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Consider Shirobako, a story that wraps the poignant insecurities of young adult career pursuit with a silly, heartwarming, and optimistic exterior. Now douse the narration with the mature reflections of an older adult looking back at their silly past, and sprinkle in evocative moments of warm nostalgia and sentimental regret.

Kakukaku Shikajika is the autobiography of now 40 year old mangaka Akiko Higashimura, and the title meaning "blah blah blah" is derived from the author's intentions of telling her life story in a natural, informal structure, lending itself to frequent tangents and moments of personal reflection. It's a story about a clueless high school girl ... blindly following through with her passion in the arts. An unmotivated arts college student finding herself incapable of doing anything productive. A self-centered young adult wrestling with an incredibly hectic life as she tries to realize her childhood dreams of becoming a successful mangaka. It's a harsh review on her numerous moments of immaturity, and a piece of subtle appreciation for all the family, friends, and peers who have supported her along the way. Most importantly, it's an absolutely incredible and moving homage to the hero of her life: the stubborn, intimidating, rash, insensitive, but most genuine and pure person she's ever known, Hidaka-sensei.

Throughout the manga, we get to see so many reflections of what makes her character a fully realized person. We are exposed to the perspectives of a student, a teacher, a miserable office worker, a mangaka, a daughter, a girl in love, a mother, and so much more. Higashimura herself is very interesting and relatable, and the characters in her life provide invaluable bits and pieces that make up the variety of her life experiences, but even more than just writing an autobiography, she passes down the insights and sentiments of her experiences down to her readers, whether in light jest or as great pieces of life advice. Work hard and work often. Keep a broad perspective. Appreciate those around you. Be ready, as life happens whether you want it to or not. Have fun going to an arts college with no clear goal and ending up very unemployed and completely unproductive for society (:D). And for all the young people out there, youth is wasted on the young most of the time, but please don't waste it. You might be wallowing in self-pity and claiming that you're being overwhelmed; you're not, and your older self will definitely laugh in bitter derision!

But worry not, this is not a boring lecture; the author never really forces her views on the readers. The persuasion factor comes more from relating to the faults of the stumbling character on paper and being hit right where it hurts the most. Aren't we all self-centered, excuse-making, and unappreciative brats who run away from our troubles in some point of our lives? That's what makes this work great; it resonates with my current college student self, and the down-to-earth moments really bring out all these emotions within me as I read through the struggles of someone so different, yet oh so similar to me.

Kakukaku Shikajika is an entertaining work that makes you laugh, cringe, and feel the feels all at once. It does detail the process of manga creation to some extent, but the real appeal of the work lies in immersing yourself in this beautiful life story. Please give this one a chance.

The shounen sports genre is often known for focusing primarily on the 'badassery' of the protagonist. Whether it'd take borderline supernatural powers, world-class talent, or the glorification of matches complete with equally badass rivals and an audience that's shocked out of their seat every 5 seconds, the series will always pull through with demonstrating that there is something special about what's going on. Protagonists are idols, absolutely extraordinary characters whom you watch from the side lines with awe. It's about the thrill. It's about the fantasy.

Baby Steps is different. As indicated by the title, Maruo's tennis career is built steadily from the ground up, ... and we're there to see every crucial step that's taken for him to rise from an unathletic straight-A high school student to an aspiring tennis professional. From mild interest to inspiration, from inspiration to resolve, and finally from resolve to brutal matches and even more brutal training regimens, it's both a test of body and soul, and a journey to discover who he truly wants to be. That may sound dramatic for 'just a high school sports series', but Baby Steps actually takes the effort to make the progression natural and believable. After all, Maruo will have to throw away his academic studies and the 'safe route' of college to workforce in order to take tennis seriously. He doesn't even know if he's cut out for international competition, and he actually has to convince his parents that these are sound, rational decisions on his part. Yes, in case you haven't gotten the vibe yet, this is a series about becoming a professional. It's not just about winning matches and being badass. It's about falling in love with the sport and gaining the willingness to throw away everything in a gamble for a dream.

What makes this plotline work so well is the nature of the main character. Outside of having good reaction time and excellent eyesight, he's quite an everyday guy. His fitness is pretty average. He has no killer moves. Every victory is won through precise strategy, astute observation, and consistent execution that comes from practiced repetition. While this approach may sound boring on paper, it brings about the show's primary strength: because we learn virtually every aspect of tennis from the ground up with the protagonist, and because we get to see him apply practice to matches with calculated success, every match brings to fruition the satisfaction of having achieved success through hard work. There's a real sense of growth, and when he crushes opponents whom he previously would have been crushed by, it's a well-deserved outcome. Believe it or not, earned successes feel way more satisfying than god given talent. At least I think so.

