean "serial"?

No I haven’t.

Yes.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

NARRATIVE SCOPE OR: WHY I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND ENJOY CREST OF THE STARS TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

Banner of the Stars is far less successful in this aspect.

Crest of the Stars kind of does the impossible for me. It’s an anime about a pair of adolescents and their will-they-won’t-they romantic tension stretched through thirteen episodes, with vague and ill explained background elements. For that matter, it’s also an adaptation of a light novel, a medium I generally dislike, with production values I wouldn’t necessarily call awful, but aren’t really that praiseworthy. Even the aspects of Crest of the Stars that would normally appeal to me are somewhat middling. Its backdrop of political intrigue in an age of space-faring civilizations is not unlike Legend of the Galactic Heroes, but it can hardly be considered deep or even morally gray in its presentation.

Perhaps unintentionally, the main conflict in Crest of the Stars’ background has a side that I think most people would consider more just. Furthermore, the sequel, Banner of the Stars, has been publishing for literally twenty years, with its first novel releasing in 1996 and the latest coming out in 2018, with nothing being concluded and the series devolving into a mess of poorly defined politics and moral grandstanding that goes against the appeal of these types of works.

Where Crest of the Stars gets it right is its scope. The story primarily focuses on its main two characters who clash heavily in their backgrounds, as they get caught within a larger skirmish with political implications. While that overall narrative is not terribly interesting, the series is captivating in the protagonists who have genuinely interesting banter. Aside from great character writing which is somewhat interconnected, something like Legend of the Galactic Heroes succeeds as a story primarily because of its large world with each action having large implications. Hence, that series makes sense when being described as a political drama. Crest of the Stars has political drama as a piece of the characters’ backstories, which could define it as part of that genre (and certainly the larger series is

a political drama with Banner of the Stars’ focus on that part).

Still, the main crux of the story, along with all of its twists and turns, comes from watching the characters evade outside forces while sorting out their complex feelings towards each other.

It is, if anything, an action-adventure romance, and focusing on aspects that don’t gel with that fundamental dynamic is something that which I believe impeded the success of Crest of the Stars’ sequel.

Given that framework, Crest of the Stars works because its characters are well written and are placed in interesting scenarios.

While I could easily fit the main duo into archetypes that plague the majority of romance in Japanese animation, neither are written so extremely to be defined by their archetype. Neither character is written too subtly, nor are they really that complex as personalities, but they are extremely believable in their roles given their backgrounds, and the show puts them in scenarios that fit them. For instance, while the racism subplot is somewhat uninteresting due to it clearly making one side of the show’s politics more sympathetic than the other, it leads to a complex dynamic between the two characters, both of whom are somewhat discriminated against in different ways. That element isn’t exactly well written, but it lends itself well to the drama. Beyond that, the characters are brought to various different places highlighting the differences in their cultures, and the manner in which they each deal with that is fascinating. There are a few moments where seemingly interesting impasses are evaded with writing that I don’t find very compelling, but it still works to develop the characters and their relationship.

Ultimately, Crest of the Stars is a short one-cour series that is ambitious, but largely succeeds for elements that have little to do with the direction it is trying to take. While I’ve done a lot to minimize the political/science fiction elements that the series utilizes, ultimately, it actually succeeds at doing what those genres generally try to do. Science fiction generally needs a core human element to ground settings that are very foreign to the reader, and Crest of the Stars does that well with its main characters. For that matter, while I can’t call the politics in the series anything interesting or even food for thought, in some regard it does also strengthen that main dynamic. When I first watched Crest of the Stars, I was looking for something akin to Legend of the Galactic Heroes, which is why I’ve compared it in this article. Crest’s strengths, in tandem with Banner actually striving to be something like LotGH, show me that my initial outlook was flawed. Sometimes it’s better to appreciate pieces of work for what they do well independently, rather than looking for something that repeats aspects you enjoy. In a roundabout way, then, Crest of the Stars is not only a great adventure-romance narrative, but also a show whose strengths are somewhat unexpected. It’s a series that I think has universal appeal which its initial veneer of science fiction politics may not fully indicate.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

WHY I STAND UP FOR VICTORY GUNDAM TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

This look at things somewhat ignores non-Universal Century series.

