A Winding River Rode

Since I’m participating in this 12 Days challenge, I think it’s safe to say that I like writing. I’m still not particularly good at it, but there are enough idiosyncrasies present within my work that it is unmistakably my own. And that’s probably a good place to start? By trying to understand my own strengths and weaknesses, I can hone my abilities without erasing what makes my work unique.

In the second half of the third season of Shokugeki no Soma, the culinary school that the characters attend is taken over by Nakiri Azami. As chairperson, he establishes Central, an organization that dictates how cooking ought to be. Under its reforms, advanced recipes, which would have otherwise been reserved to elite students, are taught to everyone. However, students aren’t allowed to prepare any dishes that aren’t approved by Central, and any deviation from these recipes would be harshly punished.

Azami is evil because he’s an elitist who believes that there’s a correct way to cook. He believes that the more traditional recipes which are approved by Central are already perfect, and that any attempts at innovation would only bring about imperfection. From the perspective of a restaurant owner, this perspective makes sense - a dish only matters if it can be made reliably and repeatedly, and will appeal to customers - but this attitude is devoid of humanity. Not only does this standardization eliminate the possibility for growth, but it ignores the person behind each dish. And no matter how hard Azami tries, their differences can’t so easily be ironed out. 

Soma and his friends challenge Azami because there’s more to cooking than being commercially viable. Any dish that these characters put out isn’t just a commodity, but a personal statement. Each of them have their areas of expertise, which reflect their values as people. These specialties shouldn’t be stigmatized, but celebrated. It’s when these different influences are understood and brought together that the characters are able to create their best work.

Basically, whether you’re a chef, a writer, or any other type of artist, remember that the first person you need to please is yourself. If you only ever create what you think will be popular regardless of your own interests, then it’s going to kill you on the inside. Soma regularly makes completely disgusting combinations, such as squid and peanut butter, and while these appeal to absolutely no one but himself, these are his most important dishes. It doesn’t matter to him what anyone else thinks, and it’s how he reaffirms his love of his art. That’s the spice of life.

I’ve loved following along with everyone’s articles for the past 12 days. Everyone has a distinct style, and it’s been neat to see how that voice has carried across their posts. It’s my first time doing something like this, and it’s definitely helped me to learn more about myself as a writer. I missed a few days, so I’m not quite done yet, but I’m already looking forward to next year.

Since his first appearance back in 1962, Spider-Man has resonated with audiences in a way that few other heroes have. Up until his debut, teenagers in comics would be sidekicks at best, and he was the first fully-fledged teenage superhero. And in addition to that, Spider-Man also had problems outside of super villains. Whereas other heroes didn’t really exist when they weren’t in costume, Peter Parker was just as much a part of the story as his alter ego, and his struggles over dealing with bullies, money, and cute girls felt more imposing than any doomsday weapon. Lastly, being a hero never came naturally to him, and he sometimes struggled to do what was right. Ultimately, his strongest asset was not his spider powers, but instead his drive to do the best he could. Audiences saw themselves in Spider-Man, and it’s no surprise that he’s still so popular today.

It’s also no surprise that this hero has been reimagined in so many different forms. Each reinterpretation has presented a different identity with its own set of problems, further expanding the relatability of the character. Now, you don’t have to be like Peter Parker to aspire to the role of Spider-Man; you can be a racial minority, or an immigrant, or a Nazi-punching Nicholas Cage, and there’s still a Spider-Person for you. There’s no longer a true Spider-Man, and it could be anyone behind the mask.

Last year saw the release of Spider-Man: Homecoming, which was this hero’s formal origin story for his appearance in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. As Spider-Man origin stories go, it was probably one of the better ones; the villain was compelling, and the supporting cast left an impression. But despite everything I liked about the movie, I didn’t really care for its version of Peter Parker. Everything else about the formula had been mixed up, but he was still the same, and hardly distinguishable from any Spider-Man that came before him.

But when I look at the new Into the Spider-Verse, it feels like a celebration of everything that makes this hero special. It pointedly avoids focusing on the most traditional Spider-Man, and instead covers a more diverse cast. Each of them bring something new to the story, and while the spot light isn’t necessarily split evenly between all of them, none of them truly feel left out.