So what about the actual matches? None of them last more than two episodes, and as I indicated earlier, Baby Steps is less about showcasing the thrilling wins of a match and more about what can be learned from each experience. But don't get the wrong idea; the matches are exciting! Every moment showcased throughout the matches is accompanied with tons of thought as Maruo adapts to each situation, and Baby Steps effectively shows that tennis is a dynamic sport with tons of mind games and research involved. Maruo collects data on his opponents' tendencies throughout the match, recognizes their forms, predicts what kinds of shots they're making fractions of a second beforehand, strategizes for quick turns in momentum, makes YOLO plays at crucial moments, and abuses every single technical and mental weakness he can observe to the fullest. More often than not, he's faced with opponents who have been playing tennis since they were five, and he has to fight tooth-and-nail with every trick in the book for every single point he gets. He takes on seemingly insurmountable challenges, and he actually loses a lot; it's awe-inspiring how well Maruo can collect himself and turn what would've been a morally crushing defeat into an invaluable experience to grow as a sports player. He never gives up, he rarely chokes, and he's eager to learn. He even takes extremely detailed notes (courtesy of his academic diligence) on everything possible to reflect upon during his free time. Again, it's success through a butt ton of hard work.

Now let's take a few steps back and look at the overall picture. MyAnimeList has Baby Steps listed as a romance, but take that with a grain of salt, as the first season chooses to focus primarily on Maruo's growth as an athlete. Similarly, the character focus is on Maruo, with all the other characters playing a support role in his life story, including the female lead Natsu. They're good characters for sure, and Natsu in particular is a breath of fresh air with her charming personality and optimistic attitude, but you have to like the main character to even have a chance of liking this show. Thankfully, Maruo isn't too hard to like. He's pleasant, easily relatable, and makes a good impression despite his generic looks. Key word is relatable: this shounen protagonist isn't meant to be idolized. He's a guy that you may know in real life. Heck, he might even be just like you. Either way, it's through this sense of an everyday relatability that makes it feel like we're on this journey with him, and with every success comes an equally rewarding sense of accomplishment for both Maruo and the audience.

As usual, don't limit yourself too much in your choice of media. Not a fan of sports anime? Never watched tennis before? Me neither, and guess what, I really like this show! Don't hesitate to give Baby Steps an episode or two; it might just surprise you with its pleasant atmosphere and endearing characters. It's a good show.

Shirobako is an anime about making anime. It portrays virtually every aspect of anime production with excellent detail, from the research and writing of a story, to the administrative operations and planning, to the making of 2D and 3D frames, to the animation process, to the voice acting and related auditions, to the sound effects and music recordings, to miscellaneous artistic contributions throughout the production. Sounds like a mouthful? You bet it is, and Shirobako has this tendency of cramming so much information in that your head will be spinning whether you paid full attention or not. But that's not all. Technical operations is only ... half the picture; the other half is much more universal to all work environments and industries: human relationships, interactions, and work-related issues. We're not dealing with robots that do all their jobs perfectly and on time; we're talking about people who get lazy, angry, demotivated, emotional, stressed out, make mistakes, and have other things in life to deal with besides their soul-crushing jobs. We're working with artists, each with their own aspirations, troubles, and outlooks on their careers. Not everyone is satisfied with their job, and heck, not everyone has a job. This is all taken into account in Shirobako's comprehensive look at the anime industry.

Yet with all that, I've only scratched the surface of what Shirobako has to offer. The real heart of the show is in its characterizations, conveyed piece-by-piece in a rich narrative of powerful, heartfelt character moments. We are shown the traps of getting caught in the daily doldrums of work life, with characters losing sight of the initial passion that motivated them to join the industry in the first place. We are shown harsh disillusionment, as characters realize that their dreams are either not as wonderful as they originally thought, or straight-up unattainable. We are shown that in anything the characters do, there will always be someone who does their job better, faster, and seemingly with less effort to boot. That talent is absolutely a thing. That luck is absolutely a thing. That effort without proper direction gets you nowhere, but effort with direction still only gets you so far.