Tomino Yoshiyuki is a creator I respect greatly given his contributions to and influence on Japanese animation, along with the wider associated otaku culture. In particular, it’s easy to discuss Mobile Suit Gundam for the impact it had on the industry.

It is equally simple to discuss the brilliance of Space Runaway Ideon, though it may not be as easily accessible to a wide audience given how that series didn’t revolutionize anime. What I appreciate heavily about Tomino’s works, particularly his Gundam works, is his dedication to themes. This often comes at the detriment of proper storytelling, however. Tomino can tell a good, clear, story – he’s done this on numerous occasions with entries like the original Gundam or Zeta. Still, works like Gundam: Reconguista in G, for instance, demonstrate his predilection towards themes and motifs without considering the audience’s ability to interpret them. I enjoy Reconguista in G for its manic sense of getting through various ideas Tomino enjoys, but it is completely incomprehensible as a series.

On the other hand, Mobile Suit Victory Gundam is a series most lambast for its simplistic, cartoonish portrayal of dark subject matter, with its infamously high death count and the brutal ways the characters suffer. While I do acknowledge and agree with this perspective, I have a hard time considering it a negative.

Most of Tomino’s shows, including his widely renowned works, all deal with mature concepts in somewhat simplistic ways. I daresay that’s the very appeal of the original Mobile Suit Gundam – an introduction to the horrors of war via the allegory of giant robots fighting a space war, if you will. That’s the reason why the series initially met only lukewarm responses, before exploding in popularity once cinematic recuts hit theaters and targeted a slightly older demographic than the toy-loving children that Sunrise probably intended it for. Still, Gundam is fundamentally a story directed towards adolescents and arguing against the romanticization of war as a destabilizing force for society, yet demonstrating that it is inevitable.

The grander Universal Century timeline is rather dour in this sense. Taking ∀ Gundam as the logical end to Tomino’s view of the franchise, its inclusion of the Universal Century alongside other alternate universes of the franchise as part of its backstory fits into this look. These seemingly disparate and incompatible histories being canonized together implies that in Tomino’s

view, even if human civilization completely collapses and starts anew, conflict will inevitably brew as a part of human nature.

That Gundam fans romanticize aspects of Gundam like robots or pilots is perhaps missing the very point of the larger universe that Tomino wishes to imply. His method of implying this existentially terrifying concept is perhaps limited to be more simplistic and cartoonish, but there’s a reason why Gundam fandom has always skewed towards older fans than the child audience that Sunrise has been trying to appeal to for over four decades with entries that try to be more “fun” but lack this background thematic complexity.

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Hence, while Victory Gundam is a heavily flawed show that is very inconsistent in tone, I can’t help but enjoy it as an incredibly dark take on the future past the earlier Universal Century series.

Even after heroes like Amuro Ray and Char Aznable, perhaps the two most iconic Gundam characters, perish in a fight with the world at stake, it ultimately means nothing. Victory literally ends with a villainous character left to roam the Earth lacking her memory and vision because Tomino believed that fate “was a heavier punishment” than death. Not even a century later, humanity’s mistakes are once again repeated in Victory Gundam which, in its higher tolerance for violence, acts as a bitter rebuttal to the hope demonstrated in Char’s Counterattack. Victory does not work very well as a standalone, but exists brilliantly as a followup to the original few entries of Gundam. This sway from the previous entry’s bittersweet hope into a lamentation of humanity’s inevitable collapse, then, works perfectly with ∀ Gundam as a followup as it demonstrates that, while warfare is inherent to humanity, people should not simply resign to that outcome. It is a powerful message which is cheesy, but ultimately works brilliantly as a capstone to Gundam as a whole.

Yet still, it could not have the same impact as a finale without the existence of Victory and its pendulum shift towards the opposite extreme.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5

ON MY FAVORITE ANIME CHARACTER TONY T.

Managing Editor

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

The true savior of Earth.

Once again, I find myself writing on Dragon Ball. I guess that makes two for this issue alone. Frankly, the fact that I continuously find topics from the series that I want to write articles about is enough of a demonstration as any in terms of why I enjoy the franchise so much. As I’ve said before, the original series and its anime conclusion GT is such an engaging narrative because it simultaneously is written on a whim, whilst also spanning multiple decades. In the beginning of the Dragon Ball manga, the reader sees Son Goku at twelve years old. At the end of GT, he is a legendary figure revered by all as a champion of the Earth. Indeed, most of Dragon Ball follows characters somewhat similar to Goku – strong martial artists who train to be the greatest fighter under the heavens. Hence, the Tenkaichi Budokai, which literally translates to something akin to “Number One Under Heaven Martial Arts Competition”.

