Konshuu Anthology 2023

CAL ANIMAGE ALPHA presents

konshuu

ANTHOLOGY

Look Back At Konshuu's History

Konshuu is a biweekly publication created by the student officers of Cal Animage Alpha (CAA), serving as an outlet for ardent fans of anime, manga, and other otaku related content to come together and express their passion through creative works. The full history of Konshuu has not been properly documented, though enough is known to provide insight as to how the publication has evolved through each generation of writers, artists, graphic designers, and editors.

CAA was first established in 1989 as a student-run organization at the University of California, Berkeley. In the following years, other universities followed suit in forming their own Cal Animage chapters. In 1995, the members of CAA published their very first issue of Konshuu in the form of a weekly four-page newsletter, which was the form it would remain in for the following two decades. Starting in 2015, the original format was discarded in favor of publishing Konshuu as an eight-page magazine. This drastic redesign of Konshuu is what developed it into its current incarnation, featuring student officer contributions. These come in the forms of drawn front and back covers, unique editorials, and various forms of supplementary content, including polls, recommendations, anonymous question boxes, and more. In addition to weekly periodicals, Konshuu occasionally takes on more ambitious works such as a unique hybrid issue-pamphlet release accompanying CAA’s yearly convention, Anime Destiny, to an anthology featuring highlights from past issues while premiering brand new works (like the one you’re reading now!).

Since the COVID-19 pandemic unexpectedly hit in spring of 2020, Konshuu has had to shift its production cycle away from weekly releases, instead opting for, at times, a monthly schedule, and at others, a biweekly basis. At the expense of more frequent releases, Konshuu issues have now extended to twelve, sixteen, or even twenty page publications, due to the extended timeframe to create content. During the pandemic, the magazine also began publishing digitally through issuu.com/konshuu-caa, in addition to kickstarting CAA’s YouTube channel (cal.moe/youtube) prior to those duties being spun off into their own dedicated department in late 2021.

At present, Konshuu arguably sits at one of its strongest incarnations throughout its turbulent history. With a staff consisting of roughly twenty officers, Konshuu is constantly improving its presentation with dynamic layout overhauls being a primary concern. It features increasingly stellar artwork–something the publication has historically placed a great deal of pride upon. Aesthetics aside, the magazine’s editorials have undergone a stark increase in the amount of topics covered, ranging from the familiar, to the forgotten, to even subjects which remain virtually unknown elsewhere. At this important juncture of Konshuu’s history, one large concern is of its return to pre-quarantine form. The most urgent matter associated with this comes with the revival of printed issues available for analog reading. Given the 28 “lost issues” between Volumes 51 and 54 that have piled up in the absence of physical releases, there is much work that must be done to fully bring the publication up to date, but we are gradually making our way there. Whilst keeping the legacy of Konshuu as a primary concern, we also hope to improve the magazine with each release. We can hardly wait to see where Konshuu will go next, and we hope to see you reading along with us!

Table of

Power | Chainsaw Man | Willow Otaka

Look Back At Konshuu's History

Estelle Bright | The Legend of Heroes: Trails in the Sky | Crystal Li

Summer is For Doing Nothing | Kev Wang

The Incomplete Data Set | Nicholas Wonosaputra

Pokemon Sun & Moon - Newfound Vitality | Max R.

The Saiyan Arc: A Round-Trip to the Depths of Hell | Felix L.

Touchdown Into The Top 10 | Mitchell Madayag

Yotsuba to! - Making the Mundane Magical | Blake Morrison

“Aesthetic” | Tony T.

Emu Otori | Project SEKAI | Kai Wu

Your Anime Scores Make No Sense, & Neither Do Mine | Nicholas Wonosaputra

Double Feature: Metanarratives and Creative Destruction in Pompo The Cinéphile and Fire Punch | Blake Morrison

Uchuu Kyoudai - Profound Power of People | Max R.

Major Makes Baseball Seem Interesting | Tony T.

Nogi Wakaba is a Hero: The Fabric of Legends | Felix L.

The One Piece - The One Piece Is Real Good | Mitchell Madayag

Sakura Minamoto | Zombie Land Saga | Eddie Song

Loid, Anya, and Yor Forger | SPY×FAMILY | Heaven Jones

Ryuko Matoi | Kill la Kill | Willow Otaka

Kokichi Ouma | Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony | Miranda

Zhang

The Arcobaleno | Katekyo Hitman Reborn | Sharrel Narsico

Rohan Kishibe and Heaven's Door | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond Is Unbreakable | Jen Zhao

Chika Fujiwara | Kaguya-sama: Love Is War | Kai Wu

Tomie Kawakami | Tomie | Jen Zhao

Akechi Goro | Persona 5 | Miranda Zhang

Shigehira Taira | Birushana: Rising Flower of Genpei | Sophia

Xue

Xiao | Genshin Impact | Sharrel Narsico

Kou Minamoto, Nene Yashiro, and Hanako | Toilet-bound

SUMMER IS FOR DOING NOTHING

KEV WANG

I really don’t get what people like about summer. It’s hot, it’s boring, and without the constant schedule provided by my education, what do I even do with my life? Well, the doing nothing part is actually pretty appealing, I mean lethargy is in fact one of my greatest talents. So I guess while the rest of you have your “fun”, tiring yourselves out at your summer festivals, running around in the heat like ants, I’ll just stay in my bed. Alone. Where I belong.

I’m the Hachimans from Oregiaru, the Orekis from Hyouka, the Tanaka-kuns from Tanaka-kun is Always Listless, the Satous from Welcome to the NHK, and not only do I not want to do anything this summer, but I am proud of it. These four shows differ in quality and aesthetic quite a lot, some of which I have written about in the past, but fundamentally they are practically the same. Oreki may be good at solving mysteries, Hachiman may be spiteful, Satou may be a creep, and Tanaka may be extra lazy, but they’re all male students who just want to be left alone to do their own nothing. And then, of course, they get reluctantly pulled out of their shell by some cute girl, and made, despite their own efforts, to see the positivity and excitement the world has to offer them.

in order to sustain humanity. That means a significant amount, if not majority, of the human population is working on things that are superfluous, maybe even useless. These people are straining their brains and bodies to do what? Increase the country’s GDP by a few percentage points? Allow their bosses to buy another Ferrari? No thanks. Heaven knows why there are still people in the world who go hungry (well, I suppose the wealthy know too).

Blah blah blah. The difference between real life and fiction is that things like this do not happen in real life. Nobody’s going to take interest in a lazy cynic and put the effort into making them happy. The most they’ll do is take pity on you. Really, the only party who benefits from telling these fantasies are those in the Japanese government, who are dealing with an increasing amount of hikikomoris combined with a decreasing birth rate. Perhaps they’re the ones pushing for these types of anime, a targeted effort to get people back to working and raising families.

I honestly cannot find a reason to care. Human productivity has long since passed the point where every able-bodied person needed to work

And as for falling in love and raising children, well if love is so great, why do 50% of all marriages lead to divorce? That’s like if every married couple flips a coin and all the ones with tails end up with a failed marriage. Why would I want to take those odds, and moreover, why would I want to do so while bringing more humans into this wretched world? Not only will they suffer, but they will in turn cause undue suffering on the world. Humans are by far the worst thing that’s happened to the global environment, I can’t imagine why we’d want more of us.

So, despite initial appearances with a seemingly inert main character that us pessimists thought we could relate to, these shows present a rosy and frankly ridiculous view of reality where everything turns out great in the end. Don’t fall for it. Don’t feel like you need to be active and social to have a good life. Don’t envy the Instagram stories of exotic places, the Linkedin posts of prestigious, high-paying jobs, the Facebook feed filled with baby pictures. These people are chasing a facade of a dream prescribed to them by society. This summer, I’m going to defiantly do what I want to do, even if that means doing nothing at all.

Writer

Originally published in Vol. 55 Issue 8 - Summer Festival

“‘Labour’ by its very nature is unfree, unhuman, unsocial activity, determined by private property and creating private property.”

- Karl Marx

THE INCOMPLETE DATA SET

Writer

NICHOLAS WONOSAPUTRA

A common factor present throughout most of my favorite pieces of media (Code Geass, Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Genealogy of the Holy War) seems to be a large cast of recurring, diverse characters that all hold a consistent stake in a central conflict. It’s difficult to define what makes a cast large, especially when there’s such a high variability in screen time and characterization, but I like to think of it as a group of twenty or more characters trying to play chess on a single board, all at the same time. Obviously, the game is going to be unplayable if everyone moves a piece at the same time, so some concessions are made to decide who moves when.

rately, should have) no bearing on real life. This would ideally mean that you aren’t distracted by the need to take sides, as the role of the audience member is that of an observer.

Observing a multitude of simulated viewpoints tends to be especially engaging because the work is challenging you to understand the other. This is incentivized when characters take these limited understandings into account when executing plans with varying success. These intellectual interactions between characters simultaneously construct a web of relationships which contribute to a sense of scale, especially when this web spans across a multitude of nations.

This culling of the chaos, or at least the attempt at doing so, is what makes stories so endlessly fascinating to me. In the real world, this comes in the form of the various institutions that try to keep society together. The lack of a perfect system leads to constant systemic exploitation and conflict, which often lead to horrifying results.

So what, then, is the role of conflict in fiction? Is it just meant to add to the horror? For some authors, that might be the intention, but at the end of the day, I believe it does the opposite. In trying to learn the rationale of conflict, we’re really trying to understand another viewpoint. Since this is fictional, the actual content of the conflict has (or perhaps more accu-

It’s no surprise that I like stories about understanding others, as I’ve dedicated my life to the pursuit of the truths of the human mind. Finding truths, from a scientific perspective, requires the accumulation of a lot of data. A grandiose scale tricks me into believing that I have the data points I need in front of me, and that I just need to interpret the data. However, this is logically not the case, because these fictional characters exist only when they are observed by the audience, and are thus severely incomplete. It seems that Code Geass has uniquely tricked me into believing that these characters exist beyond the artifice, as I’m provided enough data to project my own experiences and, perhaps more importantly, anime experience to complete the set. The latter makes Code Geass the All for One of anime, only growing in strength the more anime I consume.

Originally published in Vol. 55 Issue 10 - Top 10 I paused Xenoblade 3 to write this

POKÉMON SUN & MOONNEWFOUND VITALITY

MAX R.

Needless to say, Pokémon is the media franchise that I, among many others, have sunk the most time into. Over the years I would partake in nearly everything even remotely related, spanning various mediums from games and trading cards to anime and manga. While I adore some of said games, particularly Black & White and their sequels, the anime has always held a special place in my heart, having grown up watching and following it on a regular basis. These days, I recognize the bulk of earlier seasons to be borderline unwatchable, at one point leading me to falsely conclude that my fondness for the franchise had dissipated, but fast forward to my completion of Sun & Moon and I realize that this deduction couldn’t have been more incorrect.