Yet while Shirobako is unreserved in conveying these cold, hard truths, it never stops being an optimistic show. A beautiful poignancy is achieved whenever an industry veteran manages a light smile in recounting their earnest, yet tumultuous pasts. An inspiring piece is made whenever two quarreling characters settle their differences in a rekindling of passion. Whenever one character helps another with their artistic or professional troubles, that act of compassion is always nicely reflected in later episodes, whether that help is reciprocated, applied to great effect, or even passed on to the next generation of creators. And even as our characters get humiliated, beaten, and put down by their troubles, they continue onward. They push forth. They grow. Not everyone makes it, and those that do will always be plagued with stress and setbacks, but it's the fact that they put a genuine effort towards their passions that matters. Even for those with aimless direction, it's to continue working, creating, and helping others that they find a purpose. And at the end of the day, there will always be someone cheering them on in the background and giving them support. Understated moments like when Aoi's parents call Aoi to tell her how excited they were to see her name in the ending credits does wonders in bringing everything down to earth.

As shown, Shirobako is ridiculously good at crafting characters from its flurry of scenes and subtleties, and substantiating a cast of over 50 named characters. How many of these characters have great scenes, distinctive personalities, and endearing quirks to attribute to their face (because I suck at remembering Japanese names)? In a rough count, I got at least 7 directors/producers/administrators, 8 animators and artists, 5 production assistants, and 4 miscellaneous roles. Do the math; it's absolutely nuts!

The show also performs extremely well in its command of tone and general storytelling. It balances a fast-paced, detail-filled story with a burgeoning and competent character cast so effectively, when it sounds like it'd be a horrid mess on paper. The ever-stressful environment of Musani Animations is complemented by sharp, slick comedy, constantly making me tense with anxiety over the characters' mounting troubles, followed by some scenes so hilarious they have ZeroHumor doubled over in laughter. With its many character moments, Shirobako maintains powerful heartwarm colored with poignancy throughout its course, as it balances its realism perfectly with its idealism. It's also worth noting that realism itself isn't Shirobako's aim; rather, it is to convey something meaningful within its realistic ideas and emotions that truly matters. Yes, Shirobako has talking dolls, exaggerated drag racing, and dream-like visions. But none of that detracts from what is real about this show, and what is truly significant: the passions and pursuits of art, the emotions in dealing with stress, and everything that makes this show extraordinary.

In the end, Shirobako proves to be an extremely well-written show. I was frankly shocked when I saw that this was an anime-original work, considering just how seamlessly this show flows from point to point, from theme to theme, from episode to episode. It's a really immersive experience, endowed with its outstanding cast of characters, engaging subject matter, competent storytelling, and filled to the brim with its own passion. You can clearly see just how much this work resonates with its own creators, and in turn, how much it emotionally resonates with its audience. It's one of the best, if not the best of 2014.

Hourou Musuko's subject matter is rarely dealt with in anime: it explores the issues of gender identity and societal perception of gender roles through the lens of 5th graders, a particular age where puberty is becoming a thing, and clueless kids are changing into romantically involved teenagers. It's a time when kids become more aware of their surroundings, more conscious of their changing feelings; it's the perfect stage to explore how one may feel being an LGBT (lesbian-gay-bi-trans).

Needless to say, this subject is particularly sensitive given modern society's ambivalence towards LGBT, and anime typically dodges the bullet by giving LGBT characters ridiculously comedic roles ... in stories. Not here. For Hourou Musuko, the awareness, exploration, and acceptance of different gender pursuits is handled with great tact and sincerity, as the characters struggle to come to terms with themselves and their judgmental surroundings.

Perhaps the most striking feature of Hourou Musuko is its exceptionally understated presentation. There's no dramatization, no really emotional music, no big crying scene…heck, there doesn't seem to be any climactic scene at all. Characters are handled with stringent neutrality, and the scenes are given exactly as they would be, without any particular touch-up. It's as if we're given camera videos following real people as they go on about with their lives. This may seem like a flaw to some, as it's not the most emotionally engaging or exciting way of going about things, but considering the maturity level required for the subject, I find the presentation completely justified, optimal even.

This issue extends to the characters, as the 5th graders of Hourou Musuko are oftentimes more honest, brave, and mature than most adults could ever be. Never once in the story did I ever consider these characters to be grade schoolers, as they are definitely college+ in spirit with the straight-faced way they handle each other. This begs the question: is it considered a flaw that these characters are not realistic for their age? Personally, I don't think that's the point. While this story does base itself off the feelings of discovery people would experience at the onset of puberty, its core themes of acceptance and coming-to-terms are universal in nature. Essentially, the story is about 5th graders, but is meant to reflect on the LGBT subject for everyone.

