Archive for the Staff Writer Category


Momentary Lily Okazu Staff Review

January 15th, 2025

Colorful image of tables in a restaurant, with six girls colorfully dressed, eating and drinking, and smiling with banality.It appears that Okazu Staff huddle together when they encounter a trashfire in media, so once again, we are here to debrief and detox.

Today we are gathered together to memorialize our sanity, lost via Momentary Lily, streaming on Crunchyroll.

 

 

 

Christian LeBlanc

My first impression of the new GoHands joint was that it felt like being grabbed by the shoulders and shaken violently by someone vomiting glitter everywhere. And this is coming from someone who generally enjoys GoHands’ output, in defiance of people who point out the flaws in their animation.
 
Admittedly, I’m not particularly literate in cinema, and so online discussions will often illustrate to me why a scene in a movie works as well as it does. Likewise, people online can point out how GoHands is using an ambitious camera angle or perspective in the wrong place, but I may not always notice something’s off, and simply enjoy seeing the camerawork go absolutely ham for someone walking up a flight of stairs. And why not? Anime is generally exaggerated anyway, right?
 
Well, let me explain in terms of music. Momentary Lily is like a slow ballad where someone starts shredding on their axe like crazy halfway through the first verse. Yes, it’s an impressively face-melting, blisteringly-fast guitar solo, but what is it doing after a line and a half of lyrics? Some people will be open-minded enough to simply enjoy the guitar solo, and won’t be bothered by how out of place it is. Conversely, some listeners won’t understand why the gentle singing was interrupted by a piece of music from a seemingly different tune, and will be taken out of the song because it’s so jarring and distracting.
 
My colleagues will expand on how all the different elements of this show make it less than the sum of its parts, but let me pass the baton with this: one character’s death lacks gravitas because we haven’t gotten to know them well enough over two episodes, while another girl’s breasts defy gravitas even as she’s sobbing over her impending doom. Please learn to read the room, Erika Koudaji’s breasts.
 

Eleanor Walker

I watched this while nursing a tremendous hangover and I’m genuinely not sure if it improved the experience or not. The main thing going through my mind was “she breasted boobily” every time a certain character was on the screen. I still don’t know why these collection of walking stereotypes, sorry, characters are doing what they’re doing, what the “Wild Hunt” is and where they’re getting the ingredients for the random cooking segments. It’s like one staffer wanted to make a cute girls doing cute things cooking show and another wanted to make a monster fighting explosion show and the studio just shrugged and said “eh, whatever, we can only afford to animate one pair of breasts so work together”. The voices are particularly grating, I’m not generally one who notices particularly bad voice acting, especially in Japanese (I didn’t notice Hideaki Anno in The Wind Rises, for example, which was widely complained about online) but dearie me the voices in this one make me want to gouge my eardrums out with a melon baller.

 

Erica Friedman

This project is infamously animated by GoHands, a group that takes their work as animators VERY seriously, as everything in this anime moves, constantly. Even things that do not actually ever move.

In a post-apocalyptic world in which humans have been hunted by “The Wild Hunt” – over-animated kaijuu – a girl with a mysterious ability to call up a magical, science fiction-y, mega weapon finds a small group of other teenage girls with similar abilities.  Whether you consider these girls to be special forces, or refugees or just plain child soldiers, don’t worry about the details…their misery and trauma will be mined for laughs and pathos and boob jiggles. And cooking lessons, so even at the end of the world, we can make a nice meal of rice and canned mackerel. We got to get our priorities straight.

As for the service – to quote the great Pamela Poovey, “Inappropes.”

Grab a Dramamine and watch Momentary Lily, with a cast of girls with verbal tics that stand in for a personality.

 

Frank Hecker

Fans of the anime Shirobako may recall a scene in which two animators are discussing a new technique for making reflections off eyeglasses look more realistic, followed by a shot of one person’s glasses illustrating that very technique. Watching Momentary Lily is like watching that scene on infinite repeat, but without the self-reflexive humor. After viewing the first couple of minutes of episode 1 in the conventional way, I turned the sound and subtitles off so I could appreciate Momentary Lily for what it really is, a SIGGRAPH demo with fighting girls. (I originally wrote “magical girls,” but they don’t have transformation sequences—more’s the pity.)