Sun & Moon marks my return to the series, truly setting a high bar for the Pokémon anime, with only XY, which executes itself far better than any season prior, and the currently airing Journeys, which demonstrates potential despite ultimately being inconsistent, even holding a candle to it, imbuing new life into a worn formula utilized for over a decade and taking profound artistic liberties, not only structurally with the erasure of gyms, but aesthetically as well, being unquestionably the most expressive and some of the most experimental the mainline Pokémon anime has ever been, with simplified, stylized character designs easily enabling fluid motion and exaggerated facial expressions; on that note, the series doesn’t pull any punches regarding facial expressions and comedy (Lana trying to fish up a Kyogre was a running gag until it actually happened), bodies constantly contorting to provide preposterous reactions that one wouldn’t expect characters to be capable of (the baseball episode has still left its impression on me). Implementation of facial expressions in this fashion complements the permeating seemingly oxymoronic chaotically mellow tone, akin to a summer vacation at a tropical oasis with children flailing about and screaming; it’s precisely this dominantly upbeat, chaotic albeit placid aura that carves out a distinct identity for the season within the saga.

bath scenes or Mystery Dungeon Explorers of Sky’s guild dinner sequences. A centralized base allows for familiarity in regards to location as characters continually visit, enhancing the homey, hospitable atmosphere while simultaneously fleshing out the region. Pokémons’ roles culturally and environmentally as well as their relationships with humanity are emphasized, the creatures regularly showcased partaking in mundane endeavors, their versatility far transcending sole combat functionality, aspects prevalent in previous seasons, but not nearly to the same extent as Sun & Moon. Pokémon are harmoniously integrated into nature to where they legitimately feel to be a believable facet of the universe. Episodes may almost entirely lack human dialogue in favor of Pokémon communicating amongst themselves through expressions and mannerisms alone, which the franchise has gotten progressively more successful at through experimentation.

The characters and their interactions are what largely carry the season, providing an all-around ever-fun experience which rarely stagnates. Alola’s cast is downright incredible to say the least, everyone lovable and displaying complementary chemistry. Ash’s traveling companions are numerous, but each receives multiple dedicated focus episodes, some genuinely heartrending, and manages to be well-developed, Lillie especially, who acts as a centerpiece of a major arc. Kukui, in contrast to previous professors, is more directly involved in ensuing shenanigans, serving varied roles as a mentor/father-figure to Ash and formidable adversary as eventual champion, even providing assistance in battle on occasion; he remains a relevant force throughout the series, having plenty of his own moments to shine, including his marriage. Interestingly, the games’ primary plot threads swiftly conclude around episode 50, designating nearly a hundred remaining episodes to post-game hijinks including Ultra Beasts and Necrozma; Lusamine is a redeemed antagonist, eventually functioning as a favorable ally and providing interesting dynamics as Lillie’s mother. Team Rocket is also dealt a fantastic hand regarding their Pokémon, particularly in Bewear’s absurdities and Mimikyu with its fierce rivalry with Pikachu, and are also given some of their most impactful episodes, including a pleasant sendoff in the final episode that demonstrates a level of compassion. With this, the cast is among the best of any season.

The installment is a grand departure from the aforementioned standard Pokémon formula, incorporating school as a home base and adopting more slice of life-esque antics. Abolishing the gym structure, one may assume a lack of adventure and decline in terrain diversity, but the opposite holds true as the cast traverses vast, sprawling environments and dimensional rifts just as they would with other seasons. The return to school serves as an unwinding process back to equilibrium after a day’s escapades, reminiscent of Hidamari Sketch’s

As a cherry on top, the league is constructed from the ground up, proving to be the longest ever and if anything feels celebratory given how it’s derived from Kukui’s ambitions; animation dips in few episodes and not every battle is a full 6-on-6, but it’s an incredible arc nonetheless where all loose threads tie together. Ash finally winning a league brings the adventure full-circle, a culmination of efforts after over a thousand episode journey, causing the season to feel like a complete package in comparison to any other installment. Even after the brilliant revival of the anime with Kalos, Sun & Moon pushes even further to deliver on essentially every front imaginable to bestow new life upon the franchise.

Originally published in Vol. 55 Issue 8 - Summer Festival Pokémon in full form.

THE SAIYAN ARC - A ROUND-TRIP TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL

arc. This is emphasized by great filler episodes in the anime in which he encounters many people, from a group of orphans to the wreck of a robot, who teach Gohan the importance of protecting what he believes in, no matter what it may take. And all the others train in their ways, hoping to achieve something in the upcoming fight.

The Saiyan Arc of Dragon Ball is an essential turning point in the story. It marks the beginning of the second anime adaptation, Dragon Ball Z, with a great transition to this format boasting merits even surpassing the manga when it comes to showcasing the progression of the characters and the narrative.

This arc introduces major characters and jumpstarts many of the motifs in the characters’ relationships and themes behind the evolution of these characters that form the core of the story down to its structure and overarching meaning. It increases the field of play for the characters, pushing them to their limits through adversity, revealing new dynamics and interesting bits of characterization by putting them in extreme situations of a nature that had been unknown to them until then.

And this shift is also fitting considering what the characters went through in the story. Having just avoided the downfall of the earth with the defeat of Piccolo, the environment that the protagonists of this manga live in has changed drastically. This can be seen both in the arc’s stakes, as they realize that current threats could eliminate the planet and everything that they cherish with but one meager attack, and in its scope, with the arrival of Raditz, a Saiyan so powerful that Goku has to sacrifice himself to take him down. This is only further exacerbated by the knowledge that after one year, two other extraterrestrial threats, Vegeta and Napa, far stronger than Raditz, will arrive to get the Dragon Balls and destroy everything in their way unless the earthlings are ready to fight them.

What follows is a race against time, in an attempt to generate a level of power sufficient to topple these enemies. The protagonists are faced with a humbling situation: they must nurture strength, no matter what form it may take. Whether it be a friend or an old foe, where the potential lies, it must be grown. Piccolo starts training Gohan, the son of his sworn enemy because he is aware that he will never be able to go toe to toe with the Saiyans. As for Gohan himself, he has to accept his role, as he does not wish to fight, which becomes an essential part of his training

And as previously mentioned, the notion of time is key in this arc. It is filled with the dread of what is to come, from the awakening of Gohan’s potential to the constant cuts to the endless road that Goku has to traverse to reach Kaio’s planet to learn new techniques. All of this has to come together perfectly, both in timing and the amount of work that all of the earthling warriors had to put in, to face Vegeta and Napa. Strength at all costs, in any shape or form, all strive for this and will profit from this investment in both others as mentors, and themselves as fighters. That, after all, is what Dragon Ball’s cast ultimately strives towards, as the essence of their dynamic is mutual growth.

Finally, when the day of the fight comes, all this accumulated dread explodes into desperation. When plunged into an abyss of powerlessness, everything shatters. Inexperienced with such high stake fights, Gohan can only watch in terror as the champions of humanity get crushed. Those who believed their strength to be more than sufficient for the task, such as Yamcha, simply run to their deaths as an ultimate reminder of the immense chasm between them and their foes. But at that point, all that remains is a desperate belief in the spark of hope that they can cling to

FELIX LEVY

Originally published in Vol. 56 Issue 1 - Battle Shounen

Writer

and submit themselves to.

The race to progress sufficiently continues, as sacrifices have to be made for one to maybe reach this level. Chiaotzu sacrifices himself to damage Napa, Piccolo protects Gohan, his pupil, by fighting in his stead due to the latter’s terror when seeing the enemy’s power, and even by sacrificing himself in an act that completely counters his evil nature, the founding principle of his entire being, all to gain time for Goku’s return or the faint hope that Gohan will reach the power that they need to defeat the Saiyans.

And when Goku arrives, killing Napa and facing Vegeta, the nature of this battle truly reveals itself. The prideful Vegeta stands above Goku, considered an inferior Saiyan, upholding the hopes of all who died for the sake of permitting this face-off in the end. Both expend every asset in their wide range of techniques, with the Saiyan prince even using his Oozaru form to showcase his superiority as a Saiyan. But none of Kaio’s teachings seem sufficient to finish Vegeta off, and Goku is unable to defeat his opponent with sheer force despite using techniques designed to drastically increase his power level such as the Kaioken.

han, who had until then cowered in fear, must also accept his duty here, especially after the sacrifice of Piccolo, who decided to trust him despite his attitude towards fighting.

In the end, if it has come to this, one might ask: was their preparation foolish and useless, and a mindless effort to cope with their fate even though they had no chance of finding something that would work?

Most definitely not, as it is precisely that preparation that led them to an even playing field, where their heart and core as champions of their cause could express themselves before these threats who would otherwise have wiped them out before their will had any chance of appearing. Hard work and strength, with the wrong mindset, attitude, and principles can only lead one to his downfall here. That is precisely what happened to Yamcha, who did not face his foes with his newly nurtured strength, and instead became a lesson for his companions through his death, which would end up being his ultimate contribution to their effort, one that is unfortunate for his pride, but still immensely useful as a wake-up call for Gohan, as a new element added to his arc in which he learned to gain the will to fight for the ideas that he cherishes to make his strength more than a rusted tool, and the same can be said of the others.

But then again, what good is pride, when, like everything else, it vanishes amid desperation and grit?

This entire fight is a reactive process of mutual evolution between these two sides, coming at the cost of tearing through the bodies of the characters on each side. After pushing them to the limits of endurance in a fight where victory is not attained through prideful displays of power, but rather the expression of sheer willpower through desperate attempts to grasp what little strength remains in their limbs after exhausting their arsenal of supremely outstanding techniques, their belief and trust in their power that they started this fight with disappears.

At this part in the final fight, any movement made by these fighters is now the product of character and will rather than any strength that they might have acquired. And in those circumstances, everything is on the table, and everyone can be a hero.

Yajirobe, a man with no pride who cherishes his life above all else, ultimately decides to face Vegeta to deal with him. He does so by attacking him from behind, but at this stage of the fight, with everything on the line, that is the only thing that he can do to fulfill his purpose and live on. Go-

And this idea of pride that this arc emphasizes is central to Dragon Ball as a whole. Through this arc, some as the level-headed Piccolo have well incorporated it in their attempts to nurture a strength greater than the one he can attain. Others, such as Gohan, will forcefully learn this lesson here, as they face the realization that their responsibilities and principles are but weak excuses in front of the real thing, the true despair that fighting brings. And finally, Vegeta, who embodies pride, will get a taste of how truly incompatible his existence is with this nature of his, as Goku lets him leave to grow stronger and feed the cycle of universal mutual progression that makes Dragon Ball what it is. And this will haunt him as long as he clings to this foolish idea that has always defined him until he realizes that Goku’s mercy was a blessing, for it allowed him to reach greater heights than he could ever imagine through his later training and eventual acceptance that his initial nature was naught before what Goku offered him then.