The central character, Miles Morales, may be the most relatable Spider-Man has even been. His strength comes not from his powers - he can’t even control them for the majority of the movie - but from his aspirations. Like the audience, he’s someone who has looked up to heroes, and been inspired to improve himself as a result. In the end, the powers are far less important than what you choose to do with them. Spider-Man will never be the strongest hero, but he’ll always show that the little guy can make a difference when he tries. Miles is just trying to be his best self, and I can’t help but do the same.

The world of SSSS.Gridman was created by its antagonist Shinjo Akane. Everything in it is artificial, existing only in service of her wonderful everyday. Even the people who inhabit this world are fake, and are only reflections of Akane herself. Utsumi exists only as a fellow kaiju enthusiast, and Rikka as Akane’s most devoted friend. This is all that they are, and all that they will be. It’s a dream world in which everything is already exactly as she wants it, so none of it ever needs to change.

That’s not really how it works though, is it? If there’s one constant in life, it’s that things change. Maybe at the beginning everything had revolved around her, but the inhabitants of her world have their own free will, and have developed enough to have their own lives outside of her. Utsumi has other interests, and Rikka has other friends. The core that she created is still there, though it’s grown into something more. But rather than embracing that change and growing with them, Akane instead retreats inwards. Everyone leaves her behind, and she is left with only kaiju.

Kaiju don’t change. Better than that, kaiju stop other things from changing. Akane’s refusal to grow prevents her from actually dealing with her emotions or resolving her personal problems like a normal person might, but there are few issues that can’t be steamrolled with a giant monster. If that girl in your class is annoying, why tell her that when you can simply kill her off and erase her existence? Kaiju are perfect tools; they’re simple, and only stick around long enough to do what’s needed. You’d never have to worry about a kaiju challenging your expec-

Anti was created as an adaptive kaiju specifically to destroy Gridman. Unlike the other kaiju that only serve as monster-of-the-week fodder, Anti sticks around after each defeat, learning from it such that he will eventually be able to defeat his target. However, when Anti is confronted with the question of what follows after Gridman is vanquished, he realizes that this dream wasn’t meant to last, and that he must wake up and face reality. Thus, he discards the role of Kaiju, and joins the heroes so that he can help Akane do the same.

It’s at this point, when even her precious kaiju are abandoning her, that it becomes apparent just how much Akane relates to these monsters. In her final conversation with Anti before he joins the Gridman Alliance, she talks about their destructive nature, but it couldn’t be more clear that she’s actually talking about herself. On some level, Akane is aware of how unhealthy her behavior is, and that she can’t continue like this. To further drive this point, when the kaiju of the week, which Anti describes as “Akane’s heart itself”, goes on a rampage, it specifically destroys the support kaiju that keep her world running smoothly. Still, even with all of the power that she possesses, Akane is unable to change herself.

In recent years, it’s become much more common for anime movies to have western releases. In just the past few months, I’ve had the chance to see Mary and the Witch’s Flower, Perfect Blue, MHA: The Two Heroes, and Mirai. (Not for lack of trying, I missed out on Maquia and Liz, and I’m really hoping they have showings at next year’s Anime Boston.) And reflecting back on all of them, I’ve come to a realization: seeing movies in theaters is a lot of fun.

Okay, I should elaborate on that. Specifically, seeing movies in theaters is a very different experience from seeing them on your own on your computer or on Netflix or something. There’s a ridiculous amount of energy added to the movie by the presence of the audience, and I have found this to be especially true of franchise movies. Of all the movies I mentioned above, The Two Heroes had by far the most reactive audience. People would cheer every time a fan favorite character was introduced at the beginning of the movie, and it was easy to get swept away in all of that enthusiasm.