Watching the show this way helps make sense of some of the shot and plot choices. Why does one of the girls show off her moisturizing regimen in the first scene? So that we can see how well GoHands can model shiny skin (presumably using Phong shading or some more recent technique). Why do the girls take a break from fighting monsters to have a meal? So that the animators can take a break from animating kaijū and relax themselves, modeling various foods, plastic packages, tin cans, utensils, and so on. (They even show a cousin of the famous Utah teapot.) And most notably: why does the girls’ hair fly around so much? It’s simultaneously a plea to the production committee and a boast to the viewer: “If we had a bigger budget, we could animate every hair.”

I guess there’s a story here somewhere and presumably some attempts at characterization, but really the girls are to GoHands what the Madonna and child and other Biblical scenes were to Renaissance painters, a conventional set of stock images used to demonstrate mastery of their craft. (My using the word “craft” and not “art” is deliberate; there is little art here.) Watching Momentary Lily like I did highlights those demonstrations: the omnipresent lens flare that shifts position depending on which way the light is coming from, the focus pulling and bokeh, the way the clouds constantly moving across the sky are reflected in the windows of the buildings in the background. For me, the emotional climax of episode 2 was not the foreground scene of a girl in extremis, but rather the background shot of a tree with all its leaves rippling in the wind.

I especially loved the shots of buildings shown in dramatic perspective, whether during the day or at night, viewed clearly or enshrouded in fog. Which brings me to my recommendation to GoHands: forget plot, character, and dialogue. Ditch the monsters, include more scenes with buildings and benches, erase the girls from every shot, and create what the world has been waiting for: a true masterpiece of “yuri of absence.”

 

Luce

Well that sure was an eye workout. Ow.

Setting aside the camera for now, this is distinctly mediocre. Sci-fi and post-apocalypse isn’t my thing, but this wouldn’t sell me. The five characters we see initially are unmemorable, apart from ‘onee-chan’ with the big bouncing boobs that are totally unnecessary and look like they’re about to float her off to space. (One character says ‘too much jiggle’. Don’t call it out and flaunt it at the same time.) Renge, the ‘main’ character, is screechy, then apologising for the weirdest things, like ‘imposing’ on the group with a awkwardly cut cooking ‘segment’, as they refer to it. Wow, she’s amnesiac, has a cool weapon and can one shot the big robots. Great, sure sounds like a plot thread right there. Too bad I’m not interested.

Sadly, even if I was interested, watching this feels like an attack on the optic nerve. Aside from over-animated hair and one set of boobs, the animation is middling, but not awful. But it’s like someone heard ‘dynamic camera angles’ and decided this meant ‘camera must move every two seconds’. It’s at odd angles, or moving, but in really jarring ways that almost follow characters but not quite. There’s more lens flares than Star Trek. And what is with the split screens?!

If you have a tendency to migraines, or any visually triggered illnesses, avoid this. I promise it’s not worth it. I’m off to have a lie down.

 

Matt Marcus

When my friend and cohost Sibyl sent me the trailer for Momentary Lily, my first thought was “someone must really like RWBY.” As the announcement began circulating in my online spaces, I had only seen dismissive, but not illuminating, comments about the studio that made it. It wasn’t on my radar, but between my friend’s excitement and the reactions from the folks in the Discord after episode 1 dropped, I figured I would give it a shot.

Y’all, I was not prepared.

I could go on about the visually chaotic and cacophonous opening, but that’s just where it begins. From opening to ending, watching Momentary Lily is like reading one of those giant posts of text with three emojis after every sentence, but also the font is Wingdings.