The idea that started the arc, and ended it, and will continue to define the rest of the story. Let strength strive, no matter where its buds may appear, whether it be in a friend or a foe, for all will benefit in the end. The greatest of strengths lies in determination, mutual dynamics from friendship to rivalry, and responsibility. And as long as this cycle thrives, the result will be pure and worthy of being allowed to exist and to live on, because it will pull the rest of the world up. And whatever would threaten it, shall be surpassed by this system that will never allow one’s selfish status quo to stop it on its neverending evolutive trail.

TOUCHDOWN INTO THE TOP 10

MITCHELL MADAYAG

If some otherworldly power were to strike and prevent me from reading manga ever again, I honestly wouldn’t be too disappointed as I’m already quite satisfied with the wide array of awe-inspiring series I have had the pleasure of reading. I’m making quite a bold statement because these days, I find it infrequent that I stumble upon manga that can break into my top 20 favorites, let alone my top 10. I’ve read my fair share of manga throughout the years, typically those leaning towards battle shōnen and seinen themes, but lightning in a bottle phenomenon like Dragon Ball and Berserk are stories I deeply admire and can never see being replicated. Needless to say, what I’ve read is but a mere drop in the evergrowing ocean of Japanese graphic novels waiting to be discovered. In five years or so, I could possibly see my top 10 list changing tremendously as it’s not like I am blindly defending my favorites as flawless masterpieces. I thought Naoki Urasawa’s 20th Century Boys would forever stay in my top 5 but it’s slowly been pushed into the #12 spot over time. In the end, it all comes down to luck if I happen to find another manga I can deeply enjoy and thus, I continue reading in the pursuit of uncovering Japan’s finest works.

respectively, I figured I might as well look into this precursory collaboration between two well-known mangaka. Since it was still winter break at the time, I decided to borrow the first volume that happened to be at my local library, a special place in my heart that had first introduced me to manga. To my surprise, the beginning of Eyeshield 21 greatly impressed me, despite its simple setup of Deimon High School’s amateur American football club aiming for the Christmas Bowl. Although the club itself originally consisted of only three members—not nearly enough people to form a team—this surprisingly well-rounded trio of the devious and vulgar captain and quarterback Youichi Hiruma, the kind-hearted but determined center lineman Ryokan Kurita, and the short and wimpy running back Sena Kobayakawa would be the cornerstones of bringing success to the Deimon Devil Bats. Their first match together would be nothing short of amazing. Even if the rest of the team were composed of amateur athletes who were blackmailed by Hiruma, the game against the Koigahama Cupids (you’ll see clever name puns like this throughout) was down to the wire. The match may have spanned over a few chapters, but I could feel the tension and adrenaline conveyed through Murata’s use of smear lines and panel placement. It gave me a similar rush I felt when reading other popular sports manga like Takehiko Inoue’s Slam Dunk where I was unsure whether our titular protagonists would prevail. Combine this with smaller subplots happening both on and off the field between plays, the pacing was just right for an introduction of what’s to come. That was the trigger that made me realize I was going to love Eyeshield 21, so I went back to the library to check out every other volume that was available.

That brings me to the tale of my chance encounter with Riichirou Inagaki and Yusuke Murata’s Eyeshield 21 earlier this year. Having read their later works like Dr. Stone and One Punch Man

As the story progresses, Eyeshield 21’s ensemble cast grows with many lovable characters being introduced. When the Deimon Devil Bats eventually recruit enough dedicated players to no longer need to abduct students from other clubs, it becomes a special moment in the story that shows how far these boys have come and how many people they’ve inspired with their dreams. Each player on the team has a purpose and even some characters who seem bland at first are more fleshed out later on. They are all constantly developing as they persevere through hardships in and out of the sport, which touches on inner conflicts one could relate to regardless if they play football or not. This colorful cast is what I would designate as Eyeshield 21’s strongest trait. Though it’s not a unique strength for a sports manga, the overall quality of the characters extend beyond just the main team. Everyone, including rival teams, are given compelling backstories that provide context to each of their individual goals, personal struggles, and reasons for playing American football. Some characters who originally played the antagonist

Originally published in Vol. 55 Issue 10 - Top 10 How come no one’s made a fantasy football isekai yet?

Okay I lied. I’d be bummed if I wasn’t able to see the ending of One Piece or HUNTER×HUNTER.

role grew on me and made me wish that they could all just win and be happy. Furthermore, the attention to detail that Inagaki and Murata put into almost every character they craft sold me on them feeling like real people, all while they retain that shōnen flair. After most chapters (in the physical version as far as I know), seemingly useless but neat facts about the cast are provided, including but not limited to physical stats, lifting records, bag contents, junior high graduation notes, and room layouts. These tidbits are just fun extras that bring charm to each character, even if they don’t necessarily add any depth. There is also action often happening in the background of panels (usually for comedic purposes), breathing life to the world outside of the main focus shown in front of us. Being able to balance the attention between most of the 22 players on the field, as well as the spectators is an incredible feat that Eyeshield 21 pulls off so well. With so many different personalities from all walks of life coming into contact with one another, it’s never a dull moment no matter which group of characters the story follows for the time being.

To be honest, I’ve never really been an avid fan of American football. I don’t hold anything personal against the sport as I never was someone who got invested into televised sports. Yet, Eyeshield 21 captivated me with its thrilling story full of many lighthearted moments, memorable characters across the board, and gorgeous art graced by Murata. Even if you're not that knowledgeable with the sport like I once was, the characters train Sena on the rules and other intricacies of football, guiding readers along as well (I even got my mother to read it). Dynamic themes of always finding the resolve to get back on your feet are constantly reiterated through new perspectives, which shows that both amateurs and prodigies still have much to learn. It may be as cliche as it sounds, but I believe coming of age stories like Eyeshield 21 don’t need to deviate from the basic formula to inspire. I didn’t necessarily become a fan of American football, but a fan of the Deimon Devil Bats. Being invested in Sena and his friends felt akin to watching my own high school team play because I was able to follow both storylines on a personal level. Funnily enough, my high school’s mascot was a blue devil.

If you haven’t got the message already, I absolutely loved the hilarious and compelling Eyeshield 21. For this write-up, I had to reread some chapters, which almost tempted me into a full reread. There are definitely criticisms to be made against the series, especially with how it handles racism, but I aimed to treat this article as a big appreciation post for Eyeshield 21. Regardless, fans of American football, sports manga, Inagaki’s writing, Murata’s art, or all of the above are encouraged to read Eyeshield 21. Recency bias could be a part of it, but my enjoyment with this wholesome shōnen classic put it as my 10th favorite manga of all time, just ahead of Q Hayashida’s Dorohedoro, Kengo Hanazawa’s I Am a Hero, and the aforementioned 20th Century Boys. Sure, it’s on the verge of being out of my top 10, but for the time being, Eyeshield 21 left a great enough impression on me to cross into the spotlight. One step is all you need for a touchdown anyways.

Hey, if you haven’t caught the memo yet, all the other series I’ve mentioned so far are worth checking out, too!

YOTSUBA TO! - MAKING THE

BLAKE MORRISON

Yotsuba to! is a slice of life comedy manga about the day to day happenings and goings ons of the eccentric and endearing five-year old Yotsuba Koiwai, her adoptive father, and their neighbors and friends. And it’s a modern classic. Yotsuba to! has been running since 2003 and was originally published monthly, although new chapters have been coming out on an irregular schedule for years now. Set publishing schedule or not, though, Yotsuba to! is one of the most consistently enjoyable long-running manga I’ve read. It also enjoys an enduring popularity commensurate with its quality. Chances are those who haven’t read the manga, or those who don't even read manga but regularly spend time on internet forums, have seen the titular Yotsuba’s character design, instantly recognizable by her four leaf clover-esc green hair (Yotsuba’s name literally translates to “four-leafed”). Of course, Yotsuba’s conquest of the internet is largely due to the wonderful expressiveness of mangaka Azuma Kiyohiko’s designs. Instead of defaulting to the same “moe” template faces for happy, sad, angry, or whatnot as you might expect, Yotsuba seems to make new expressions every chapter.

To those who only know about Yotsuba from her design and the occasional meme, I’d like to say that yes, Yotsuba is cute, and yes, the panel of her pointing the water gun saying “save your excuses for hell” is funny out of context (and even more so in context), but Yotsuba to! isn’t one of the best manga out there simply because of a cute character and some memeable panels. 109 chapters of Yotsuba to! have been published over its almost 20 year run, but only half a year has passed in the manga. When I described Yotsuba to! as “day to day,” I meant it. It’s a slice of life manga in the purest sense. Every chapter is either a self-contained story or set-up for the occasional two-parter, all centering on the wonder of everyday life seen from the perspective of a little girl. In one chapter, Yotsuba and her father go to the zoo. In another, they look for acorns. In yet another, they go to a summer festival to see fireworks with some friends. If these topics sound mundane to you, it’s because they are, but to Yotsuba they are anything but. It’s surprisingly easy for me to read any chapter of Yotsuba to! and be able to invest in, and somewhat regain, the unabashed curiosity and excitement of children that Yotsuba embodies. Yotsuba to! reminds us that every mundanity we have come to take for granted can be made to seem magical again, and it does this with humor and heart every chapter. Yes, even in the acorn one.

Yotsuba to! also has a special place in my heart as the first manga I read entirely in Japanese. I’m sure that the joy of being able to finally (mostly) read a manga in Japanese after studying for months certainly played a part in this, but I don’t think I’ve ever smiled or laughed more reading a manga than I did my first time

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Originally published in Vol. 55 Issue 8 - Summer Festival There’s a summer festival in chapter 21 of Yotsuba to!. Yes, that's my thinly veiled excuse to write about this manga for the Summer Festival Issue.

THE MUNDANE MAGICAL

reading Yotsuba to!. However, when I read some of the English translation, even though I still enjoyed myself, I didn’t respond as openly to it as I did to the Japanese version. Naturally, the knowledge that the dialogue and wordplay almost always works best in Japanese acts as one barrier to enjoyment. For example, Yotsuba’s dialogue has the special feature of being written in hiragana and katakana without any kanji (Chinese characters), which instantly reflects her childishness in a way no other language exactly can.