So the context in which I viewed the movie enhanced my enjoyment of it, and that raises a question for those who care about rating their anime on a numerical scale. On my MyAnimeList account, I gave The Two Heroes an 8, but would that number have been lower if I had just watched the movie on my own? In that scenario, the movie would be no different, and yet my perception of it would be significantly altered. It’s nothing new that different people treat their numbers very differently, and that lists can hardly be compared based on score alone, but it’s a step beyond that to realize that discrepancies exist even within the same metric. Basically, numbers aren’t real. (This is really all I had to say, but it seemed too short, so I just kind of rambled on about numbers for a bit. I don’t recommend reading on)

With that said, numeric scores are a valuable shorthand. It’s true that there are a lot of gaps in what they’re able to convey, but the alternative would be to have everyone write out extended thoughts on every anime they’ve seen, and that puts a lot of extra work both on the scorer and those seeking their evaluation. We’ve seen this question come up time and time again on whether video game or movie reviews should contain grades, and we continue to conclude that we should because that’s all some consumers have time to see. Nonetheless, as long as the numbers are here to stay, we might as well be clear on their shortcomings.

I really hope you hadn’t come here expecting me to actually talk about movies, because now I’m going to talk about scales. If my PSYCH240 class taught me anything, it’s that there are three main types of scales: ordinal, interval, and ratio. The first type of scale is the least useful, in that there is no measured distance between values. As an example, if we ask people how they’re feeling today on a scale from 1 to 5, we couldn’t say that the difference between a 2 and a 3 is necessarily equivalent to the difference between a 3 and a 4, and the only real conclusion we could draw is which value is higher.

The ordinal scale is the one that matters for this subject, but I might as well cover the other two. If you don’t care for statistics, you can just skip this paragraph. In contrast to the ordinal scale, the interval scale standardizes the distance between each value, though it still lacks a meaningful zero value. This scale is more useful than the ordinal for making comparisons, though it still has some gaps. Temperature in Fahrenheit and Celsius are examples of interval scales. Distance is consistent between values, but since 0° isn’t actually the absence of temperature, it would be strange to say that 40° is twice as hot as 20°. The final type, the ratio scale, includes a meaningful zero value, allowing such multiplicative comparisons to be made.

It’s easy to think of the first three generations of Yu-Gi-Oh as a set due to the Bonds Beyond Time movie which acts as a crossover between them. As of yet, there is nothing linking the subsequent three generations, but it’s unreasonably funny to me to refer to them as the Yu-Gi-Oh Sequel Trilogy, so here we are.

A generation of Yu-Gi-Oh typically lasts around three years, which translates to about 150 episodes. That’s kind of a lot, and it’s hard to develop a character for that long before the growth starts to feel repetitive. The character arcs in Yu-Gi-Oh embrace this repetition and take on a cyclical nature – the protagonist will be able to reach some epiphany at the end of each cycle, but then a new complication will be introduced at the beginning of the next cycle that will prompt them to further reexamine their goal.

With that said, it often takes a while for the protagonist to find their personal quest, and the series will begin instead with some external motivation. In the case of Zexal, this is Astral telling Yuma to gather the Number cards to recover their memories, and it serves as the primary drive of the show for the first two cours. But when the stakes are lowered for the beginning of the next arc, the World Duel Carnival, Yuma finally has the opportunity to establish himself.

Yuma’s character arc is rare in that his ideals are set in stone from the beginning, and what changes is instead how he communicates to those around him. Yuma believes that dueling is something that should be done for fun and without ulterior motive, and his arc is about him learning how to impart that message to everyone else. Each arc of the show puts Yuma into conflict with a group that would pervert the dueling field to their own ends, and has him learn to understand that group so that he can convince them otherwise. Villains aren’t really defeated in Zexal – they’re redeemed, and return as allies in the future. At the end of the series, Yuma has grown into a more empathetic individual, and the final obstacle he must overcome is Astral. At the beginning of everything, Astral had been so a complete cipher, and in winning, Yuma demonstrates that he has finally come to understand his friend. Like all things regarding Zexal, this is most effective on paper than in practice, and mainly Yuma just come across as oblivious and annoying. Still, I appreciate their intent.

Unlike Yuma who knew what he wanted from the start, Yuya’s story is his quest to find his motivation. At the beginning of the series, his driving force is to carry on the ideals of his father, who was labeled as a coward when he mysteriously disappeared before an important card game. However, other characters are quick to tell him that this motivation is constraining him, and he is forced to reengage with these ideals. His father had taught him that the purpose of duels is to be entertaining, but for who? Is self-satisfaction sufficient, or must he go beyond that? As the series progresses, Yuya is constantly widening the net of who his duels are meant for, until it ultimately includes his opponents as well. Arc-V is a show with parallel dimensions and some truly ridiculous shenanigans, but even among all that, its conclusion is that the strongest force is still empathy.