The script feels like it was written by ChatGPT trained using the dialogue of every lady-led shonen show, but dumber. There’s the gamer girl who chugs energy drinks and calls them her “buffs” in every sentence she speaks. There’s the chipper leader with a verbal tic. There’s the serious dark-haired girl with glasses with a verbal tic. There’s the “big sister” archetype with absurd breast physics. There’s the gyaru girl. And, of course, we have the overpowered amnesiac lead who is so obscenely shy that half her dialogue is in pantomime. The characterization is so thin I’m surprised that their models are not literally transparent.

But we’re not here for deep ruminations on the human soul, are we? No, we’re here to see some overly-stylized teenagers do some high-flying ass-kicking! So that part must be good right? I got bad news for you: the action is messy, hard to follow, and extremely headache inducing. The characters don’t match the garish, hyper-saturated 3D backgrounds in both visual style and, worse, in framerate. Even in shots where the background isn’t moving as if the camera is being controlled by a drunk crane operator, the point of view zooms in and out and bounces around like a nap-skipping toddler on caffeine. It’s as if GoHands was afraid that if they didn’t jangle every key in front of our face for the entire scene, we’d lose interest mid-sword swing.

But beyond all that, the biggest sin is the pacing. Characters only have space to do schtick between the barest of exposition. Tone shifts rapidly from “badass” action to cutesy cooking segments where Amnesia Girl shows her new pals how to make otaku struggle meals. (Each episode is named for the dish said girl makes, so I guess this was The Thing GoHands decided the show should be About.) Scenes are smashed together with no sense of time passing. A character is killed in episode 2, and the previews of the next episode suggest that the show is going to tell us why we should’ve cared about this girl in the first place. It’s jarring and exhausting and boring at the same time.

And don’t get me started on the worldbuilding. Almost every human on earth has been vaporized yet social media still functions! Can’t wait for the plot to hinge on the crew posting their 7-Eleven survivalist stews on the ‘Gram. GOD this sucks.

The thing that strikes me the most about the show is that there is clearly effort and skill on display, and yet it is applied in the most artless way I have ever seen. It’s fascinating in that way: a show ostensibly about cooking that lacks taste. For all the “flavor” tossed in, this is very thin gruel.

Ratings:

Story – eh
Characters – verbal tics and trauma
Animation – LOL
Service – too much jiggle
Yuri – no thank you

Overall – canned fish





Pluto: The Series

January 3rd, 2025

A promotional poster for the Thai yuri series Pluto. It shows the two main characters, Aioon and May, sitting on top of Aioon's van, looking at the sky.by Frank Hecker, Okazu Staff Writer

Believe it or not, there are Thai yuri novels written by Chao Planoy that are not part of the GAP extended universe; Pluto: The Series (streaming on YouTube) is an adaptation of one of them, from the powerhouse Thai production company GMMTV (who also produced 23.5: The Series). Unlike the other Chao Planoy adaptations reviewed here (GAP, Blank, and Affair), Pluto adds a mystery to the typical romance plot—though whether that’s an improvement is debatable, as we shall see.

Aioon (Namtan Tipnaree Weerawatnodom) is a tomboyish slacker working as a motorcycle courier. Ai is estranged from her younger twin sister Oaboom (also played by Namtan), and is thus surprised when right after Oom’s wedding (to wealthy heir Paul) Oom asks Ai to pretend to be her and break up with her ex-girlfriend May (Film Rachanun Mahawan). That night Paul and Oom are in an auto accident that kills Paul and leaves Oom in a coma. Ai feels compelled to carry out her sister’s last wish, goes to see May, and finds, first, that May is blind and, second, that she herself is becoming attracted to May. Ai decides to continue pretending to be Oom and not go through with the promised break-up. And thus the game is afoot.

The ensuing mysteries are many: Why did Oom decide to break up with May? How did May lose her sight, and is there any hope of her regaining it? What’s the connection between May, a lawyer, and Ai’s “motorpunk” friends? Will Oom ever come out of her coma? And most notably: Why doesn’t May figure out that Ai is not Oom, and why does Ai think she can get away with the pretense? The answers to these questions are revealed in the following episodes, so I won’t spoil them here. However, I will note that the series depends on a series of coincidences, connections between characters, and plot resolutions that are mostly implausible and contrived and therefore also mostly unsatisfying.