English equivalents I’ve come to emotionally distance myself from as cliches due to overexposure. That is, a Japanese poem translated into English can make me cringe in embarrassment, while the original text, even if identical in meaning, can strike me as beautiful. I’m well aware that the opposite would be the case if Japanese was my native language, but regardless, rediscovering basic human concepts without the baggage that one’s native language brings to them simply has a rejuvenating effect, a return to the mindset of a child absorbing knowledge if not the limited understanding of one. Of course, this isn’t to knock Yotsuba to!’s English translation(s). Like in most manga, the art carries the lion’s share of the appeal, so even the clunkiest fan translation would fail to ruin the humor and fun rooted in Yotsuba to!’s foundations.

But I also believe this preference of mine stems from the fact that, through learning Japanese as a second language these past couple of years, I’ve been able to somewhat return to an unironic, sincere connection to concepts referred to by Japanese signifiers (that’s pretentious speak for “words”) whose

No matter how many more manga and novels I read, in English or Japanese or any other language, I think I’ll keep coming back to Yotsuba to! every now and then. My first read of it was already a kind of homecoming, after all. Thanks to it, I learned to laugh again.

Translator’s note: Hanabi, the Japanese word for fireworks, literally means “flower fire.”

"AESTHETIC"

so ingrained in my understanding of animation (and frankly, narrative media) that fully dissecting my outlook would be akin to performing a complete psychological evaluation of myself.

While I don’t exactly remember, I’d wager that the first anime I ever saw was probably Castle in the Sky. Ghibli works in general are somewhat difficult for me to discuss, partially due how the animation studio seems to receive zealous praise almost ubiquitously. Much of the admiration for Studio Ghibli, at least in the west, typically comes from established media sources that have extremely rigid understandings of cinema, resulting in praise that is as repetitive as it is abundant. My fear of being associated with the trend of generic pleasantries has thus made me apprehensive about discussing Ghibli prior to this article. Beyond that, the conflation of “Studio Ghibli” with the name “Miyazaki Hayao” is also rather irksome. As a whole, traditional Hollywood praise of Ghibli works generally spout vague positive qualities of these films as somehow surpassing limitations of their medium without much understanding as to why Japanese animation is so captivating. One has to wonder how many, if any, other anime films western critics have seen before giving their thoughts on Ghibli films.

Unfortunately, I neither have a background in psychology, nor have an ego so inflated that I would think that completely examining my personality is that entertaining. One portion that particularly stands out in a way I can verbalize, though, is the scene upon reaching the titular Castle in the Sky. Following a sequence of dizzying confusion for the audience and characters alike, the simple panning shots of a clearly high-tech fortress covered by nature evokes simultaneous feelings of joy and melancholy. The liminality of the space, a place once likely sprawling with individuals and technology, yet now featuring only nature and a singular remaining robotic guardian, creates an almost intoxicating atmosphere. The protagonists’ actions mirror this emotional duality. They first break out in laughter while running around, joyfully celebrating their success in finding Laputa, yet this is slowly supplanted by more thoughtful contemplation of why such a futuristic civilization fell into ruin to begin with. Castle in the Sky is a film that I enjoy for numerous reasons, but I think the film’s aesthetic components – its art, animation, and music (particularly the music) – are the primary key to its lasting presence in my subconscious. The film’s mise en scène in its depiction of Laputa perfectly concludes its characters’ quest to find it. Their journey is made all the more meaningful because Laputa is so vibrantly luscious with nature yet desolate with mere remnants of human influence. If one considers certain stories to be the ‘core embodiment’ of a concept, such as the Biblical clash of David and Goliath forever typifying underdogs, then Castle in the Sky encapsulates adventure for me.

However, I can’t exactly refute the critical acclaim. Castle in the Sky, in particular, is a film which I have revisited on numerous occasions and still find to be one of my favorites in its simplistic charm and somewhat innocent optimism. There aren’t many pieces of Castle in the Sky that I find groundbreaking, but its whole is far greater than the sum of its parts. Certain sequences in the film are simply

TONY T. Originally published in Vol. 55 Issue 8 - Summer Festival

Editor-In-Chief

Yet, perhaps even more aesthetically intriguing (yet somehow even more mainstream) than Castle in the Sky is Spirited Away. Rather than beautiful, universally poignant shots of nature overcoming human abuse, Spirited Away utilizes notably eastern visual motifs. Much of the film’s visual beauty is due to its setting, a traditional bath house surrounded by a perpetual festival atmosphere. There’s a surreal quality to the primary locales of Spirited Away. In a sense, it captures an eerie ambience akin to Oshii Mamoru’s Urusei Yatsura 2: Beautiful Dreamer or the first third of Otomo Katsuhiro’s Memories anthology. Like Castle in the Sky, Spirited Away’s setting thrives due to its quality as a liminal space, though it has a different approach, first showing a location in a state of abandonment, followed by sequences portraying it as lively and filled with peculiar creatures.

The world’s sense of scale helps as well. Spirited Away remains particularly memorable for me due to the large assortment of interesting interconnected parts. From the path to the boiler room to the memorable train ride to Zeniba’s home, there’s a sense that what protagonist Sen explores is but part of a rich and complex world. As opposed to Castle in the Sky’s setting tying in with its overall narrative of adventure, Spirited Away evokes a sense of youthful wonder. The particular use of traditional Japanese architecture and design in the setting, combined with the connection to nature established with the entrance being tucked away behind trees sets a mood that is wholly unique to the film, difficult to accomplish outside of Japanese animation.

Super Mario 64, or television animation like Aria, may not have had a lasting impact on me had I not seen Spirited Away first. And yet, the interesting and unique story present in Spirited Away likely swayed my preferences in aesthetics as an afterthought to a strong narrative. I may enjoy Castle in the Sky more purely due to its particularly loose story and overall feeling of innocent adventure, but Spirited Away has by far the more influence on me as a person, and arguably is one of the fundamental works that remain paramount to my personal tastes.

My fascination with Spirited Away, like many, then, comes with these small details. I personally cannot separate any viewing of Spirited Away from childhood experiences exploring rural mountainous areas of Asia, where forests filled with nature are interrupted only by stairs leading to Buddhist temples. In that regard, reminiscent of my inability to express my thoughts on Castle in the Sky due to its visuals eliciting nonverbal emotions, there’s an artistic quality to Spirited Away that is hard to verbalize. It likely has a strong grip on my very preferences in media. As my first viewing was an early formative memory, I cannot say my particular fixation on settings densely packed with distinct and interesting locales isn’t rooted in Spirited Away. Works which utilize similarly complex settings, including the aforementioned film Beautiful Dreamer, games like

It’s difficult for me to accurately describe the impact of Studio Ghibli’s works on myself because thinking about the studio generally leaves me with mixed emotions. Just as I absolutely adore the previously mentioned Castle in the Sky and Spirited Away, I have similar thoughts towards other Miyazaki Hayao films like The Wind Rises, his son Miyazaki Goro’s From Up On Poppy Hill (yes, I do actually enjoy a Goro film), Kondo Yoshifumi’s Whisper of the Heart, or Mochizuki Tomomi’s Ocean Waves. What more, with the possible exception of Poppy Hill, my rationale for appreciating these films all vary drastically. From the unique nihilistic contemplation of artist and creation offered by The Wind Rises, to the suburban coming of age narrative of Whisper of the Heart, to the somewhat strange romance present in Ocean Waves, a plethora of Studio Ghibli’s works are outstanding in their own particular ways. However, while the studio has produced many films I’d consider excellent, I find myself extremely negative towards works like Princess Mononoke or Howl’s Moving Castle. On that note, the less said about Miyazaki Goro’s other films, Tales from Earthsea and Earwig and the Witch, the better. Paralleling my thoughts on Ghibli films is the reception they receive. I generally agree with the exaltation of several of these films as defining pieces of media, if this article wasn’t proof enough. Yet, I find an equal amount of reason in dismissing a great deal of the praise as uninformed fluff pieces from a fairly ignorant and tunneled western perspective. Nevertheless, I unambiguously believe that by far the strongest aspect of these films are their sense of aesthetic and how they uniquely use art, animation, and music to evoke emotion. It is the reason why I have revisited these films and will likely continue to do so in the future, and why I still consider the name of Studio Ghibli on a movie poster as an indication of, if nothing else, something probably interesting.

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Art By Kai Wu

YOUR ANIME SCORES MAKE NO SENSE, & NEITHER DO MINE

When one begins to watch greater quantities of anime series on a regular basis, they become far more likely to want to track the media that they’ve consumed through services like MyAnimeList or AniList. This could be for a variety of reasons: having a quick way to give recommendations, being able to participate in third party services like Anime Music Quiz, or just to have a way to go down memory lane and enjoy the blissful taste of nostalgia. Whatever the reason, those who use anime list services also have the opportunity to document their thoughts and feelings about a show through a scoring and review system.

My experience with scoring has been a tumultuous one. For the longest time, I didn’t score because I wasn’t sure how to weigh what I perceived to be the show’s objective value over my subjective experience of the work. I found myself bouncing between the opinions of various anime gurus in an attempt to decipher the meaning of one word: “good.” Years passed, and I still hadn’t put a single (serious) score on my list. However, a passing remark from a friend brought the need to match consensus values into question, and everything clicked into place.

A common question that professors like to ask at the start of every intro to psychology course is if the human mind can ever be fully understood, or at least partially. Regardless of your answer, it is clear that science has yet to find common ground on many of the basic aspects of the human mind, let alone what specific parts of anime it likes. And yet, I’ve heard a slew of reasons for liking a show framed within the thinly veiled threat of objectivity that has been unknowingly and arbitrarily mixed with personal experience.

Then there’s the scoring process in and of itself, which is absolutely butchered by the cultural influence of the educational grading system. Thus, a scale of 1-10 is reduced to a scale of 1, 7-10, with the space between 1 and 7 representing a vague, evidently nonlinear, secondary scoring system. The reasoning for this would make sense in the context of your average product and service rating, which is further reduced to a 10 being exactly what you expected, 7 being mid, and 1 being abhorrent. However, western (and honestly most of eastern) anime scoring systems have no influence on a Japanese industry’s decision-making and values, even if we wish they would.

In light of these factors and confounds, I think that this is actually a great opportunity to learn something about how we each perceive art, which is why I’d like to suggest my own personal scoring system. In order to comply with MAL’s 10 unit scale, let’s use a scoring system of 3-10 to linearly evaluate our emotional attachment to a property, where a higher score represents a higher likelihood that that the show elicits positively coded emotions like joy, excitement, and satisfaction from the self-reporting viewer. A score of 1 is of the same magnitude as a 10 but negatively coded. A score of 2 represents completely forgotten data, which are the shows that you can’t remember having watched at all or have little to no impact on emotional state.

Now, you might ask, “why not make the scale fully linear and use a 2-10 scale while taking into account negative effects?” In which case I would simply say that giving things I don’t like a 1 is more satisfying… which thereby invalidates my measure. My goal here isn’t to convince you to use my system–far from it–I just want to help break your preconceived notions of scores and nudge you into developing a better one.