I think the medium of the visual novel is suited to some really cool ways of storytelling. There’s the expectation that there will be multiple routes, and this allows the writer to take one central idea, and engage with it from several directions, such that they all layer together into a core narrative. At the same time, this medium comes with the expectation that the player will be given options, and that the choices they make will affect the outcome of the story. However, there exists a tension between these two ideas: to adhere to a central idea restricts the types of options that can be given to the player, and to have the path diverge may mean moving away from that idea. I thought this was interesting, so I wanted to write about some of the visual novels that I’ve played, and how they went about reducing this conflict.

The first visual novel that I’ll be using as an example is the Fruit of Grisaia. To grossly oversimplify, this is a fairly standard visual novel in which you play as a high school student, and have five girls at your school who you can pursue as a romantic option. Once you’ve started a route, you’re along for the ride, and there will only be one choice at the very end. One option leads to a good ending and one leads to a bad ending, and this essentially serves as a comprehension quiz to see if you understood the message of the route. There’s no real reason to choose the wrong option unless you’re going for full completion, and most of the bad ends feel abrupt and excessively miserable. My final experience with the game was playing through these bad ends to reach 100%, and it left a bad taste in my mouth that my parting interaction with the story was leaving one of its heroines braindead. I feel that only two of the bad ends actually served to flesh out the story, and I would prefer for the others that the choice hadn’t even existed.

Next up is Wonderful Everyday, in which each route covers roughly the same events, though each from the perspective of a different character. Whereas each route in Grisaia diverged from a common source and could be played in any order, the routes here take place in parallel, and with an enforced playing order. Early scenes can seem chaotic and nonsensical, but they all weave together into a cohesive whole at the end. However, due to this interconnectedness, there is little room for the reader to influence the story. Each choice has a “true” answer, and any other option is only a diversion.

The third route in Wonderful Everyday, titled Looking Glass Insects, has the player go through the story of Takashima Zakuro. The previous two routes explored the formation of an apocalyptic cult, and the inciting incident for its formation was Zakuro’s suicide. In my first playthrough, I chose to have Zakuro and her friend Kimika stand up to the bullies that were targeting them, which ended up prevented Zakuro’s death. I was thrilled to have averted the crisis that I knew would otherwise follow, but when I returned to the title screen, I found that the next route remained locked. If I wanted to continue the story, Zakuro would have to die. The choices in Wonderful Everyday are constantly forcing you into the mentalities of its characters, making choices that you disagree with as you continue further down the rabbit hole. But if you do choose to diverge from the “true” route, the option to do so always presents itself early enough that the outcome is properly fleshed out. Even if it had no effect on the rest of the game, I’m glad I got to see a world in which Zakuro lived.

Whereas the previous visual novels mentioned are sprawling 50 hour monsters with branching paths, the final visual novel I’m covering, Seven Days with the Ghost, is much smaller and more personal. Something grand could have happened at the magical academy in which the game is set, but the scope is instead limited to the emotional development of its protagonist Orihara Ayako. Having spent her entire life chasing after her mother’s shadow, Ayako lacks her own sense of direction in her life, and she’s reaching the point when that will need to change. For the most part, the reader is a passive observer in Ayako’s quest for identity and purpose, and there’s only one choice at the very end of the story. Importantly, neither option is wrong; the player has been by Ayako’s side for every step of her journey, and whatever conclusion they’ve reached, it’s valid.

There’s been an abundance of media in the past year involving bringing together an absurd number of characters from across a franchise for a massive finale. There was Avengers: Infinity War, there was Super Smash Bros. Ultimate, there was PreCure All Stars Memories, and of course there was Lostorage Conflated WIXOSS. In the final episode, every LRIG from the Lostorage generation has a moment in the spotlight, both in the final battle, as well as in the epilogue. Unfortunately, unlike the other media listed, this gathering takes place over the course of a single episode, and with the focus split so thinly across all of these characters, little time is left for the narrative.