The appeal of the Pluto: The Series instead rests on the characters themselves and the actors who portray them. Here the series does better: both Namtan and Film are TV and film veterans, and both have challenging roles that they execute reasonably well, Namtan portraying twins with separate personalities and Film portraying a woman who’s lost her sight. Film also rescues May from being thought of solely as a victim of unfortunate circumstances, and shows that she has a scheming and conniving side as well, as befits a successful lawyer. As for their portrayal of the relationship between Ai and May, Namtan and Film can’t match the level of sensuality displayed by Freen and Becky in The Loyal Pin (or, for that matter, by Faye and Yoko in Blank), but they do make for a very affectionate and appealing couple, and they nail the occasional scenes of extreme emotion.

Finally, while I enjoyed Pluto: The Series for the most part, its existence does make me wish that Thai production companies would find more novels from other authors to adapt. Even the best screenwriters can do only so much with Chao Planoy’s novels, filled as they are with plot contrivances and sensationalistic elements. Other Thai authors surely deserve a chance to have their yuri novels become successful live-action series.

Ratings:

Story — 5 (too many complications, coincidences, and implausibilities)
Characters — 8
Production — 8 (the usual GMMTV professional work)
Service — 2
Yuri — 10
Overall — 7

Pluto: The Series is an enjoyable but uneven watch that struggles to overcome the implausibilities and contrivances of its source material and doesn’t completely succeed in doing so, despite the best efforts of Namtan and Film.





Qualia the Purple: The Complete Manga Collection

December 22nd, 2024

Manga cover for Qualia The Purple. The Complete Manga Collection. On a cover of purple stripes, a girl with long brown hair and big purple eyes looks up at us, her shadow spreading behind her.by Matt Marcus, Staff Writer

Qualia the Purple: The Complete Manga Collection is a story about a high school girl named Yukari, who sees all people as robots.

Ok, that’s not entirely true. This is a story about Manabu (aka Gaku-chan), a normal high school girl who is in love with Yukari but doesn’t quite realize it.

…Alright, you got me. This is a story not really about either of those things. This is a story about quantum mechanics and theoretical physics that happens to center on Manabu’s metaphysical attempts to save Yukari from an early death at the hands of an evil science institute.

Based on the light novel of the same name, this single-volume collection is just as confused as the intro of this review. It begins with a strong concept: Yukari appears to be a chuunibyou, but in reality she has the ability to deconstruct and rebuild matter however she seems fit. Manabu is a normal girl with something of a princely streak. You think you’re in for some sci-fi-tinged high school Yuri yearning, but somehow it develops into a plot about a serial killer.

And then, roughly a third into its length, it decides to pivot into a multiverse story that damsels Yukari, the girl who is practically Dr. Manhattan, in order to put the story in Manabu’s hands (Manabu even addresses this bait-and-switch directly to the reader). By design, she is an empty vessel with a singular goal. 

The story already made a leap into the unpleasant with the serial killer subplot, but the back two-thirds ends up making Manabu out to be a monster as she tries everything, no matter how unpleasant, to achieve her goal. Most unfortunate of these decisions involves Alice, a child prodigy who arrives at the high school to recruit Yukari to the aforementioned evil science institute. A major pivot point involves an alternate universe Manabu falling in love with her, despite her being younger by a fair number of years. Our point-of-view Manabu ends up developing a relationship with Alice as a means to further her goal of saving Yukari. The whole thing feels like an unforced error, since there is nothing about Alice’s character that is gained by making her a few years younger than the rest of the main cast.

One could say that it’s subversive how Manabu and Yukari’s relationship sits neatly in the old paradigm of undefined schoolgirl Yuri crush, while Manabu’s (hella problematic) relationship with Alice is unambiguously explicit in its romantic and sexual nature. That must have felt novel in 2009 when this story was first released, but today it has notably less impact. Also, I’m sure I could write an entire paper on how an “impure” (putting aside the age gap) queer relationship is instrumentalized in the service of a “pure” Yuri love, but frankly I’m too exhausted by the belabored explanations of the Copenhagen Interpretation and wave function collapses to bother.