NICK WONOSAPUTRA

4th Year, Neurobiology and Psychology Jesse, wtf are you talking about?

Writer

DOUBLE FEATURE: METANARRATIVES AND CREATIVE DESTRUCTION IN POMPO THE CINÉPHILE AND FIRE PUNCH

Near the end of Cinema Paradiso, the protagonist Salvatore, now in his middle-age, returns to the movie theater of his youth, now in disuse and disrepair. The shot of that grand, old, crumbling theater about to be laid to rest by a wrecking crew reminds me of my problem with the term “pathetic fallacy.” As an identifier for a concept, pathetic fallacy is perfectly serviceable. Attributing emotions to non-human things that scientifically do not have emotions is something human things do, a lot. But if viewing life from an emotional lens is a “fallacy,” then you might as well stick fallacy at the end of every other literary and poetic term: metaphorical fallacy, alliterative fallacy, symbolic fallacy, ironic fallacy, and so on and so forth, etcetera etcetera. If the attribution of emotions to the non-human is fallacious, then it follows that the attribution of meaning to a movie theater, a film, a story, other people or anything other than oneself is fallacious as well. After all, how can you be scientifically sure of anything or anyone’s emotions other than your own? Can you even be sure of your own emotions? The words “pathetic fallacy” imply that any belief is a mistaken one, which is technically true. It is also technically unhelpful, boring, and makes me regret majoring in English. Pathetic is also a word that is now less than ennobling, although it once was exactly that. The Oxford English Dictionary tells us that pathetic now usually describes something as “inadequate; of such a low standard as to be ridiculous or contemptible” or “expressive of failure, inadequacy, or alienation,” but it used to simply mean pathos. It meant emotion. As it did four hundred years ago, pathetic still technically means “Arousing sadness, compassion, or sympathy, esp. Through vulnerability or sadness; pitiable,” but now no one uses it other than to insult or degrade something or someone. I get the feeling that the words “pathetic fallacy” are snarkily whispering to me “the categorically non-human does not and cannot have emotions; only individual humans alone have emotions; in this regard, humans live and die alone,” and that makes me want to punch pathetic fallacy in its figuratively fallacious face, however scientifically and unimaginatively accurate it may be.

Beyond the fallacious emotions I feel at seeing it alone and abandoned at the end of the film, the movie theater in Cinema Paradiso is still a character unto itself. It acts as the hub of Salvatore’s Sicilian hometown, bringing all of its residents together and crucially bringing Salvatore and Alfredo together. In a sense, the movie theater is the town, or at least it is the audience’s main view of the town. It is the setting that brings the characters together, without which we would not be able to see these characters as we do. In the pre-digital age that the film depicts, the movie theater was a much more human institution, one that required a projectionist to crank the film into the projector manually. Although in the film the projectionist is clearly a metaphor for the artist, one who is always apart from the audience of their work but able to uniquely enjoy the audience’s enjoyment of it, the projectionist could be a metaphor for anyone. Sitting in the little projection booths of our skulls, we may think we are viewing a three dimension world through the lens of our eyes, but we are actually viewing a film of two dimension images processed by photoreceptors, rods, cones, and a bunch of other things that I learned (and have already mostly forgotten) from a cognitive science class I took for my biological sciences breadth requirement last year. Everyone is the protagonist of their own story. Everyone is also the author, or more accurately, the filmmaker of their own life. You could call this a pathetic fallacy, the fallacious attribution of emotion to a concept, to one’s life, because without the attribution of emotions, what is life other than a biological process? On a nobler note, you could also call this creativity. Not creativity in the sense of a particularly talented artist or problem-solver, but creativity in the sense of simply believing there is a point to something, to your own life. By believing, you are creating something.

One anime that particularly encapsulates the creativity of belief is Pompo The Cinéphile, a delightfully meta movie about making movies. One manga that also explores the creativity of belief is Fire Punch, an equal parts despairingly and hopefully meta story about storytelling (living). Opening in a picturesque anime version of Hollywood called Nyallywood, Pompo the Cinéphile is certainly more optimistic than Fire Punch. It is also not a direct meta-narrative like, say, Shirobako is, which is a TV anime about making a TV anime. Rather, Pompo the Cinéphile is an anime movie about making a live-action film. Although the film that the characters create, Meister, ultimately and predictably sweeps the Nyallywood equivalent of the academy awards, a hypothetical full live-action version of that film, based on the selective scenes from it that we see acted, filmed, and edited,

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BLAKE MORRISON

3rd Year, English and Japanese

When I die, my hallucinating brain will probably make me think that the afterlife is a library.

SPOILERS FOR CINEMA PARADISO, POMPO THE CINÉPHILE, AND FIRE PUNCH

probably would not be anything special. Naturally, what lends the creation of this formulaic fictional film pathos is the context of the characters creating it, but it is also the medium of animation that lends it an emotional depth. There is a glorious use of match-cuts between the in-universe film and the film’s present action. Director and storyboarder Takayuki Hirao uses these meta match-cuts so frequently that one might wonder how they stay meaningful and not become a gimmick. One reason is that the match-cuts always match shots on a visual as well as an emotional level. The match-cuts between Gene and Meister’s protagonist as he edits the film are particularly well-done, paralleling the creative frustrations of one fictional character with another and in so doing constantly reminding us that we are doing the exact same thing with ourselves and fictional characters as we watch this or any film. Interestingly, many of the creative scene transitions in Pompo the Cinéphile would not work as seamlessly as they do in a live-action film. Just to name a few of these transitions: the reflections in various bodies of water warp into a character’s recollection, windshield wipers sweep away the rain and the preceding scene, the two lines dividing a shot into four triangular images turn into a chain link fence that a character then grasps onto, and falling papers flip by, obscuring the current scene to reveal the next one. Another nice meta-narrative nod is that, if you exclude the opening publisher and production studio logo credits and the ending credits, the movie’s runtime is exactly ninety minutes (ninety minutes plus five seconds, to be exact, but it is still close enough to be impressive).

However, Pompo the Cinéphile does make liberal use of the trope of the lonely and suffering artist with Gene, although it thankfully does not take the trope at face value. Although Pompo claims that Gene’s creative potential as a director comes from his “eyes that don’t sparkle” and by extension his dissatisfaction with ordinary life as a social misfit, contending that “happiness is the enemy of creation,” the movie itself makes clear that Gene’s success as a debut director does not come from his dead eyes or having been socially withdrawn for much of his life. Instead, Meister only comes together thanks to the effort of many individuals, not just that of an auteur director cut off from social fulfillment and cooperation. Happiness is not necessarily the enemy of creation, or rather, depression is not the secret ingredient to artistic creativity. It is quite the opposite. From Dasai Osamu to Hideaki Anno, the mental struggles of many artists have been popularly interpreted as inspiration for their art. The romanticization of the suffering artist is a whole other beast of topic that I have neither the time nor resolve to delve into at the moment, so suffice it to say such romanticization is extremely reductive and liable to mislead people currently struggling with depression or even to normalize it as the default mentality of the artist, which it certainly is not. Creation, even of the darkest and most cynical art, is a positive, phenomenologically life-affirming act. Even so, one cannot deny that, as Gene says, “life is a series of choices” and “choosing one path means cutting out all the others. So cut out conversation. Cut out friendship. Cut out family. Cut out daily life. Cut, cut, cut!”

Out of context, this dialogue sounds incredibly depressing. It is

slightly less so in context. Editing a film –cutting out extraneous dialogue, characters, scenes– here becomes a metaphor for life. Depressing as it is, there is a universal truth to it beyond Gene’s own situation as a “social misfit” and “film geek” who has, in his own words, “run away from reality” to the world of film. In creating something, one in a sense destroys every other possibility for what that could have been. But these possibilities are not “to be thought away. Time has branded them and fettered they are lodged in the room of the infinite possibilities they [the things that actually happened instead of remaining as possibilities] have ousted. But can those have been possible seeing that they never were? Or was that only possible which came to pass? Weave, weaver of the wind.” (James Joyce, 25). Seeing as my mind is filled with Ulysses these days from writing a thesis on it, I think I am allowed to quote it at least once even in an anime club magazine article of all things.

Even if creation requires destruction, and the creative process is inherently one of revision and excision as much as it is of vision and addition, Pompo the Cinéphile reminds the viewer that movies (and by extension all art and communication) are made for someone other than the creator. Even if the creator thinks they are creating it solely for themselves, that is simply not possible. For us social creatures, the precondition of consciousness is dependence on someone else, on the Freudian Other, on one you can talk and listen to. The “Other” does not need to be a specific person, they can be a construct of the creator’s mind, but that construct still originates from social involvement with the Other, and any movie we make or word we say is a prayer for a social connection we cannot scientifically confirm but that we have been raised to intuitively hope for. Pathetic fallacy. We assume that there is emotional meaning in our communication medium of choice. This assumption is usually correct. After all, why else would the audience laugh, cry, boo, or yawn if the medium failed to carry or at least evoke emotions.

Like Pompo the Cinéphile, Fire Punch is also about making a movie, in its first half, that is. Even when the story about making a film metanarrative runs its course, Fire Punch remains a highly self-reflexive work. Characters frequently contemplate their motivations as “acting” for the sake of the Other, and the abundance of pop culture references, although sometimes simply there for a cheap laugh, usually reinforce the manga’s hyperbolically violent and bleak world, which in light of the all the film references appears in sharp relief as an amalgamation of shock value tropes and cliches that, in their overly extreme depiction, are emptied out and divested of their original cheap entertainment value and refreshingly depicted to have real human and emotional cost. Of course, the manga is still entertaining, but through Tatsuki Fujimoto’s depiction of characters struggling with the idea of narrativization in media and in their lives, and the murky, entirely blurred boundary between the two, one can enjoy a rare kind of self-reflective and self-reflexive entertainment. The movie theater as a metaphor for life is the image that stays with me from this manga. We make movies for the Other, tell stories for the Other, live for the Other.

I wonder who I wrote this article for.

UCHUU KYOUDAIPROFOUND POWER OF PEOPLE

with all sorts of eccentric personalities, and even befriends some of them. Mutta’s automotive background isn’t thrown out the window either; after being assigned to an engineering team, his experience and unique skill set inspires him to help devise a lunar navigation system that projects a holographic road onto the moon’s surface for more effective traversal, as well as the Sharon Lunar Observatory that he, himself, ends up implementing on the Moon. Mutta is the perfect storm of flawed and charismatic, inadequate yet capable, and jovial while simultaneously sincere. He’s a character who has earned my respect as easily one of the better protagonists I’ve come across.