Aside from the realism issue, the character writing itself is absolutely no slouch. Every character is written not to fulfill a certain role or device within the plot, but to be a full-fledged human being with emotions, doubts, and conflicts. That is not to say that the story uses a lot of internal monologues to present these characterizations; in fact, Hourou Musuko might as well be the poster child for the "show, don't tell" principle. We are never flat out given what a character is feeling; instead, we evaluate it through their expressions, their body language, and their dialogues. Don't feel like you've been given enough information? Don't get why a character acted a certain way? Go back and rewatch the scenes, or use something called analysis and interpretation (in other words, your brain). Ridiculous, I know.

If there's one word I can use to sum up this series, it's mature. Hourou Musuko treats its themes with respect, its characters with respect, and most exceptionally, it treats its audience with respect. We are expected to keep an open mind, to try to understand what the characters are going through, and to use our brain once in a while. We're expected to be mature, to take the subject seriously, and to embrace the themes of acceptance wholeheartedly. That may be setting too high a standard for most people, but heck, I sure wish more anime would follow this example.

Pao no Monogatari is quite a monumental second installment of the Deep Love manga series. There was a time when I despised Ayu no Monogatari (the first installment) for trying far too hard to make a tragedy out of everything, where everything that can possibly go wrong, will undoubtedly go wrong under Yoshi's (the author's) direction. There was a time when I thought that Yoshi's characters finally had their fair share of blood, tears, and sexually transmitted diseases, and that the later manga of the series would spearhead a heartwarming and hopeful tale of healing and reconciliation. Pao no Monogatari surprised in many ways: it ... made me actually appreciate Ayu no Monogatari to some extent, and it set concrete expectations for Yoshi's writing prowess and the future direction of the Deep Love series.

Let's address my first point. Ayu no Monogatari maintained an excellent weight of mood through its character design and detail. The main character of the manga, Ayu, always had this uncomfortably sad, empty feeling to her character, and even as the plot events progressed in an unabashedly harsh way, it felt powerful, and it hurt. It hurt seeing how the characters suffered, and it hurt knowing Ayu's unfortunate, nigh defeatist outlook on life. All this could not have been possible without the evocative detail in the character expression, and in particular, how Ayu is drawn. You'd know if you've seen it.

Now can you guess how Pao no Monogatari made me realize this unique strength of Ayu no Monogatari? I'll save the suspense and niceties: it's by being a completely, utterly inane and worthless shell of what Ayu no Monogatari was. The art that happened to be the saving grace for Ayu no Monogatari's otherwise suffocating narrative was completely trashed in Pao no Monogatari. Ayu now looks like a generic blond shoujo heroine who could be easily placed in a silly romantic comedy without any design changes. In fact, all the characters have different designs from the original, and the designs have mostly deteriorated in quality and severely undermined the visual weight of the work.

But surely I can't complain about the merits of a work solely through its less-than-par visuals, can I? What about the story? Pao no Monogatari is split into two volumes: the first volume details Pao's life as he grows up with his family and endures through pains and trials, and the second volume is a retelling of the events of Ayu no Monogatari through Pao's perspective. Now keep in mind, Pao is a dog. With a dog as the narrator and 'voice' of the story, it's a challenge for the mangaka to properly use expression and realistically limited comprehension to craft set pieces. After all, a dog neither knows the human language nor can fully understand the dynamics of human interaction and society. But a dog's perspective can be portrayed well! Unfortunately, Yoshi opts for the laziest possible approach in having the dog characters literally talk to one another, think in Japanese, and experience the exact same intellectual capabilities and social dynamics as a human being. In simpler terms, Pao and the other dogs are quite literally portrayed as humans, expressing deeply profound philosophical statements as "Why were these dogs born if they're just going to die?" and showing beyond-impressive emotional insight. This horribly cheesy way of giving the audience emotional cues is an insult to everyone's intelligence, and immersion-breaking too, as Deep Love is meant to be a dead-serious and sentimental realistic fiction.