The biggest flaw of this manga is that the book itself is a poor choice for visual adaptation. The vast majority of the story is told in narration by Manabu, and there are few if any moments that let the visuals speak for themselves. That said, there is one extremely funny moment that takes advantage of the medium.

Given its age, I can forgive a few of its sins. (The fact that a flip phone played a major role in the plot did get a chuckle out of me.) That said, it pales in comparison to a short story collection made from a very similar mold: Last and First Idol. Where the edgy elements in Qualia just made me wince, the visceral gore and violence of LAFI played punctuated Gengen Kunano’s biting satire, be it for idols, gacha, or whatever. Qualia plays it very straight which lessens its appeal to me.

I’d say that if you are in the pocket for some sci-fi Yuri and don’t mind a misstep or two, Qualia the Purple could be worth your time. But I would suggest the light novel over this manga collection.

Ratings:

Art – 6 Not a whole lot to write home about visually; doesn’t take advantage of the medium enough
Story – 6 More disjointed than compelling
Characters – 5 What’s on the page is pretty stock
Service – 1 Higher if you like detailed explanations of Schrodinger’s Cat
Yuri – 5 / LGBTQ – 5 Some old-school yearning, but also has a queer relationship as a plot element

Overall – 6 Would have more impact if this release time-traveled back to 2009

Thank you to Seven Seas, who provided me with a review copy.

Matt Marcus is a cohost of various projects on the Pitch Drop Podcast Network, as well as the writer for the blog Oh My God, They Were Bandmates analyzing How Do We Relationship in greater depth.





Jeongnyeon: The Star Is Born

December 11th, 2024

Promotional poster for the Korean drama series Jeongnyeon: The Star Is Born, featuring Kim Tae-ri (center) as Jeongnyeon. Other characters (from left to right) are the director Kang So-bok, the current prince and princess Seo Hye-rang and Moon Ok-gyeong, and Jeongnyeon’s rival Heo Yeong-seo.by Frank Hecker, Staff Writer

The Takarazuka Revue has inspired several manga and anime. Now comes Jeongnyeon: The Star Is Born, a Korean drama (currently streaming on Hulu and Disney+) that features an analogous 1950s-era all-female gukgeuk troupe performing plays based on classic Korean tales and featuring songs sung in the traditional pansori style. Jeongnyeon the series features Yoon Jeongnyeon the performer (played by Kim Tae-ri), a natural-born pansori genius who goes from working as a fishmonger to joining the Maeran Theater Company as a trainee and competing to become its new “prince.”

If you’ve heard about Jeongnyeon at all, you’ve likely heard that it’s based on a yuri webcomic of the same name, and that the explicit yuri elements were erased in the live-action adaptation. This is true: in the webcomic Jeongnyeon has a girlfriend, Kwon Bu-yong (the rightmost figure in the webcomic image below), who starts out as a fan of Maeran. There’s also a side character who was disrespected as a woman and decided to henceforth live life as a man. Neither are present in the TV series.

Nevertheless, Jeongnyeon is still of interest to yuri fans who enjoy dramas about the theater in general and all-female theatrical troupes in particular. And there is plenty of drama to be had: Jeongnyeon finds her quest to become a top star impeded by the violent opposition of her mother Seo Yong-re (Moon So-ri), who has a mysterious past and a hidden connection to Maeran’s imperious director Kang So-bok (Ra Mi-ran). She also finds herself beset by bullies, incurring the wrath of director Kang for various offenses, and enmeshed in a triangle of sorts with her rival would-be prince Heo Yeong-seo (Shin Ye-eun) and their would-be princess Hong Joo-ran (Woo Da-vi). Meanwhile, scandals past and present threaten the positions of current prince Moon Ok-gyeong (Jung Eun-chae) and her princess Seo Hye-rang (Kim Yoon-hye), and the future of Maeran and indeed gukgeuk as a whole hangs in the balance.

