Tag Archives: Rahxephon

The Anno Age: Moving On From Hideaki Anno (Part 2)

Read Part 1 here.

IV: His, Her, and My Circumstances

Anno’s burnout after Evangelion is well-known. Many fans have interpreted the last half of the End of Evangelion as nothing less than a raised middle finger at fandom, the product of a cynical and angry mind sick of otaku pandering and the merchandising juggernaut that the franchise had already become. Death threats that were emailed to the studio, along with graffiti sprayed outside Gainax offices, flashed by in the film. The suicide anthem “Komm, Susser Tod” played over scenes of the earth’s destruction told of a level of suicidal self-hatred that is still unsurpassed to this day in anime songs. Reputedly, Anno wrote the original lyrics in therapy.

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So when Anno decided to follow up this festival of nihilism with a high school love comedy, adapted from a shoujo manga, fans like me must have been puzzled. Moreover, he interviewed dozens of high school students in preparation for the project, in order to get in touch with the youth he felt alienated from in his time as an animator.

The result, Kare Kano (or His and Her Circumstances), is both a masterpiece of genuine comedy, genuine emotion, and genuine wasted potential. It was even more ragged than Evangelion in its production quality, littered with lengthy recaps, animation lapses, and later a resorting to figures mounted on popsicle sticks. Anno was fired two thirds into its production, under pressure from the unhappy manga-ka. The ending was essentially still shots from the manga with voice overs.

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And yet: I felt transported back into high school once more, with all of its highs and lows, as I watched Kare Kano. Jon, who had given me Evangelion in the very beginning, commented: “this is just like our school.” We had been in the International Baccalaureate program, which was filled with overachievers like Yukino and Arima, perfect on the outside but seething with vanity and insecurity on the inside. The types were immediately recognizable to us. I laughed heartily at the way Yukino’s perfectionist mask slipped at home, and felt heartbroken over Arima struggling with never feeling good enough in front of his distant, formal family. They are perfect for one another in a way few anime couples are, and it was easy to root for them.

Some of the best moments in the series, though, are the quieter ones, where they are in clubs, preparing for the festival. I felt the joys of slice of life, a genre that had yet to fully coalesce in anime at the time. The two of them were not always obsessed about their relationship; they had lives outside of each other and I felt that, as imperfect as it was, Kare Kano presented the most comprehensive emotional account of high school I had seen. I still feel the same way.

Though Anno was only partially involved in a way, his work had once again opened a door: a realization that beyond the emotional trauma of Evangelion and the heroics of Gunbuster, anime could also simply depict ordinary life well too. Other titles would continue that tradition—Honey and Clover, Toradora, the good parts of Sakurasou, to name a few—but Kare Kano arguably helped make that possible.

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Doesn’t that pose look familiar

V: Interlude

Kare Kano was Anno’s last anime for many years, as he began to experiment with art house film, to varying degrees of success.

After college, I began to drift from anime fandom. There were only so many times one could rewatch Evangelion, Gunbuster, and other titles. The new titles that were being released at the time, the early 2000s, were of only sporadic interest to me. It was the golden age of the harem and dating sim anime, with the slice of life age waiting in the wings, and while I watched and enjoyed some of them, no title ever captured my head and heart the way Evangelion had. Fullmetal Alchemist came close, but was compromised by a muddled ending. I watched part of Ideon to see the inspiration Anno had taken for Evangelion, but I got a formulaic robot show instead. RahXephon is a polished show and compelling in its own right, but it is still just a response to Evangelion at the end of the day. It cannot exist independently from it: for one, Anno and its director, Yutaka Izubuchi, are good friends….

Shiki-jitsu: that's so Anno
Shiki-jitsu: that’s so Anno

I remember trying hard to track down a copy of Shiki-jitsu, Anno’s second live action film. I remember little about the film itself, other than a red umbrella and Anno’s continuing obsession with trains. The wild creativity that had fueled such emotionally intense experiences in animation felt tired and even tame in the much larger world of film. As a fan of arthouse cinema as well, and judged on those terms, I found Anno’s work lacking in emotional resonance. The symbolism was clumsy. Not even Shunji Iwai, who starred, could save it. The idol was toppling.

Welcome to the NHK and Honey and Clover brought me back into anime fandom. I remember thinking that the former title was as intense as my memories of the latter parts of Evangelion, but this time grounded much more closely in real life, in the ennui of being in your 20s and the desperate search for meaning. Honey and Clover also did that, in a more poetic and gentle way. Looking back, there was something very teenage about Evangelion’s angst, one that I couldn’t identify with anymore: the raw wound of youth mellowed with age into wistful melancholy, a mood that H&C and the best slice of life shows capture so well.