Serving as not only the foundation of Dragon Ball’s themes of striving for improvement in of itself, it is also formative in the very concept of tournament arcs for battle shounen series, just as the series is crucial to the formation of that genre. It’s the backdrop of three arcs of the original series. With the 21st won

by Jackie Chun (alias of the Muten Roshi), the 22nd won by Tenshinhan, and the 23rd won by Son Goku, the Tenkaichi Budokai was slowly phased out prior to the Saiyan arc, given how the escalating threats could not conceivably be contained within tournament grounds. In fact, the next time the tournament appears is in the original series’ final portion, the Majin Buu arc. After some great chapters with Son Gohan acting as a superhero, he is blackmailed by his classmate Videl to enter the 25th Tenkaichi Budokai. As the series skipped over the 24th Tenkaichi Budokai, context indicates that the off-screen tournament is won

by Videl’s father, Mr. Satan, my favorite character in all of anime.

I mentioned earlier that most of Dragon Ball’s main cast have

similar backgrounds. Indeed, Yamcha, Kuririn, Tenshinhan, Piccolo Jr, Son Goku, and even Vegeta all fall within the archetype of a martial artist constantly working on improving themselves.

Frankly, it’s likely the reason why characters constantly get introduced only to be underused later on. Largely because he himself cares little for hard training and is mostly hedonistic, Mr. Satan is immune from this trend. His fame may have come from legitimately winning a tournament in the absence of the main characters, but he isn’t the same sort of martial artist as previous Budokai winners. Yet, his characterization, that of a fighter with vices who ultimately has good intentions, is comparable to the Muten Roshi. I think that’s a good lens to look at the character of Mr. Satan. He doesn’t necessarily display the same passion as the other characters, but in his heart, he fundamentally represents the Turtle School’s philosophy. The Muten Roshi teaches his disciples, particularly Son Goku and Kuririn, that they should devote themselves to their craft yet also act altruistically when needed. Mr. Satan, while not as dedicated to martial arts as the main characters, is quite possibly the most decent figure in the series as he saves the world on several occasions. In a series where the main characters obtain some depth through being presented in many stages of life, Satan is only introduced in chapter 393 of a 519 chapter story. Perhaps because he is only relevant in the later parts, he never really has a chance to become a member of the ‘main’ group, largely operating independently. In this way, Mr. Satan’s unique brand of heroism truly shines.

In the first arc he appears in, Mr. Satan is vital to Son Gohan’s defeat of Perfect Cell. Without anything to gain and as a normal human being not accustomed to the wacky surroundings of the main cast, Satan throws Android 16’s head over to Son Gohan. Hence, Mr. Satan, while not intentionally doing so, is the reason why Gohan finds the resolve to attain Super Saiyan 2, defeat Perfect Cell, and save the Earth. Still, most of this is incidental. One could find Mr. Satan honorable tangentially for doing something asked of him for seemingly no direct payoff, but he does find huge fame and success in the ensuing seven years between the Cell and Majin Buu arcs as a result. Still, this strongly indicates the direction of his character.

KONSHUU | Volume 56, Issue 6.5 What really defines Mr. Satan is the Majin Buu arc. While constantly played up as a buffoon, especially during the return of the main cast in the 25th Tenkaichi Budokai where they far outclass anything remotely related to the 24th, Satan is arguably the most important character in this portion. Though he initially attempts to kill the fat version of Majin Buu, Satan eventually sees the good in him and finds a peaceful means to quell Buu’s rampage. It should be noted that Buu is a primordial edrich beast. Dragon Ball has a penchant for alpha-male, “letting fists do the talking”, types of conflict resolution. But in this scenario, a main antagonist is instead stopped by being shown why his actions are destructive. It’s brilliant. Mr. Satan’s actions effectively subvert the entire series, whilst still in line with Toriyama Akira’s sense of gag humor. What more, while this action is demonstrative of the character’s cowardice to an extent, it also holds thematic weight. The Buu arc is kickstarted with Son Gohan’s wacky adventures as a teenage high schooler moonlighting as a superhero. By the Buu arc’s midpoint, the main cast’s dynamics revolve around finding new things to stop Buu like Super Saiyan 3, the Fusion Dance, or Ultimate Gohan. None of these complex solutions work, yet Satan’s simple humanity does the trick. By introducing an outside character who, in some regards, is far more traditionally heroic, Toriyama Akira demonstrates that heroism is not a physical concept, but rather something more innate. This serves as an interesting moral and also effectively ties in with the Muten Roshi’s teachings regarding the meaning of martial arts training all the way from the early portions of the manga.