Promotional image for the webcomic Jeongnyeon, showing Yoon Jeongnyeon (center) and Heo Yeong-seo (left) in the trainee uniforms of white blouse and long blue skirts, and Kwon Bu-yong (right) in her own dark-blue uniform.The yuri elements discarded in the transition to screen reappear elsewhere as subtext: Ok-gyeong has the transmasc aura of the previous side character and with Hye-rang forms the troupe’s resident couple: They live in the same house, are casually affectionate with one another, and are even raising a young girl together. With Bu-yong absent, the show’s focus is solely on the Maeran trainees, and Joo-ran becomes a (very) thinly-veiled love interest for Jeongnyeong. Finally, in a rare example of heterosexual erasure, Yeong-seo loses the boyfriend she had in the webcomic and is free to devote her attentions to Jeongnyeon and Joo-ran. Almost all the remaining men have only minor roles or function as obstacles to the core group of women; the only other men featured, Jeongnyeon’s father and grandfather, are dead as her story begins.

As a show considered on its own merits, Jeongnyeon has a uniformly excellent cast, high production values, and a compelling if often bittersweet plot. Kim Tae-ri, who first came to fame starring in the Korean lesbian drama The Handmaiden, studied pansori for multiple years in preparation for the part, and it shows. I thought she played the role of Jeongnyeon a bit too broadly in some early episodes, but otherwise she’s completely convincing. Shin Ye-eun takes a common trope—the hard-working performer who’s overshadowed by an untutored genius—and makes Yeong-seo a complex and compelling rival to Jeongnyeon. Finally, Woo Da-vi is unjustly neglected in the show’s promotional materials, but her character is the emotional heart of the series. Joo-ran’s scenes with Jeongnyeon are some of the show’s most affecting, and certainly the most romantic.

As a story, Jeongnyeon harks back to Hana Monogatari and other “S” fictions, in which young women have relationships of “passionate friendship” (and sometimes more than friendship) with other young women, relationships ended by adulthood and (typically arranged) marriages. Gukgeuk itself lost its mass audience to television and its elite audience to Western opera (exemplified by Yeong-seo’s mother, a famous soprano who looks down on Yeong-seo’s chosen career). So, even if other events didn’t intrude, the time the characters would have with each other would be fleeting.

As a production, Jeongnyeon was created in a modern society marked by often violent misogyny and homophobia, and can be seen as a response to that. The series was written and directed by women, and its main cast are all women. The women in Jeongnyeon start and staff their own troupes and put on their own theatrical productions. They claim for themselves ownership of stories that are classics of Korean culture and sing in a style originally pioneered by men, a style that in its frequent harshness is the very opposite of the ultra-feminine stylings of the stereotypical present-day idol.

While yuri fans have bemoaned the changes made in the transition from webcomic to live-action, the mainstream South Korean audience has taken this example of “quiet feminism” to heart and propelled the show to high ratings and the number 1 position in its time slots. If Jeongnyeon: The Star Is Born is anywhere near as popular outside South Korea—as it deserves to be—perhaps one day there’ll be an official English release of the webcomic, and we can experience the story of Jeongnyeon as it was originally conceived.

Ratings:

Story — 7 (a bit too much coincidence in the initial setup, and a somewhat flat ending)
Characters — 9 (complex characters vividly brought to life)
Production — 9 (impressive recreations of multiple theatrical productions)
Service — 1 (Ok-gyeong in a suit and fedora counts, I think)
Yuri — 5 (the subtext is strong with this one)

Overall — 8 (a kiss apparently left on the cutting-room floor might have made this a 9)

Yuri fans who can look past the (self-)censorship of a canon yuri story will find an entertaining and emotionally resonant drama elevated by standout performances by Kim Tae-ri and the other leads, along with splendid recreations of classic gukgeuk performances.