So by 2006, arguably the last golden year of anime in the past 10 years, I was back in anime fandom once again. But my Age of Anno was over.

Is this what we've come to? (Then again they once did sell
Is this what we’ve come to? (Then again they once did sell “LCL Fluid” OJ…)

VI: You Can (Not) Return

It was announced not long after that that Anno would return, to remake Evangelion. Nostalgia stirred within me when I heard the news. By this time, Anno had married, inviting his mentor Hayao Miyazaki to his wedding. He had given a controversial interview with the Atlantic decrying porno manga readers, Japan’s lack of military forces, and the overall lack of maturity in society. The article praised Evangelion as being as influential in Japan as Star Wars was in America. I was amused, and wrote a commentary article in the early days of Anime Diet about it. Anno, my old hero, still had a whiff of the orneriness that had created those unfiltered works I had so loved, once. But it was now directed toward the outside world, and in a way that was utterly conventional: the opinions of an ordinary center-right middle-aged individual in Japan.

Which is why, despite their flash, polish, and excellent choreography, there seems something exhausted and lifeless in the Evangelion remake movies. Maturity, age, and happiness appear to have smoothed out Anno’s edges. Shinji is still confused and hurt, but not for too long. Asuka is no longer tortured with feelings of inadequacy and rejection, just angry. Rei wants to cook now. The only element that is original to the series–the new girl Mari–is hardly even a character. An attempt to steer the story in a new direction in the third film falls flat by no longer being focused on the vital heart that beat throughout the original series: the search for identity and place to belong in a collapsing world that places impossible expectations on you. The operative emotion in the new films, instead, is guilt: after everything is already collapsed, how do you put the pieces back together?

Anno, reputedly, felt tremendous guilt after having finished the lengthy Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water series in the early 1990s. He thought he might be wasting his life making subpar children’s entertainment, though the amount of creative control he managed to wrest from NHK in the concluding episodes still surprises me: it is almost a direct foreshadowing of Evangelion in every aspect. The darkness had already begin to creep up on him, but he used that darkness as fuel, which propelled him toward his masterwork.

Yes, this is from Nadia.
Yes, this is from Nadia.

The problem is that he stopped there. Anno would never make another original work after Evangelion: everything since then has been an adaptation (Kare Kano, Love & Pop, Shiki-jitsu) or remake (Cutie Honey, Eva). It is as if he had only one story in him, and left with nothing else, he has returned to that story to try another variation. Now older and wiser, presumably, but Evangelion was and is not supposed to be a work of age or wisdom: it was a cry of frustration that resonated with an entire generation of frustrated Japanese youth in the 1990s. That, more than pictures of Ayanami Rei, or merchandising, was what made Evangelion so enduring and popular, even outside anime circles. No anime had been so emotionally and psychologically raw, capturing the zeitgeit of the post-bubble years.

And no anime had so spoken to me so directly, in those weird drifting years between childhood and adulthood, a time that is now wrapped in emotional gauze by the anime nostalgia masters like PA Works, Makoto Shinkai, and a million lesser imitators. Otaku today, it seems, prefer the safety of such works, and there is a place for them: I enjoy many of them myself. I watch a story penned by Mari Okada and recall the more melodramatic moments of my teenage years, when every emotion is new and explosive; I watch Makoto Shinkai or Ano Natsu de Matteru and remember the yearning romanticism of those days.

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But it was Anno who spoke to the fear, the shame, and the self-loathing: the parts of life that cannot be borne for too long by anyone, but need to be brought to light and confronted. A human being cannot live in that state forever, which means that a show like Evangelion, and the Age of Anno, has a built in expiration date for a fan. We all, hopefully, grow out of it, as Anno himself has. Now he’s a successful husband, voice actor, dramatized character, car salesman, and more. But he was our companion once, the one that understood, and thus, in its own way, gave real comfort.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.

–Leonard Cohen

O Captain! My Captain! Wherefore Art Thou, Captain Earth?

Captain Earth, Studio BONES’ and Yoji Enokido’s latest mecha series, stands at the end of a line of anime that began with Neon Genesis Evangelion and continued through Bones’s earlier mecha output, from RahXephon to Eureka Seven to Star Driver. That it suffers by comparison to the earlier titles seems not only an indictment of the show itself, but of the decline of the sub-genre of anime it stands in. After nearly 20 years, is it time to bid farewell to the Mystical Mecha Series?

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Would you have guessed this started as a giant robot show?

The Mystical Mecha Series

By Mystical Mecha Series, I mean anime that feature (often) bio-mechanical mechas under the control of troubled teenage pilots, who undergo abstracted moments of introspection laced with religious, psychological, and mystical symbolism. There is often an aspiration towards philosophical profundity, where characters will openly discuss the meaning of life, identity, and courage. An stoic-but-cute girl is often instrumental to the mystical elements of the plot. The scale usually ends up being global or cosmic by the end, with the whole world or all of humanity at stake. The ending often reaches toward some grand fusion or harmony.