Yet still, Mr. Satan’s prior accomplishments are dwarfed by his most pivotal contribution at the end of the original Dragon Ball’s final story arc. At the most critical hour, Vegeta does his best to hold off the evil half of Majin Buu while Son Goku charges his Genki-dama ability. The technique requires people to willingly give their energy to be pooled against a villain in order to reach its maximum efficacy. Given that the main cast is absolutely terrible at PR, not many Earthlings are willing to help, believing them to be some demonic force. The irony of their hero being a man named Mr. Satan is clearly lost on them, but Goku and Vegeta’s pleas for help (facilitated by the North Kaio’s telepathy) go unanswered. As Vegeta and the goof half of Buu attempt to stall evil Buu, only select individuals aware of Goku’s deeds assist in the Genki-dama. But in this most dire circumstance, Mr. Satan shows his true character by chastising the denizens of Earth for lacking generosity. While at first this is simply an outburst, it demonstrates that at Satan’s core, he does possess a true sense of honor and duty, even if it is hidden beneath the layers of his numerous vices. In doing this, he quickly realizes the ability he alone possesses and begins telling everyone on Earth to donate energy to the Genki-dama, which eventually does defeat Buu. At the beginning of the Buu arc, the narration text box remarks that Earth has become complacent in the seven years since a large threat emerged. This leads to Son Gohan creating the superhero alter ego of the Great Saiyaman as a rebuttal to that

idea, showing that those with power still will ultimately stand for justice. Yet, the finale of Dragon Ball’s final arc is powerful in showing that even someone with absolutely no fighting abilities (at least on par with the galaxy level power the characters at this point have achieved) has the ability to make a positive impact. Satan’s actions don’t just save the Earth, as he reminds all Earthlings of the virtues that they must remember in order to maintain normal society. In this way, he is every bit of a hero as the main characters, just in his own unique way. Fitting for the final portion of the original long running Dragon Ball manga, Mr. Satan is a reminder not just for the in-story Earthlings, but also to the readers, of the power of even the average person. That he has the impact that he has is ultimately because of his internal virtues, not any particular physical power he possesses.

Finally, going back to the finale of the anime-only Dragon Ball GT which is 115 years after Majin Buu’s defeat, the only remnants of the characters are statues of Son Goku and Mr. Satan, along with a very elderly Pan, who is their granddaughter. In doing this, the story emphasizes the might of Son Goku and the innate goodness of Mr. Satan. This doesn’t necessarily say that Son Goku is not a good person or that Mr. Satan does not wield (indirect) might in his own right. Yet, by placing Satan alongside Goku, the ending rather neatly demonstrates that both were equally necessary for maintaining peace in their own right. Fundamentally, what establishes Mr. Satan as my favorite anime character of all time is his effect on the dynamics of the series that indicate how the single-minded approach of characters like Goku may not be the greatest. He is a clear foil to most Dragon Ball characters, and yet still upholds the series’ themes. In spite of his flaws which are fairly comedic and humorous, Mr. Satan embodies what it means to be a hero, and thus, truly earns his role as the savior of Earth and a figure remembered well beyond his days. His actions completely redefine the meaning of heroism outside of the confines of the main cast of characters. Just as Dragon Ball predominantly shows the story of Son Goku becoming a true legend, Mr. Satan’s portion shows that there isn’t just one path to success or to attaining respect, and that quite literally anyone can do good.

VOLUME 56, ISSUE 6.5 DECEMBER 15, 2022

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Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this publication are those of the respective author(s). They do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of Konshuu or its members. The terms employed in this specific individual issue and the presentation of material therein do not imply the expression of any opinion whatsoever on the part of Konshuu concerning the quality of any anime, manga, live action television series, or video games, or on the behalf of any creators, or concerning any legal statuses.

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