Note: If you want to further explore the real-life history of all-female theater in Korea, see Ha Ju-yong, “Female Masculinity and Cultural Symbolism: A History of Yeoseong gukgeuk, the All-Female Cast Theatrical Genre,” The Review of Korean Studies 24, no. 2 (December 2021), 107-144, doi: 10.25024/review.2021.24.2.107. This open-access article has a wealth of detail, including promotional posters and ads, photographs of performers, and even example sheet music for one of the songs.





Assorted Entanglements, Volume 6

November 20th, 2024

A woman in a business suit with short dark hair, holding a beer, hugs her younger sister in a white blouse and dark blue skirt her black hair in pigtails.

by Matt Marcus, Staff Writer

Last we left our ragtag crew of sapphics, dates were “enjoyed”, feelings were revealed, emotional wounds were bonded over. We were left just short of a handful of plot payoffs: will Kujou give in to Sugimoto’s trial date idea? Will Heke-sensei be able to game hard enough to earn the right to date her boss? Will Shizuku and Saori just hook up already?

In Assorted Entanglements Volume 6, three of our four pairings arrive at significant inflection points. One couple is embarking on a new adventure as a couple, one is pretending to do the same, and the third…well that one is about to get complicated.

For Saori and Shizuku, the twin-tailed “normie” decides to sneak out of the house at night for doughnuts and deadpans her way into Shizuku’s apartment (this time choosing to be let in through the door instead of smashing the window. Character growth!!). She continues to find herself drawn to the delinquent, and has begun to see through some of Shizuku’s self-loathing. While escorting Saori back to her house, Shizuku recognizes a woman from her past. This is setting up a Shizuku character arc, and I’m surprisingly here for it. Never would’ve thought I’d say that about Shizuku of all characters, but here we are.

As for our mangaka/editor duo, Heke-sensei finally achieves her level goal in the online FPS game, putting her on “even footing” with her gaming oshi. This means she can finally ask Shinohara out! However, she nearly chickens out after spending the day together on a date. Heke-san clutches out the “win” and the two finally come together as a couple. I’m satisfied that this didn’t get dragged out for another who-knows-how-many volume. Now, the real question left is will Heke-sensei be more capable of hitting deadlines now that her editor is her girlfriend?

And for our third major turning point, Kujou and Sugimoto go on the long-threatened trial date. Naturally, it’s at the most sapphic of date destinations: the aquarium! Sugimoto continuously props up Kujou in the face of her gym teacher’s unrelenting defeatism and emotional self-sabotage, which is, honestly, kind of sweet. Sugimoto isn’t actively putting the moves on her teacher (in fact, she doesn’t seem to recognize her long-growing feelings), but by the end of the date, Kujou has the realization that the two of them have gotten too close for their own good. I was starting to worry that Kujou would remain oblivious for a good while longer.

…Also Iori and Minami are there. There’s a silly miscommunication that gets blown out of proportion, complete with the obligatory punch (on panel this time!), but it ends with a sweet moment together. At this point for me, these two are mostly here as supporting cast for the Saori x Shizuku storyline.

Again, I have to say I’m impressed with the improvement of the storytelling from the early volumes. It’s a direct result of the shift to longer chapters allowing the characters more space to interact and to make something resembling plot progress. Hell, it’s making me invested in Shizuku’s backstory, and how the past’s resurfacing will affect her relationship with Saori in the present. A deep character drama this ain’t, but it has become much more than the series of gag strips it began as.

Ratings:

Art – 7 Continues to be solid
Story – 8 We’re actually starting to cook here, with each of the three “active” plot arcs developing
Characters – 8 There is the right amount of angst injected with the humor, allowing for good chemistry
Service – 4 For a real payoff for our Best Couple
Yuri – 8 / LGBTQ – 8 Aquarium date!

Overall – 8 Would invite this volume to go on a shopping date to Yodob*shi 

Volume 7 of this ensemble story of sapphic misfits is coming our way in February.

Matt Marcus is a cohost of various projects on the Pitch Drop Podcast Network, as well as the writer for the blog Oh My God, They Were Bandmates analyzing How Do We Relationship in greater depth.