Of course, the above is mere nitpicking compared to the central issue with Deep Love storytelling: how the tragedies are utterly forced, unnatural, and nauseously repetitive. Without calling out what happens specifically, it's quite commonplace within every single Pao chapter to have some character commit suicide from grief, die from the cruelty of those around them, have their entire family killed, or be physically and emotionally mutilated by…something. Every. Single. Chapter. There are only angels and demons in this cast, and Yoshi takes the cynical expression 'no good deed goes unpunished' to an entirely new level: anything positive that happens is bound to turn into something grossly depressing. How dare anyone help our embattled protagonists of a Yoshi story? And since the first half of Pao no Monogatari is about dogs, you get a very healthy dose of puppy-kicking cranked up to max level. Puppy kicking! Can it get any more cliché? Maybe it's Pao's fault for being a living magnet to the dirty soles of despicable humans.

I won't even go into detail how the second half of the story deviates horribly from the original story and thematically undermines everything Ayu no Monogatari was trying to achieve, because it's pointless to gripe about such light offenses given what I've already said about Pao no Monogatari. As a heads up, Host (the third installment) and Reina no Unmei (the fourth installment) return to Ayu no Monogatari's more competent art style, but they do not fix most of the storytelling issues I mentioned above because, well, the entire Deep Love series is endowed by Yoshi's brilliant prose and construction.

Restraint and subtlety are two qualities of storytelling that tend to be botched by many anime. For most of those works, however, they don't need to be strictly subtle because of their stories' nature. For example, generally speaking, shounens are primarily concerned with showcasing their badass protagonists. That's okay. But for a work that tries to tackle heavy subject matter like morality, prostitution, and coming-of-age, the average standard is no longer okay. Nothing, NOTHING I've ever experienced has simultaneously lacked and needed these two qualities as much as the Deep Love series. To handle such mature subject matter with such juvenile writing is both insulting and utterly shameless.

For one of the most appalling works I've ever read, I present my first hate review.

Vigilante justice. It's a topic that's frequented by many pieces of fiction, often glorified, painted black-and-white, oversimplified, or accompanied by sociopathic characters. The moral and psychological nuances that are tied with this subject are likewise dumbed down, leading to stories that feel both unrealistic and emotionally distant. It's a tragedy among storytelling that I've seen repeated far too many times, and going into Kimi no Knife, I certainly didn't have the highest of hopes. Luckily, the manga demonstrated through its more mature and thoughtful take that it wasn't going to be your average Joe action narrative.

This becomes apparent right from the first murder ... scene. Shiki took up the lucrative but dangerous job as a hitman to pay for his sister's cancer medications, but despite the target clearly being described as an unforgivable criminal, Shiki couldn't bring himself to 'deliver justice' for his mysterious informant. Yes, there's something fundamentally disturbing about killing another human being, a simple concept that so many stories have entirely ignored. Even as he would eventually get used to his job through the course of the story, there's always a specter of guilt and hesitation weighing on both his actions and his conscience. There will be no excuse-making, no 'siding with justice' drivel: Shiki understands the weight of his actions, however overwhelming.

Each bounty becomes a test of Shiki's ethical boundaries, as the information of the targets starts to seem less reliable, and actions start affecting bystanders around the targets, including friends, family, and witnesses to the murders. Are they guilty by association? How should Shiki handle the innocents who could very well have him jailed or even killed after seeing his crimes? Life doesn't always go his way, and when he's forced to make such tough decisions, they strongly reflect on how he develops as a person, and it's freaking excellent. You start to notice these subtle but increasingly relevant changes in his mindset, and by the end of the story, there's nothing but respect for his character. Yes, he's made mistakes. Yes, he's done some terrible things. But he tries time and time again to do the right things amidst all his wrongs, and it's that nuanced portrayal of the human aspect that counts for the most.

Then there's his partner-in-crime Kuzumi, a local police detective and undercover hitman. Employed by the same clandestine agency as Shiki, Kuzumi fights for his own brand of justice, as his previous passion in crime-fighting became overtaken by disappointment for the legal system. That being said, once again, Kuzumi does not try to paint himself as some kind of righteous hero; he knows that his circumvention of the law has its own flawed implications, and he's admitted to acting out for his own peace of mind than anything else.