After having won this round of the Selector Battles in the previous episode, Kiyoi now has the opportunity to reshape the Selector System to match her ideals. However, when she arrives in the Room of White Windows, she is confronted by Eternal, the embodiment of the current system. Though this system is fueled by the perpetuation of a cycle of misery, it is all that Eternal knows, and she is unwilling to part with it. Then, before Kiyoi is given the opportunity to make her case, Eternal initiates a fight and all the characters show up and punch each other for a while.

While the scenes that follow mainly feel like padding to disguise the absence of a substantial conclusion, there are a few characters who stand out. Amongst all the fighting, Guzuko and Aya, who are two minor villains, overhear Kiyoi’s intentions for the system, and decide to turn face. This decision is ultimately inconsequential, but beyond that, there’s no weight behind it. This pair had hardly appeared across Conflated, and there’s no sense that this side change is the culmination of anything.

This was particularly upsetting to me because there was one character who would have been perfect to play this role, and she was easily the most compelling character of the show. Across the season, Layla was one of the strongest antagonistic forces, but she was always viewed as secondary to the primary antagonist Carnival. Carnival regularly disrespected and undervalued Layla, seemingly for no purpose other than to assert her own authority. Layla would have been completely justified in turning against Carnival, but instead she just joins the battle royale for the villain’s side without a second thought. With that said, there is one scene near the end in which she punches Carnival in the face, and while it’s only played for laughs and doesn’t amount to anything, it was exactly the visceral catharsis I needed.

After sufficient fighting has occurred, Kiyoi finally has the chance to monologue about the importance of hope. According to her, Eternal’s preservation of the system is a product of a fear of loss of control. In seeking autonomy, she had ironically paralyzed herself, and the salvation she seeks can only be found through moving on. Eternal doesn’t really exist as a character, so she doesn’t have any comeback to this, and allows Kiyoi to take control. With her new power, Kiyoi frees everyone from the binds of the Selector System. This is followed by an epilogue in which Kiyoi gives yet another monologue about how people are defined by their memories, which is accompanied by scenes showing that the villains are now on the path to redemption, the LRIGs are now all human, and all of the Selectors are now free to play card games for fun. Even Yukino, who died last season, is now okay! It’s happily ever after for everyone.

With the events of the finale covered, it’s now time to talk about tragic endings. This may seem strange considering the events that I’ve just described, but the WIXOSS franchise has developed a reputation for tragedy. People were expecting a very different conclusion, and based on the limited discussion I’ve seen in regards to the finale, they were dissatisfied with how neatly everything was resolved. However, tragedy for its own sake is senseless. There needs to be some intent behind a tragic ending, such as demonstrating the weight of the hamartia of the protagonist. For example, Fate/Zero is a tragedy of utilitarianism; Kiritsugu’s goal is not realized because it is built upon a foundation of means justified by their ends, which ultimately collapse upon themselves. As it stands, having Lostorage Conflated WIXOSS end in disaster would just be wallowing in despair.

For all the gravitas that they were afforded at the end of episode 9, the battles between Ruuko and Suzuko and Carnival and Layla don’t do much to drive the plot forward. That said, while the former is predictably interrupted before it reaches a conclusion, the latter does some much needed character work in developing our antagonists. The battle ends in Layla’s victory, but only because Carnival feels so unthreatened that she refuses to actually play. Since LRIGs are reflections of the wishes of their creators, Layla is literally nothing if not her desire to have her strength affirmed, making this the cruelest thing Carnival could have done.

Additionally, Carnival’s recurring talent for preying on and exploiting the insecurities of those around her serve to reinforce the idea that she herself is a reflection of Satomi Kou, which is ironically enough her own greatest insecurity. She wants her choices to be her own, and hates the idea that her actions are just the result of other people’s influence. This could be a reason why she’s kept a chessboard by her side all season – so that she can convince herself that she’s in control. Carnival does manage to escape from Kou’s shadow by defeating Suzuko, but her victory is short-lived. As Kiyoi points out, she’s still just a pawn of Eternal.