While I’ve generally been more vocal in pushing my favorite anime, Aikatsu!, Uchuu Kyoudai has shared a similar honor atop a comparable pedestal as my favorite manga, as well as perhaps the most overwhelmingly powerful work I’ve encountered in the medium, holding the record for the most times I’ve been forced to shed tears by a singular work of fiction. It not only ties into my love for astronomy, which does further its case, but features perhaps some of the greatest depictions of the collective power of humanity in action. It showcases myriad different people from all corners of the world and walks of life in varying roles, all working in tandem to achieve greatness and further the reaches of mankind. A distant dream for a middle-aged salaryman evolves into a heartwarming tale of the dedication it takes to actualize childhood aspirations on the grandest stage imaginable, as he becomes increasingly interwoven into a vast network of individuals whose job is to constantly push the envelope for what defines ‘feasible’. Uchuu Kyoudai stands out as the paragon of the secret formula I value in storytelling that also just so happens to be centered around a subject I’m interested in. I find it difficult to properly word my thoughts given the resounding inspirational impact that it has left on me, but nonetheless I’ll try.

Uchuu Kyoudai’s cast is nothing less than spectacular, a glue that holds it together to say the least. Namba Mutta is both an amusing guy and likable protagonist to root for, but he’s also stupid on occasion, especially in headbutting his boss, though that ended up as a blessing in disguise. There are initially numerous comparisons made between him and his brother, Hibito, who had adamantly strived to become an astronaut in accordance to his childhood dreams, something that contrasts Mutta, who strayed to pursue the automotive industry instead. Due to this, Mutta feels ashamed, and in a sense, surpassed by his younger brother, contradicting his belief of needing to always remain a step ahead as the older sibling. Even so, he endeavors to eventually catch up to Hibito and become an astronaut. While he had always had a strong interest in space, there’s still so much that he ends up having to learn. Mutta is also introspective, ruminating on his own progress since the starting line in how he could better himself and his chances, never throwing in the towel. He confronts important figures across adjacent industries, fostering the soft-skills to deal

This sort of thing extends well beyond just Mutta though. Essentially every character in Uchuu Kyoudai, including those who initially appear minor or off-putting, ends up layered and fleshed out to a reasonable extent. There is always more to their story, and they very much feel like, well, actual people; this may be the only manga where I can confidently claim that. Deniel Young just seems like some random-ass old geezer who almost kidnaps Apo, but he’s revealed to be a peculiar veteran pilot instructor who acts as an early mentor who teaches Mutta the ropes of flying. Vincent Bold may be strict and aloof, but it’s largely because he takes his work seriously with a no-nonsense approach, recognizing that externally expressing the slightest ounce of panic, even if only through something as subtle as one’s tone of voice, can be enough to seal someone’s fate. Beneath his poker-face exterior however, he is surprisingly passionate and shows genuine care for those he deems to be allies, acting as another insightful mentor to Mutta in his own way, and going so far as to personally guide him as communication liaison from Earth upon finally reaching the Moon. Walter Gates comes off as an antagonistic figure, as one of the final hurdles for Mutta before his departure, but he’s hardly one-dimensional. The opposition he displays towards the Jokers stems from having grown jaded over the years, finding failure to be absolutely intolerable, not approving of anything in which he lacks full confidence of success, a realistic and sensible outlook that’s integral when dealing with people’s lives. Ivan Tolstoy serves as an instrumental figure in Hibito’s rehabilitation arc, working closely with him in therapy to overcome his newfound limitations, to the point where it’s difficult to determine whether Hibito would have ever been able to return to the Moon without Ivan’s assistance. Meanwhile, Eddie Jay is an indispensable comrade, as well as, once again, mentor, for Mutta, a rational, experienced astronaut who had previously undertaken missions to space, providing a level of much needed security for said Jokers, the rest of whom are first-timers. Having to leave the Moon early, he bestows a memento upon Mutta along with a promise to have it be returned, imbuing him with the determination to live on and see things through. Some characters, such as Eddie’s brother, Brian Jay, and Rick Turner, remain deceased even prior to the beginning of the series, yet still manage to be fleshed out, transcending the grave

Writer

MAX R.

4th Year, Japanese

Imagine being someone who doesn't have Uchuu Kyoudai as their favorite manga. Couldn’t be me.

SPOILERS FOR UCHUU KYOUDAI

as inspirational motivators. There are countless fantastic side characters who act as different means of invaluable support for Mutta, Hibito, and everyone around them.

Being a long-running series that has continued for over a decade and a half, Uchuu Kyoudai adeptly utilizes continuity to its advantage; numerous characters who are focused upon early on fade into the background later, and for a while they may seem like an afterthought, yet they aren’t forgotten about, with many of these familiar faces reappearing dozens of chapters later with newfound significance and relevance. Naoto Fukuda, who served as another rival candidate during the JAXA entrance exams, stands as an example, returning having evidently succeeded in his dream of designing rockets; the same could be said for Yasushi Furuya, who later reemerges in similar fashion. This is a characteristic that I’ve come to value in works of media, as it’s definitive proof that a series seeks to remember itself and make the most of even its minor pieces. On the other hand, Sharon Kaneko is special to the Namba brothers, recurring frequently as someone close to them from their childhoods, as well as an individual responsible for helping further cultivate their love for space as in their younger years, they routinely visited her and peered through her telescope. Afflicted with an incurable disease, Sharon’s condition steadily degenerates, and she’s soon rendered unable to speak or communicate whatsoever, yet still remains a motivational cornerstone for Mutta, who, as mentioned, completes a functional lunar observatory dedicated to her. Her face may not be capable of expressing it, but regardless, she’s surely smiling on the inside whenever she hears of what the siblings are up to and what they desire to achieve going toward. You can just tell that she’s incredibly proud of both of them.

The series is brilliant in following each and every step of Mutta’s journey towards becoming an astronaut, everything from the JAXA application process of interviews to entrance exams, to experiencing high-G flight practice in preparation for withstanding the force of rocket launches, to survival exercises and underwater zero-gravity training, to mission simulations, all while learning to adapt to various forms of unexpected difficulty that may arise whihe Moon, reinforcing the rigor and extensive patience that accompanies one of the world’s most difficult career paths. While space is depicted as a goal to aspire towards for many, it isn’t over glorified. There exists contention with the media and public regarding the prospect of space development as a whole where it may seem that large funds are being funneled into projects that produce no tangible results, something that the series is self-aware of and seeks to justify. There’s obviously also a very real risk of death that must come to be acknowledged, hence the wills left behind by those selected as astronauts. As briefly mentioned, Hibito has a near-death experience after depleting his oxygen supply on the lunar surface, an event which leaves him deeply scarred and nearly compromises his entire future as an astronaut, as from thereon, even merely wearing a space suit is enough to send him into a panic attack. Even so, through strong resolve and good fortune in meeting the correct people, he takes small steps to gradually conquer this trauma.

Being on the Moon itself brings about its own series of challenges with an amplified risk of death. Limited food and water means that astronauts can’t hope of staying at camp forever and have to proactively plan their days on the Moon. Then again, leaving base on EVA missions is always another gamble. For one, the lunar surface is difficult to safely navigate given the uneven terrain and abundance of craters, some descending miles deep; the same crater ends up

endangering both Mutta and Hibito. Secondly, limited amounts of fuel means that vehicles can only travel a set distance before being rendered unusable, and limited oxygen supplies creates rigid time limitations for any assignment. Solar flares pose other types of danger, scattering hazardous radiation and generating an EMP effect, potentially devastating electronics and in turn disrupting communications. Injury and damage to space suits prove more fatal than ever due to the lack of access to the same resources and caliber of medical treatment found on Earth. Miniscule gashes in a suit’s lining is enough to cause Eddie to pass out in his attempt to rescue Mutta, and Betty’s case is more unfortunate, as she’s left critically injured after a tank ruptures. With the lunar base lacking the mandatory medical technology to treat her, the Jokers are sent into a state of emergency, dividing into a return team who departs for the ISS to receive the first-ever remote surgery, while Mutta and Phillipe stay behind to continue work and await rescue. Even while having been incessantly trained for the worst, real, unexpected situations are still bound to occur, and one must figure out how to tackle them with the resources at one’s disposal. This process of creative problem solving and quick-thinking forms the foundation of what it takes to be an astronaut, and the series captures these aspects remarkably.

Uchuu Kyoudai should definitely be read rather than watched, as the anime adaptation is bloated and visually dry; I honestly may find it detrimental to the consumption of the series as a whole. While much of the content still technically lines up with the manga, at least for a while, that’s where the similarities end; the sense of flow, presentation, atmosphere, and entire ‘feel’ of the series are all noticeably off. I’ll reiterate that Uchuu Kyoudai is perhaps the most moving work I’ve encountered in manga, delivering so many powerful moments that connect back to presumably trivial details and phrases that were subtly foreshadowed and later built upon, such as in finally understanding the greater meaning of the series' title, over 370 chapters in. Small moments such as these accumulate to form a comprehensive emotional journey that leaves its perennial mark on the reader. Mutta’s accomplishments are brought about through his own hard work of course, but they’re by no means his alone. He has been enabled to achieve his goals through the assistance of, again, countless other individuals. It takes his family, his parents who have supported him throughout the entirety of his life and sent his resume into JAXA to begin with, as well as Hibito who acts as an obvious driving force for his development, not to mention the entire legion of mentors who have taught him all that he has learned, his peers such Kenji and Serika, as well as comrades such as Eddie and Vincent, who he entrusts his life to. On top of this, there’s also the entirety of the world in-universe, who provides the necessary funding to make space development possible in the first place, and the factor of luck, perhaps the most important element of all.

Going to space is a colossal milestone for humanity and for a series to so painstakingly focus on such is breathtaking to witness. As far out as its setting is, it manages to remain grounded due to the very ‘human’ characters it provides. Uchuu Kyoudai has come so far and done so much since its inception, and yet it’s still not even complete. While it has been in its final stretches for quite a while, and feels like many plot points either have been or are being wrapped up, who knows how many years it’ll take to finally end. All I know is that the series has provided quite an unforgettable experience, and the smallest inklings of hope for the potential of humanity as a collective. It has most certainly earned its rightful spot as undoubtedly, my favorite manga of all time.

MAJOR MAKES BASEBALL SEEM INTERESTING

levels of his professional career, ultimately ending up in the Major Leagues.

I grew up in New York City. While I was never a big fan of sports outside of ones where people punch each other, I still encountered a large amount of sporting culture by nature of my residence in the city, as well as my status as a third generation New Yorker. This also meant that I experienced the good old fashioned American tradition of having my father take me to ball games once or twice as a child. I wasn’t a big fan of it then, but I do reminisce fondly on the several Yankees games that we attended, a fact that I’m sure is a big disappointment to others in our extended family, several of whom have been long term New York Mets fans that will rant continuously about their 1986 championship.