His character is a perfect complement to Shiki's, the foremost reason being his starkly different judgment and moral compass. This guy is decisive and resourceful, always thinking rationally about how to execute their plans in the most efficient and effective manner, thwarting any police action, and setting up each crime scene with the intent of misdirecting any legal agents. Naturally, this includes brutal suggestions of killing off any witnesses, as witnesses tend to be the single worst loose end to any crime. But the qualities of his character don't just end there. Oftentimes, his suggestions are simply devil's advocate to Shiki's more compassionate nature, and even when he logically doesn't agree with Shiki's judgment, his own emotions and respect for Shiki lend him to acquiesce to the messier, but more humane alternatives. This has landed them in disastrous situations far too often, but he adapts accordingly, laboriously playing risk management and damage control of the group. Kuzumi's dynamic with Shiki is a fascinating relationship to follow, and his personality is much more nuanced than meets the eye.

In general, the characters of Kimi no Knife tend to be competent, multifaceted, and realistic. There are many that I haven't mentioned, some who stay throughout the scene and develop impressively, others who make a strong impact despite their short-lived appearance. Detective Hosaka in particular presents a very well-written character in his frustrations and efforts at bringing both yakuza baddies and the main two protagonists to justice, and the police department offers a passionate cast of characters who enrich the narrative through their actions and personalities. There are bystanders of the murders who end up joining Shiki and Kuzumi by choice or by circumstance, and the inclusion of these characters (including the cover girl, Itsuki) effectively add yet another dimension to the issue, while providing precious and revealing character moments in what slice-of-life the manga has to offer in downtime.

All that said, Kimi no Knife isn't a perfect story. The second half is paced a tad too fast for its own good, blazing through plot developments while offering shaky-at-best foundations for said events. It does build an effective sense of suspense and edge matching the desperation of the situation, but some events become hard to follow, and the ending in particular is a bit tough to accept. Certain elements of the story remain unexplained, and Itsuki's supernatural ability of being able to perceive another's mindset is never really used to great effect. This begs the question of why the author even bothered adding that element into the story, but for you guys who dislike the use of supernatural elements in fiction, it may be a relief.

Don't let the flaws deter you from reading this story though. Kimi no Knife offers a powerful experience, and a surprisingly character-driven one, as its characters are written with excellent foundation and thought in mind. The question of morals is explored very meticulously, and many characters possess intricate moral compasses and ideologies which change over time. Each crime scene is presented with increasingly strong weight and suspense, and even while the work carries significant momentum throughout, it also doesn't shy away from engaging on an emotional level when its characters break down or support each other through poor situations. Most importantly, this work's tone feels human: balanced, nuanced, and natural. In this aspect, it has completely surpassed my expectations.

Seriously, seriously consider giving this work a fair chance.

Reading this manga is like waking up in a scenic meadow with warm sunshine and a gentle breeze brushing past you. There's something inherently calming and satisfying about the experience, and you'll leave it feeling somewhat enlightened, glad that you were willing to give it a go.

Balancing Toy is a shoujo manga by Aiji Yamakama, and for those of you who have read 'Tomodachi no Hanashi', you'd be well acquainted with this mangaka's pleasant art style. Unlike the typical shoujo, this one doesn't really have much of a central plot to speak of, nor a goal it's trying to gravitate towards. It's a true ... slice-of-life at heart, with Haru giving us insightful remarks and pieces of her worldview as we observe her everyday life through her perspective. Meeting up with a past childhood friend. Making new acquaintances. Setting up her stepfather's birthday party. These events may seem mundane on paper, but each one reveals just a bit more about the wonderful characters in the story, while feeling incredibly natural and immersing in the process.

This story contains a dash of everything, from familial bonds to friendships to the buds of a teenage romance. It gives a refreshing look at life, adding in just the right amounts of appreciation and kindness amidst playful banter and lighthearted interactions. It's a heartwarming read for when you want to calm down and enjoy your time.

So what are you waiting for? Go ahead and give this manga a whirl~

Have you ever cried over a fictional work? Do you think you're beyond that sort of silly, weak reaction? Think you're a tough kid? Think again, because 'The Friendly Winter' is about to show you just how much of a vulnerable little girl you are on the inside.

As you may have gotten from the synopsis, this Korean webtoon is centered on two characters who have rather special circumstances surrounding their growth. Da-Jeong is a 19-year old trapped in a child's body, while Min-seong is a 17-year old guy with a child's mind. Apparent from the day they first met, they complement each other very ... well, and against the trash of society who judge, ridicule, and take advantage of their disabilities, they do well to protect each other in various ways. Da-Jeong has quite a few devious tactics up her sleeve, taking full advantage of her innocent and cute appearance to appeal to the public's sympathies, while Min-seong has his mature stature to help along the way. In this dynamic, Da-Jeong plays the big sister role most of the time, and their misadventures around town start off with a lighthearted mood.