I had a lot of problems with this episode, but I’ll start out by being positive and talking about the things I liked. Hanna may be long gone from the battling scene, but her role in the story is far from done. In her search for information, she’s been keeping an eye on the card shop where Yuzuki had worked, and it finally pays off when she encounters Hitoe. The two of them quickly identify each other as valuable assets and share what they know, and it was one of the most reasonable exchanges we’ve seen all season. I’ve expressed worry in the past that these characters were being sidelined, so it’s nice to see them contributing to the story. The Selector and Lostorage casts have basically been kept separate all season, and so it’s about time that they finally crossed paths.

Unfortunately, that leads right in to the main issue with this episode, which is the lead-up to the encounter between Ruuko and Suzuko. Much of the episode is spent with the former tailing the latter, and it ends with the beginning of a battle between the two. But since they hadn’t even met up until this point, this confrontation falls flat. If they had had any interactions before this, it could have laid the groundwork for this conflict, and provided actual motivations for them to want to battle against each other. If it had been set up, it could have made for a compelling match, but instead all we’re going to get is a battle where both sides are driven purely by failure of communication.

Through what has happened to Hitoe and Yuzuki, this season has thoroughly established that when a situation gets too dangerous, it’s fine to be willing to rely on your friends, and that being determined to handle things on your own usually ends in disaster. However, Kiyoi seems to have missed that message, so that when she is coerced into a rematch with Akira, she decides to go by herself. She created a team with Hanna and Suzuko to back each other up in situations like this, so why wouldn’t she be willing to rely on them? Ruuko even calls her as she’s on her way to the match, so she really has no excuse. This cast is insistent on repeating this same mistake over and over again, and at this point, it’s frustrating to watch.

But even more frustrating is the way in which this confrontation is resolved. By holding Amika hostage, Akira forces Kiyoi to not fight back and allow herself to be defeated in a battle, which Kiyoi thinks that she deserves for putting Amika in harm’s way in the first place. Kiyoi has repeatedly demonstrated a dangerous tendency towards self-flagellating behavior, and this would have been the perfect opportunity for her to be forced to confront it and realize that even if her sacrifices don’t bother her, they still worry the people who care about her. However, no such introspection occurs. Instead, Amika manages to escape at the right time, allowing Kiyoi to fight back and win without exploring her issues. Rather than being a product of character growth, this victory was a matter of convenience, and it’s less compelling as a result.

Ever since I saw Remember featured in the opening, I’ve been looking forward to her appearance in the story, but now that she’s actually shown up, I’m not sure how to feel about it. She’s a character from the Peeping Analyze manga, though if you haven’t read it, the beginning of this episode goes over its events from her perspective. However, it also glosses over a few key details and ends up framing her very differently. In the manga, she had been sadistic and evil, but by omitting the part where she kills Kiyoi’s friend, her character here seems more unstable and pitiful. I’m all for revising characters to be less cartoonishly villainous, but the rest of the episode leans back on the earlier characterization, so I’m not sure why that scene wasn’t included, unless the plan is for Kiyoi to bring it up during their confrontation in the next episode. However she ends up being handled, she and Akira make a fun pair, and I’m looking forward to seeing more of their interactions going forward.

Along with Akira, this episode also features Ruuko’s return to the action. She battles and defeats Layla, albeit with Layla not playing at full power in order to test out Ruuko’s abilities. By now, the narrative has narrowed down its focus to three clear pairs of heroes and villains – Kiyoi and Akira, Suzuko and Carnival, and Ruuko and Layla – and everyone outside of that has kind of ceased to matter. Last week Layla had said that she wanted Hitoe to get stronger and challenge her again, but now that Ruuko has stepped in, that’s probably not going to happen. In comparison, Hanna at least accomplishes a bit of exposition, but it’s likely that she’s also done being a participant.

This week opened with the promised battle between Kiyoi and Carnival, and while it was cut off as expected, the way in which it was cut off actually managed to be a surprise. Typically, battles have ended prematurely due to the intervention of an outside party, but here Carnival forcibly ends the battle seemingly on her own. This is only one of the ways that Carnival continues to be an enigma this week; she also demonstrates that the limitations of the key system don’t apply to her. There’s also the detail that she can sense new Selectors innately, in contrast to Kou, who was only aware due to his information network. Carnival is thoroughly shrouded in mystery, to the point that even her own partner Layla can’t trust her, and I can only hope that in the remaining weeks, her motivations and uniqueness are properly explored.