Experienced anime watchers, of course, will instantly recognize the root template of these series: Evangelion. Screenwriter Yoji Enokido, fresh from having written several seasons of Sailor Moon, was a junior screenwriter for Eva. Having cut his teeth with Hideaki Anno’s mad mess, he would go on to write some of the most original stories in anime, from Revolutionary Girl Utena to FLCL, but he would also end up contributing heavily to Evangelion’s most direct imitator, RahXephon. RahXephon would attempt the same serious, high-flown tone as the earlier series, exchanging the loosely assembled Kabbalistic and Jungian imagery of Eva for Meso-American mythology. Whether it succeeded is up for debate—I personally think it is severely underrated—but what it helped to solidify was an approach to doing mecha series that Bones would return to in Eureka Seven and, a bit later and to a lesser extent, Enokido’s own Star Driver. Other studios, of course, have done their own purpoted responses to Eva, from Yoshiyuki Tomino’s failed Brain Power’d and more comedic franchises like Dual: Parallel Trouble Adventure, and more distant series like Gasaraki essentially won permission to be more mystical than before: but it is Bones’s series that have kept faith with the vocabulary, approach, and direction of mecha anime that Evangelion began. And Enokido was involved as a screenwriter for many of them.

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Captain Earth and His Problems

Which is why it was a disappointment to see the jumble that Captain Earth became, after a strong start. It begins by invoking some of the most time-honored giant robot tropes, old and new: the teenage boy with the special ability meets the stoic, possibly mystical girl. He has a unique, biological bond with not so much the robot (Earth) but the living weapon he summons, the Livlaster. An elaborate, high-budget transformation sequence occurs in nearly every early episode, all the way to its midpoint. For the first third of the show, when it begins to descend into monster-of-the-week monotony, Captain Earth had a real vitality to how it applied these old archetypes, with a great score and initially excellent battle sequences to match. Even the designs of the computer screens and the Globe font was stylish:

Screen Shot 2014-09-23 at 12.58.43 AM

Also in keeping with the Eva tradition was the haphazard use of literary references, in this case Shakespeare’s plays “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and “Macbeth” with a splash of “Hamlet,” not to mention the use of the “Globe” Theater. Mostly names, rather than plot elements, ended up being used. A psychological edge was conferred by using the terms “libido,” “ego block,” and “neoteny” in rather novel, perhaps incoherent ways, on top of the other invented jargon that is a hallmark of Enokido’s anime. The window dressing of these seemingly intelligent terms was particularly threadbare in this series, however. There was little or no connection in the Shakespeare name-dropping to the story being told: does the evil AI have to be named “Puck,” the trickster character who mostly messes up romances in the play?  (Puck does sort of do this in the show, but still.) What does the big corporation that designed the Designer Children have to do with Macbeth? And if libido energy really was what was holding humanity together, then Aquarion EVOL did a far better job exploring the similarity of giant robot unity with orgasm than this rather emotionally forced series. To be fair, such things have always been window dressing, but when combined with odd organization names like “Salty Dog” the lack of seriousness in the show’s approach makes its artificiality even more glaring.

A serious man in a serious show.
A serious man in a serious show.

Unseriousness and artificiality: perhaps those are the two chief flaws of Captain Earth. By unseriousness, I do not mean the presence of comedy, fan service, or jokes. Eva had plenty of all three. Instead I mean the willingness of the story to give its own concepts and characters the consideration and respect they deserve. When a series takes its ideas seriously, it will not throw around names and jargon willy nilly. It will not casually violate previously established rules of the world. It will not wink excessively at the audience at how silly it all is. (Of course the latter is fine if the main goal is comedy, and Enokido got a better sense of this in Star Driver, which with its Galactic Bishounen was appealingly ridiculous.)

The problem is that, especially at the end, Captain Earth asks the viewer to accept vague handwaving and “the strength of our feelings transforms into power” as the answer to all the plot holes and inconsistencies up to that point. Enemies are dispatched with ease and casualness until the very end, despite rhetoric about their fearsomeness, and they simply do not behave or even look that menacing, despite how in theory they could instantly destroy the world. This renders all the pseudo-profound jargon and illusory world building up to that point meaningless, especially when the plot can be boiled down to: big AI becomes evil, takes possession of love interest, former enemies must unite with protagonists to defeat big baddie and save love interest. All the mumbling about transfers and ego blocks are unnecessary and the deliberate ambiguity of Hana and Daichi’s fate at the end is maddening rather than pleasingly mysterious. That is a fundamentally unserious approach to storytelling.