But wait, there's more! Just as you settle down and get comfortable with the story, the feels start rolling in relentlessly, and here's where the reality of the characters starts to show itself. You seriously didn't think that this kind of subject matter would be all fun and games, did you? While Da-Jeong keeps up a sassy and adorable front in public, the truth is that she's really vulnerable and feels deeply insecure about her physical condition. Going beyond her limitations of wearing children's clothing and being in a child's body, her insecurities are driven strongly by her mother's divorce from the family and her inability to work and support the family. Finances are barely kept afloat by her father's dwindling wages, her own mother left her because of her 'disability', and she can hardly lift her head to face her issues upfront. On the other hand, Min-seong's parents had already left him one way or another, and his current adoptive mother was ousted from her family because she refused to leave this 'retarded' child. Nothing breaks Min-seong's heart more than his mother's tears, and he can't stand the fact that he drags his mother down every time he screws up or gets hurt from something.

So you'd think that the drama of this story is driven by our pity for the characters. Nooo, no no no. What hits hardest isn't sadness or tragedy; it's the raw emotional appeal of compassion and love. It's to have friends and family stick with them through thick and thin. It's to have their loved ones tell them that everything is going to be alright when they need it most. It's through bright and infectious smiles, genuine heart-to-heart talks, and the strength to defy the world's expectations and do what they really want to do. And finally, it's to have struggled through trial and tribulation together, that they learn to treasure each other more than anything else in the world. I dare you not to tear up after all of that.

Speaking of defying expectations, if the only thing keeping you back from reading this webtoon is the worry that the art may not be up to par, I beg your pardon. This full-color work has realistic backgrounds, a soft and warm color scheme, competent character designs, and consistently good quality. Bewildered by Korean names? Just remember Da-Jeong and Min-seong, and you're pretty much set. Any other worries or concerns? Suck it up, and go read this webtoon now. The characters are brilliant, the drama is evocative, and the overall experience is beautiful. Seriously, you won't regret it.

A standard JRPG story usually involves a group of heroes rising up to fight a large and evil empire. The group grows stronger as they journey across the world and find new allies and weapons along the way. Their final goal is to beat the evil boss, be it the powerful emperor or some supernatural force lurking in the shadows, to restore peace to the world. Their actions are glorious and heroic, and ultimately, their epilogues are ones of peace and happiness.

Is life really so simple? Hitsugi no Chaika presents itself as the unofficial sequel to these stories, taking place a few years after ... a large war that involved 8 heroes and an evil emperor. Its setting is relatively standard fantasy, with melee combat, diverse magic, and medieval architecture. Magic can be used for a multitude of purposes, from basic applications of light and heat, to combat applications of cutting and destroying, to general applications of powering vehicles, to advanced applications of mind-control and other shenanigans. However, mages are rare, and most magic is highly restrictive, requiring a source magic fuel and a magic application device in the form of a long gun. These mechanics make for some really interesting world-building and action, but thankfully, the show never dwells too much into explaining the mechanics, lest it fall into boring techno-babble and textbook info dump.

Emerging from this post-war premise is our main protagonist, Toru, whose skills as a saboteur laid to waste as the world turned to peace. By chance, he runs into the other main protagonist, Chaika, who is a fairly competent mage, the daughter of the deceased Emperor Gaz, and one who seeks to gather the scattered remains of her father to give him a proper funeral. Here’s the catch: her father’s remains are strong sources of magic that were separately entrusted to each of the former eight heroes who defeated her father in the war. To gather the remains involves defeating all eight heroes and stopping everyone else who seeks those powerful remains for various reasons, among which includes the resurrection of the Gaz empire. As Toru, Chaika, Toru’s sister Akari, and a sassy dragoon adventure around the world to achieve this goal, they are met with plenty of trouble from heroes, bandits, government agents, other ambitious adventurers, and various mystical beasts.

Adventure has its fair shares of action and downtime, and the show makes great use of both. From the more passive moments of the story, the show maintains an effective balance between light comedy and serious business, sprinkling in healthy doses of witty quips and deadpan with meaningful backstory revelation and poignant character moments. I’ll admit: even the more crude physical humor within the show cracked me up, and Fredrica’s sense of play and trolling is a spectacle in itself. Within these lighthearted moments, amid Toru’s sighs and Chaika’s definitive expressions, is a sense of natural character chemistry forming between the characters. Trust becomes a foregone conclusion, and by the end of this season, it becomes obvious that the main group of four fight solely for each other, without concern of the views of righteousness or societal acceptance.