Following that, after having spent last week running around at random, the protagonists are finally ready to start behaving reasonably and talk with each other. Suzuko and Chinatsu lay bare their concerns for each other’s safety, and this culminates in a good natured rematch between the two. Though Suzuko ultimately wins, Chinatsu still wants to support her friend, and she is welcomed into the team with open arms. On the Incited side, Ruuko is upfront with her frustration towards Hitoe and Yuzuki for not telling her about the games, but in the end it’s not really her decision to make, and instead the focus is on Tama. Tama shoulders the highest risk from getting involved since she was previously a LRIG (and Carnival also seems to have plans for her), but her bond with her friends is more important to her than anything else, and so she and Ruuko finally enter the fray.

Last week I questioned whether Suzuko understood the hypocrisy of treating Chinatsu as a damsel in distress, but with how it’s handled in this episode, I also have to wonder if the writers are equally in the dark. When Chinatsu becomes a Selector, Suzuko and the others respond with panic, fearing that she’ll endanger herself with battling, and that even if she did manage to recover her memories, she wouldn’t be able to handle them. Being concerned is one thing, but considering that Suzuko is using trying to win back Chinatsu’s memories as a justification for her own participation in the Selector games, she’s in no position to tell Chinatsu that she can’t get involved.

Similarly, Yuzuki and Hitoe are still keeping Ruuko out of the loop, though that will likely cease to be the case next episode. The mysterious voices that Tama hears in this episode will likely play a role in her getting involved, and if that wasn’t enough, there’s also the issue that Yuzuki has been defeated and captured by Layla. I had expected the battle between Yuzuki and Layla to be given more attention, but instead we only see the beginning and the aftermath. It was cool to see Yuzuki and Hanayo fighting side by side, but in the end, they weren’t able to avenge Hitoe’s loss, and it’ll instead fall to Ruuko to save her friends and defeat Layla.

It’s an important detail that Layla is still a participant, despite the fact that she now has five golden coins, since this supports Hanna’s observations about the purpose of the new Selector games. Hanna points out that since there’s a small number of participants and people are more easily eliminated due to losing their LRIGs, the structure more closely resembles a battle royale, and that likely only one Selector will be left standing at the end. This is somewhat at odds with the fact that new Selectors continue to be chosen, but I suppose that choice was necessary to have 12 episodes of content while still having reveals to keep the audience engaged.

Last week ended with the reveal that Riru has once again returned to be Suzuko’s LRIG, and this episode picks up right where we left off with that encounter. The two initially anguish over the return of the Selector games, but once the possibility of retrieving Chinatsu’s memories is introduced, they resolve to participate. This seems like a decision that Chinatsu should have been a part of; she’s being treated as a damsel in distress rather than as a person, and is unlikely to appreciate that once she becomes aware. This failure to consider the perspectives of others was the source of Chinatsu’s problems in Incited, and hopefully she’ll be able to stop Suzuko from repeating her mistakes.

Last week I commented that Yuzuki was playing an interesting role, since she herself wasn’t a Selector, but knew what was going on so that she could support her friends who were involved. In this episode, it turns out that she is a Selector now. This show doesn’t seem to know how to handle characters who can’t be directly involved with the battles, and that’s worrying considering the size of the cast. Between the Selector and Lostorage series, there are a lot of characters, and if they’re all going to be battling, it’s going to be difficult to balance screen presence such that everyone will get a satisfying narrative arc.

Speaking of not getting satisfying narrative arcs, Hitoe battles this episode. Though she passionately declares that she’s grown and has things that she wants to protect, the franchise has always treated her as disposable, and the outcome of her battle with Layla was clear from the beginning. The problem with this outcome is that it’s exactly what we were expecting, and thus its impact is limited. Layla doesn’t seem more threatening than before – she has only met our expectations. The battle between Hanna and Carnival is similarly predictable; Hanna may have established herself as a competent player, but it’s too early in the season for the primary antagonist to lose.