Because I left New York (and America for that matter) in my later childhood, I missed out on the Yankees’ more recent seasons which I’ve heard more middling things about. In my mind and given my age, the Yankees as a team are still defined by three players. First, Derek Jeter was the consummate hero, the long standing icon of sport for my generation the same way Babe Ruth or Mickey Mantle might have been for prior ones. After that, a strong memory of my youth is of my brother, my father, and I making numerous jokes at the expense of Alex Rodriguez’s steroid use and subsequent suspension. I doubt that experience is very unique, though – Rodriguez seems to be notorious for bizarre behavior. Finally, the player that I uniquely remember, the one that my father particularly pointed out and explained to me, was Suzuki Ichiro. Frankly, Ichiro only played two seasons for the Yankees and one would sooner associate him with the Mariners, but he was the most interesting player on the team to me when he was a Yankee. There’s the obvious fact that he was an Asian player in sports, something I rarely encountered. He was also a prolific batter, which was naturally very appealing. Finally, Ichiro’s story stood out, as it was explained to me that, in spite of joining the MLB late in his career due to previously playing for the Japan-based NPB, Ichiro still put up astronomically outstanding numbers once he came stateside. I was never a huge baseball fan, but the unique career paths of Japanese baseball players still fascinated me. Major is a manga that taps into the same intrigue that made me interested in Ichiro, a miracle given how most ardent baseball fans typically observe it via Excel sheets. It sort of taps into that mystique that people associate with sports heroes, particularly within the rich history of baseball. Beyond that, Major exists as a fundamentally sound growth story showing its protagonist throughout various

Beginning first with the protagonist, Honda Goro (later Shigeno Goro), in the Little Leagues, Major demonstrates its author’s aptitude in making narrative stakes feel meaningful. Given the series’ title, it’s obvious the protagonist will eventually find himself in the Major Leagues, but the first arc of the series still feels impactful due to the way his talent is presented. Goro has prodigal talent in pitching, but the overuse of his incredibly sharp fastball wears down his arm and threatens his future. A less competent series might introduce this plot element once to raise the stakes only to ignore it later on, but Major actually follows through with it. At the end of this arc, Goro achieves some of his goals in the Little League, but completely destroys his right shoulder and leaves his town. The Little League arc starts the pattern in most of Major’s arcs by focusing on Goro pulling up a downtrodden team to great success, whilst risking his physical wellbeing in the process. It’s fairly compelling, at least in this first arc. Even in hindsight, this arc of Major is on par with, if not better than the later material which has more overt stakes due to excellent character writing. Even for someone with a limited understanding of baseball, Major conveys the emotion behind dramatic moments in the sport extremely well. This first arc also introduces the story’s wider goals relatively well. The backstory with Goro losing both parents, including a professional baseball playing father, is rather effective and avoids melodramatic pitfalls. Goro’s goal, to be a Major League player, is supplemented by an additional motivation in trying to catch up to professional player Joe Gibson, who accidentally kills Goro’s father with a pitch. It’s rather impressive how the story manages to give Goro a backstory which includes him si-

TONY T.

3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

Making baseball interesting is a Herculean task.

Editor-In-Chief

A-Rod kissing the person he loves most…

multaneously being an orphan and having a parent active as a professional baseball player (as his stepmother later marries his father’s best friend), all the while seeming relatively natural. All in all, Major’s first arc is one of the most successful I’ve seen from a sports series.

The middle school arc of Major is perhaps not quite as successful as the first one, but remains interesting in the way it shifts its protagonist’s characterization. While the main focus of the arc is still Goro trying to carry his team, the underlying story of Goro rehabilitating and switching southpaw following the first arc is interesting. It gives credence to the first arc’s stakes, by showing that the traditional hot blooded shounen personality embodied by Goro can and does have its limits. The arc also succeeds due to the time skip it employs. Unlike most of the manga’s main arcs, Major’s middle school arc does not take place directly after the previous one, instead having Goro return to his elementary school friends following a multi-year absence. Beyond giving the idea of progression without needing to undergo a lull in pacing, this has the added effect of providing some rather interesting drama, which, once again, manages to be meaningfully emotional whilst not feeling superficial. The Mifune East Junior High arc is not quite as strong as the Little League arc, but functions sufficiently as a followup all while including interesting additions to the structure that don’t detract from it.

Where the first two arcs are relatively strong in presenting somewhat realistic character drama, Major’s Kaido High School arc struggles in that its setting feels too fictitious. The arc focuses on Goro attending a top class baseball school’s boot camp after pushing through tryouts due to a convoluted process wherein he rejects an offer to join directly. The brutal boot camps that the characters go through is probably something that actually exists, but the manner in which Goro overcomes obstacles is just too fantastical for me to get invested. Beyond that, the story’s break from its usual dynamics, having the protagonist join a baseball juggernaut rather than challenging them from an underdog position makes it fairly uncompelling. While the final showdown with Goro taking down the first string players with the junior varsity team is interesting, it kind of pales in comparison to the earlier arcs.

In a bit of course correction, the subsequent Seishuu High School arc returns Major to its status quo. It presents some interesting elements, particularly due to the fallout of Goro leaving his high school on a whim to join one with no baseball team. This arc is fairly comparable to the first arc, as Goro’s goal is not so much the betterment of his own play, but bringing others to enjoy the game he loves dearly. It even has a similar element where Goro pushes, perhaps wrongly, against an injury to try to will his team to victory. I can’t necessarily call this arc amazing because it just kind of follows the same structure earlier arcs did. Still, I think it is at least interesting in terms of bringing a greater sense of maturity in the writing as the characters are full-fledged high school students as opposed to the earlier Kaido arc which was a high school setting in name only. The arc forces Goro to deal with failure, which could be relatively interesting, but that aspect never really goes anywhere, unlike the Little League arc’s focus on whether or not pushing through injury is actually good.

Though still following something of a similar structure, the Minor League baseball arc is one of Major’s best. Goro forgoing Japanese league baseball in favor of joining an American Minor League team in attempts to climb up to Major League affiliates

is a fascinating concept that utilizes the uniquely complicated baseball farm system to its narrative advantage. Having no knowledge of this prior, I found the arc to be fascinating in its presentation of the wider baseball world outside of Goro. The story explains the minor affiliate system relatively well and demonstrates the sheer skill that is required of the protagonist in order to properly become a top MLB pitcher. There’s some weird elements – the sudden focus on certain American social dynamics is rather strange and kind of out of place – but as a whole, this arc is wonderful. It also brings up Goro’s long term goal of facing Joe Gibson again, both in how Gibson is immediately more relevant once Goro reaches America, and in the presence of Gibson Jr, a rival character. For the first time since the Little League arc, the Minor League arc of Major manages to show a new dimension in terms of the skills that Goro must strengthen in order to even be comparable to Major League players. His insistence on staying in the Minor Leagues in order to win a championship makes little sense logically, but plays into his established character growth very well.

There’s a bit of a problem I have with Major’s final two arcs, the World Cup and Major League arcs. They don’t need to exist simultaneously. What I mean by this is that both essentially serve the same purpose of wrapping up loose ends, with Goro having his climactic encounter with Gibson, who has atoned for accidentally killing Goro’s father by playing long past his physical prime. Both arcs show Goro overcoming major obstacles in terms of joining the Japanese team and overcoming yips once he becomes a full fledged Major League. I’m not necessarily saying that these arcs shouldn’t both exist as both make sense for the story and the overall final career goal Goro has. The World Cup is probably the better of the two arcs because the drama with Joe Gibson is compelling while avoiding exaggerated histrionic displays of character intentions. It makes the prior 500 chapters/4 seasons feel impactful while reaching a very satisfying conclusion of its own. The World Cup arc probably needed to exist in concept to show the interesting way in which baseball has evolved into a truly global game, something which I appreciate. The globalization of baseball evident in Ichiro Suzuki’s Yankees appearances is what made me somewhat interested in baseball in the first place, after all. The subsequent Major League arc exists mostly as the story needed to wrap itself up conclusively, and Goro joining the Major Leagues was, well, implied by Major’s very title. Still, while I find the final Major League arc a bit of a letdown after the emotionally cathartic World Cup arc, it isn’t terrible and does what it sets out to do very well. All in all, it is still a satisfying conclusion to the series, even though I would have probably combined the World Cup arc’s elements into the Major League arc to make a stronger cohesive finale.

As a whole, I am not a sports fan. Outside of sports where people punch each other, I can’t say I get terribly invested watching some guy throw a ball really hard or fast. I can romanticize George Foreman knocking out Michael Moorer for the heavyweight championship which occurred years before I was born, but I find it a bit more difficult to do the same for, say, the New York Yankees’ 2009 championship, which I remember watching on television. In spite of this, Major managed to get me engrossed in mainstream sport which I have next to no interest in, in the particular sport, baseball, which I find to be the most boring next to curling. It does this via excellent writing and a great character arc which manages to stick to the same structure for 700 chapters yet still feeling compelling. Baseball may be a snoozefest, but Major is amazing.

NOGI WAKABA IS A HEROTHE FABRIC OF LEGENDS

The Yuushaverse, spearheaded by Takahiro for its writing, often accompanied by Aoi Akashiro namely on several of its LN titles, is an interesting case of a highly recent ambitious universe that spans many different mediums with an impressive amount of titles despite knowing only niche success. And this success is primarily contained in its first and most notorious opus, Yuuki Yuuna is a Hero which started in 2014 and had its final season very recently in 2021.

All of these works form a single timeline and story, one in which humanity, with only Shikoku Island of Japan, left inhabitable, fights in a battle that has been ongoing for 300 years by the time of the Yuki Yuna is a Hero show against the Vertexes, strange otherworldly creatures that constantly come to threaten this final bastion of humanity. As the story unfolds, we learn that this conflict is tied to a dispute between gods, with the dominant side wishing for the annihilation of humanity, and they are the ones responsible for the Vertexes’ attacks on humans. The gods who have allied themselves with humans confer powers to a few select individuals to protect their world, powers that would go on to be controlled by an organization named Taisha through what is known as the Hero System.

The different opuses of the Yuushaverse, as the name suggests, focus on tales of heroism all throughout the different eras of this war between humans and the Vertexes, with many meeting a tragic end often by pushing their powers too far for the sake of that which they wished to protect, and many others fighting in dreadful situations as humanity lingers on a single thread to avoid its looming fate.

The one I wish to focus on is the light novel Nogi Wakaba is a Hero. This is a prequel that tells the tale of the

first Hero team, those who witnessed the destruction of their world with the arrival of the Vertexes. The systems and organizations found in other stories in this timeline are not present here, and the five main characters of this story - Nogi Wakaba, Takashima Yuuna, Koori Chikage, Doi Tamako Iyojima Anzu, and Uesato Hinata - need to scramble and take on the responsibilities of preventing the accelerated apocalypse that they are experiencing.