The action, animated by Studio Bones, is usual Bones quality. That is to say that the animation is consistently solid, and the choreography is excellent. From wired dagger maneuvering to dual wielding melee combat, the actions are swift, powerful, and clean, delivering both the visual splendor and the thrill of battle. The versatile magic makes fights interesting, as mages check the fighters with their range and utility (in crowd control), and there’s always the steamroller dragoon Fredrica to consider as well. Fight scenes accompany the more plot-heavy moments of the show, and while the severity of the situation escalates through the course of the story, the action is kept suspenseful and thrilling throughout.

One pervading theme in Hitsugi no Chaika is the sense of purpose that motivates each character. What do the characters fight for? While taken for granted or simplified in various other action shows, Hitsugi no Chaika challenges this theme from multiple angles, all centered on the concept of loss. After all, Toru lost his reason to fight when the war ended. Saboteurs are not needed in a peaceful world. Fredrica lost her life partner, and Chaika lost much of her memory. Heroes in the war find their exceptional combat prowess to be meaningless in everyday life, and even commoners struggle with loss of purpose and the desire for something grander. These losses all occurred as a result of peace, and it puts to question the effects of war and the value of peace. Can everyone adjust to peaceful life after spending years on the battlefield? Is peace most desirable if people lose their reason to live as a result? Many turn to violence and power in desperation, while others waste away to nothingness. Even Toru’s decision to help Chaika is highly questionable, as the emperor’s remains can cause chaos and world instability if used by the wrong people. So what? Toru needs a purpose, and Chaika gives him one. Vague ideals of morality and justice cease to have meaning when one’s own life seems worthless.

Coupled with interesting mechanics, excellent action, effective humor, well-rounded characters, and a high-stakes conflict, Hitsugi no Chaika easily stands out as one of the my favorite fantasy adventures to come out in recent years. From personal enjoyment to critical appreciation, this show delivers, and makes me thirst for more. Thankfully, the wait won’t be too long, as the second season is due in October. There’s no such thing as too much Chaika, so please, more of this quality fantasy romp. And the dragoon.

My Girl looks like a simple tale of parenthood, but it turned out to be so much more. It’s about responsibility, about the will to let go and confront one's sorrows, about how one adjusts to change, and about what gives fulfillment and happiness in life. It's about how to deal with insecurity, how to believe in oneself, and how to consult others instead of bottling up ones' emotions. It's not only about how to help others, but also how to impose on others when one is in need. It's about the difference between being kind, and being considerate of others' feelings. It’s about being ... both a responsible father and a respectable son. The story begins when a distraught guy accepts his daughter, who he never knew he had, after being devastated by the passing of his wife. From that point onwards, complementing the theme of parenthood, My Girl enriches the reading experience with tons of poignant drama and meaningful lessons.

What's a brilliant story without an endearing cast? Thankfully, My Girl delivers, and delivers big time. The main character, Masamune, is an insecure, lovesick, but charming and responsible father. His little angel, Koharu, always looks out for Masamune in the sweetest of ways. Beyond that, there’s Masamune's wise father, Masamune's foul-tempered but earnestly compassionate mother, Masamune's kind landlord, Koharu's rowdy and tsundere playmate Shuu, friends, and more. All serve their roles very well and get their fair share of characterization, often used in a way that brings out the best of their character.

From the characters, it is obvious that My Girl has a powerful vision of humanity: that even in tough situations, in times of unrest and dissatisfaction, or when people are incapable of expressing their true feelings, they are truly beautiful inside.

My Girl hits again and again with the feels train, never relenting until the end. It’ll likely make you tear up multiple times, since My Girl is just so potent at dramatic execution, playing around with emotions like it’s nothing. There's no doubt that My Girl is a drama; one that is filled with moments of sadness and pain. However, it is also the ultimate feel-good. The sad moments are always, without fail, beautiful and heart-warming, and the general portrayal of humanity is one of hope and of earnest optimism. Unlike "Watashitachi no Shiawase na Jikan" (Our Happy Time), which Sumomo Yumeka simply adapted into manga form, My Girl is her magnum opus. Her original story. Her heart and soul, poured into this work. Thank you, and congratulations. You touched yet another heart from halfway across the world.