This is a short story, but one that manages to execute its points well, and therefore goes straight to

Writer

FELIX L.

3rd Year, Environmental Engineering

the core of what it has to tell. Its main strengths lie in its exploration of the psyche of its characters that are thrown into this heroic role, and their relationship with the world that they live in, as well as each other. Whatever is left in the world at every point of the story, as well as the efforts made for humanity to live on are explained in beautiful detail to show what there is to protect. The dynamics between the heroes are compelling, and viscerally human, which makes them function greatly. There is jealousy when heroic deeds are attributed unequally and accomplishments make one more praised than others, there is manipulation for the sake of fighting on and leading the team to victory, and there is responsibility, at the cost of oneself or others for the sake of something greater, or to satisfy selfish desires when some of the characters are pushed so far that they would choose this course of action. The line between good and bad essentially becomes that between continuing to live on or abandoning this quest which seems like the easy choice in many cases. And beyond the fighting, everything that happens around these heroes, like the general population that sings their praises or mounts the pressure on top of them, as well as the Taisha in which Uesato Hinata, one of the members of the Hero Team, plays a major role to shape humanity’s future, which is explored quite well and adds an extra layer of complexity to this war against greater antagonistic forces. And most notable is the protagonist, Nogi Wakaba, one who is made a leader to fill a gap in humanity, and to lead a last stand in the face of decay and annihilation. Her role as a leader creates many conflicts, within her and the team in general, and her quest to strive for absolute and transcendent heroism makes for a compelling story that tackles themes fundamental to the value of human existence, and that which is ultimately worth fighting for.

But what brings Nogi Wakaba as a Hero further is its role in the Yuushaverse in general. It is an intimate look at the events that shaped the mythos and history of the rest of the timeline. The first hero team is a legend known by all who would set foot on the earth in the centuries to come, and that is what truly brings value to this story. Their heroism does transcend time. One example is Yuuna Takashima, one of the members of the first hero team, whose name would be passed down over many generations, up to the main character of the main opus of this universe, Yuuki Yuuna. And many records of history mention the names of these characters, but in ways that make the relationship between these records and the true story quite interesting. Some events, as well as some major individuals, have been entirely censored by the Taisha for going against their responsibilities, and the perception of these heroes has become legend

rather than fact, but what remains of their legacy is a wish to fight for the sake of humanity.

Nogi Wakaba is a Hero is a legend in the making. It tells the deeds of individuals who would shape history to the point that their determination would be passed down through many generations among the different works of the timeline. It shows what lies beyond the glorifications and the stories, and describes the truly human aspects of these characters, who experienced the same things as all others at every time and every place. All of this is there to show that there was value in pursuing life above all else, which was the choice that they made, even if it would take centuries for them to push back against the will of the gods who opposed humanity. Its role as a prequel is essential to what it has to tell, for their fight would be incomprehensible and futile without their legacy. It is simply the tale of a few girls, who decided to trust humanity and showed to the world and all the generations that followed that they made a bet on humanity’s existence, despite the hardships and conflicts that they may have gone through.

THE ONE PIECETHE ONE PIECE IS REAL GOOD

Writer

MITCHELL MADAYAG

3rd Year, Japanese and Economics

This one piece will probably be my last piece of writing. Okay I’ll stop haha.

It’s amusing to think that YouTube was the pipeline that had first introduced me to the rabbit hole of anime, starting with good ol’ Kill la Kill, yet it’s even more amusing that this same site had also introduced me to Eiichiro Oda’s One Piece and the world of manga prior to that. It’s quite funny how one innocently intrusive thought wondering how a flamingo would fare against a crocodile would lead to an impulsive YouTube search that showed me something I’ve never seen before. I am not sure if this video is the same one I saw back then, but it covers the same scenes from the One Piece anime that amazed 3rd grade me (just look up “crocodile vs flamingo” on YouTube and see for yourself). While this scene isn’t particularly impressive, both in and out of context, the whole notion of mature-looking cartoon characters donning fashionable clothing and strange superpowers had left an impression on me. It wasn’t enough though to get me to look further into the background of this show, but a fateful encounter with the printed manga of One Piece at a Borders would pique my interest once more. The shelves were lined up with covers full of vibrant characters of different stature, and I had even recognized the characters from the video that I would eventually know as Sir Crocodile and Donquixote Doflamingo. Yet, these badass figures weren’t even the main characters to this grand story, which had seriously blown my mind. Being the naive child I was, I picked out three volumes whose covers had stood out to me the most, and began my One Piece journey right then and there, even if it was out of order…

phenomenal, and is arguably one of the strongest points of the manga. I always find myself so excited to find out where the Straw Hat Pirates would end up next, and see what dangers and anomalies await them. From land to sea to sky, the Straw Hats have explored so many different islands, each of them different from the rest. Even the most bizarre settings with little impact on the plot, such as an island where everything and everyone is stretched to goofy dimensions, feel right in place in One Piece’s universe. The fact that the story has barely entered its final saga at the time of writing this means that there is still much more to discover, which makes for another exciting thought. If you think about it, had the Straw Hats just called themselves a group of adventurers without a Jolly Roger to wave, they’d be able to explore the world to their liking without the Marines interfering. But then that wouldn’t be fun at all would it?

You see, the Straw Hat Pirates each have their own ambitions that they’ve been chasing their whole lives, goals beyond one’s wildest dreams. Nami’s dream is to make a map of the whole world, Sanji’s is to discover a rumored sea of legend called the All Blue, and Zoro’s is to become the world’s strongest swordsman, just to name a few. And of course, the main focus of the manga is about Luffy’s dream of finding the mythical treasure One Piece and becoming the Pirate King. These themes of taking on the impossible spark this great sense of romanticism One Piece is known for, and watching the Straw Hats gradually near their respective goal as they face immense challenges makes the journey all the more thrilling. They’ll take on anyone who stands in their way, including those who deny or even share the same dream as them. However, even the side characters are worth cheering on as they got their own personal goals, too. Oda is adept at creating a countless number of memorable characters each with their own quirks and wacky designs, and it’s surreal how he keeps track of all of them. Most end up serving their role in the arc they’re introduced in, yet when some return to relevance in later arcs, it’s a welcome surprise that makes sense. The One Piece world is moving along with the Straw Hats, and Oda’s way of showing what many other parties are up to before eventually converging with the adventure of the main characters is what really makes the world feel connected.

If you couldn’t already tell, I got hooked into One Piece as soon as I read those volumes. I would return to Borders overtime to properly read from the beginning, before eventually sailing the seas myself, but I had essentially discovered a vast fictional world full of unique characters, creatures, and islands. For a shonen series, the setup of this expansive world by Oda is

Despite One Piece being over 1000 chapters long and still in serialization, I would never say it’s too late to get into the series. This article may have been written mostly for the purpose of satisfying my nostalgia, but I really wanted to express the admiration I’ve had with a series I closely grew up with. Though to be honest, that admiration has wavered over the years due to burnout of waiting on weekly releases, as well as disagreeing with some questionable choices Oda has made with its characters, yet I still find myself invested as I eagerly await the inevitable grand finale of a 25 year old manga. I wouldn’t dare suggest replicating my initial reading experience of course, but I implore you to at least give the series a try if you haven’t yet. The length may be intimidating, yet I won’t suggest something like “it gets good after X amount of chapters”, so be prepared to embark on an epic unforgettable adventure upon turning that first page of One Piece. It can only get much higher.

So much personality captured in these covers, no wonder they caught my eye.

Sakura Minamoto

Zombie Land Saga

Art By Eddie Song

Originally published in Vol. 55 Issue 5 - MAPPA

Art Highlights

volumes 55 - 56

Loid, Anya & Yor Forger

SPY×FAMILY

Art By Heaven Jones

Originally pulished in Vol. 56 Issue 3 - Spooky

Art By Willow Otaka

Kokichi Ouma

Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony

Art By Miranda Zhang

Originally pulished in Vol. 56 Issue 3 - Spooky

Art By Sharrel Narsico

Rohan Kishibe & Heaven's Door

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond Is Unbreakable

Art By Jen Zhao

Originally published in Vol. 56 Issue 1.5 - OVA

Chika Fujiwara

Kaguya-sama: Love Is War

Art By Kai Wu

Mercury and Cybele

Original Characters

Art By Skylar

Originally published in Vol. 56 Issue 1.5 - OVA

Anthology Exclusive Art

Tomie Kawakami

Tomie

Art By Jen Zhao

Akechi Goro

Persona 5

Art By Miranda Zhang

Shigehira Taira

Birushana Rising Flower of Genpei

Art By Sophia Xue

Xiao Genshin Impact

Art By Sharrel Narsico

Kou

Toilet-bound Hanako-kun

Art By Heaven Jones

Minamoto, Nene Yashiro & Hanako

Editors

Tony T. 3rd Year, Economics and Data Science

Rahm Jethani 1st Year, Japanese

Graphic Designers

Mitchell Madayag

3rd Year, Japanese and Economics

Seoyoung Park

3rd Year, Economics

Sophia Xue

3rd Year, Material Science & Engineering

Miranda Zhang

3rd Year, Computer Science and Cognitive Science

Catherine Chen

1st Year, Cognitive Science

Artists Writers

Heaven Jones

3rd Year, Art Practice and Education

Mio Kurosaka

3rd Year, Art Practice

Skylar Li

3rd Year, Intended Art Practice

Jen Zhao

3rd Year, Integrative Biology

Artists Writers

Jasmine Zhang

Graduated, Computer Science

Sharrel Narsico 5th Year, English

Kate Bushmareva

4th Year, Data Science 4th

Erik Nelson 5th Year, Music

Nicholas Wonosaputra 4th Year, Neurobiology and Psychology

Kev Wang 3rd Year, EECS

Cas Geiger

2nd Year, Computer Science

Willow Otaka

2nd Year, Computer Science and Art Practice

Catherine Rha

2nd Year, Microbial Biology

Ellya Kim

1st Year, Undecided

Felix L.

3rd Year, Environmental Engineering

Jose Cuevas

6th Year, Intended Nuclear Engineering and Philosophy Minor

Max R. 4th Year, Japanese

Alexandre Haioun-Perdrix 3rd Year, Philosophy

Blake Morrison

3rd Year, English and Japanese

Max Rothman

2nd Year, Philosophy and Biology

Wai Kwan Wu

2nd Year, Molecular Cell Biology

Konshuu Staff Former Konshuu Staff

Crystal Li 4th Year, Economics

Eddie Song 3rd Year, Computer Science and Applied Math

Kai Wu 3rd Year, Molecular Environmental

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Celestino Morate Graduated, Film and Media

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Jenna Patton 2nd Year, Architecture