The risk, of course, in taking one’s ideas seriously is pretentiousness—there are moments in RahXephon when the mystical hoohah level is off the charts. Yet, by the end, while not all things are fully explained, the basic ideas are clear and there’s a sense of satisfaction that at least emotionally, all the important threads are resolved. In a way, RahXephon worked in part because it was not ashamed of seeming ridiculous in its fusion of Aztec and Mayan myth and crackpot theories: it followed them through all the way. The sheerly imitative parts of Eureka Seven were mitigated by genuine emotional sincerity and likable, well-developed characters who changed over time: basic storytelling virtues that overcame some unanswered questions at the end.

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This is not my beautiful house, these are not my beautiful designer children

This Weak and Idle Theme, No More Yielding But A Dream

For me an emblematic episode that illustrates Captain Earth‘s flaws was the 23rd episode, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” (for once, an thematically appropriate Shakespeare reference) where Daichi is trapped in a dream state by the various Designer Children. Interestingly, there is a similar episode of RahXephon that portrayed the same dilemma for the hero: whether to return to the illusory comforts of home or to continue on the mission (episode 11, “Nightmare,” written by the screenwriter of Serial Experiments: Lain, Chiaki J. Konaka). The RahXephon version, however, was emotionally potent and agonizing for the protagonist. It used his mother, Reika, and his friends to tempt him back to his previous state, and the viewer sees how difficult the choice is.

In the Captain Earth version, Daichi remains fairly emotionally flat, the only sign of anything wrong is his feeling that he’s “forgotten” something. Rather than using familiar people, the Designer Children—his opponents and enemies in the show—are everywhere, which defuses any tension for the viewer because we are immediately tipped off that this is their attack. Moreover, the moment he realizes what is going on, Daichi shows no struggle or hesitation: he knows he must go back to his mission. He has not one hint of self-doubt afterwards.

Perhaps it is the fact that I came to fandom through Evangelion that puts me off this current trend toward super-powered, stoic, unerring heroes: the Tatsuyas and Inahos and Daichis of current anime. The Evangelion template worked in part because the heroes were flawed and struggling people, and doing away with that cuts out the emotional heart of what made those stories compelling. The half-hearted romances in Captain Earth do not make up for the flat characterization of all the main leads. Only Teppei shows even a smidgen of it due to his dual nature, and Daichi shows a spark when seemingly forced to choose between his friend and humanity: but, of course, he ends up winning both.

Sound and Fury

In some ways we have come full circle. Captain Earth has a lot of the trappings of the Mystical Mecha Series: the references, the world-shaking plot, the alien instruments and the girl to match, and even a bit of the abstraction—but little of the heart or the boldness that characterized the best of those shows. Enokido knows it’s fundamentally silly, so he has Salty Dog talk on cans with a string. He knows audiences today go for less self-doubting heroes, so Daichi is not allowed to wrestle much even in his own internal dream states. He was present with Anno at the creation of this genre in the 1990s, but even he can’t seem to summon it any longer—and, for that matter, neither can Anno himself, whose Evangelion remake films have sacrificed character and introspection for glossy action too.

Maybe that is the true marker, then, of this era’s end, the curtain call for this type of mecha anime. It was what got me into anime, but times change, as do tastes.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done.
–Walt Whitman, “O Captain! My Captain!

RahXephon: Ten Years Later

 

 

And so an unprecedented little thing came to a satisfying conclusion ten years ago today. Even when it was by no means a runaway hit, as a TV anime, it was the kind of high romantic/artistic response many just didn’t see coming. In a year where former Patlabor mecha designer, Yukata Izibuchi is undertaking the mother of all anime remakes with the cross-media event, Yamato 2199, it might be great to also celebrate his first foray into anime direction, RahXephon– A series many seem to have forgotten, but in many ways put a nice, eloquent bow on a most interesting run of experimental (and occasionally broken down mid- process) shows that began with Shin Seiki Evangelion. Taking pages from Yusha Raideen & Megazone 23, RahXephon told the tale of 17-year old Ayato Kamina, and his travels beyond the confines of his once-thought-to-be comfortable life, and into a larger world (literally). Sharing many of the tropes of the ever-reliable “boy fights alien threat with pop’s robot” plot, the series is also very notable for taking many narrative cul-de-sacs, and is more interested in the lives of its characters than merely mecha fighting. It was a series with a large pedigree behind it, and yet was far more novel-like in minutae, and elegant in presentation.

 
With Ayato suddenly thrust out of the world of Tokyo Jupiter, he is soon acquainted by a number of individuals claiming to be part of a paramilitary initiative combatting alien invaders known as the Mu. This shocks our protagonist, as he had long thought the world nearly completely depopulated, and Japan one of the remaining nesting grounds for humanity. And in his shock, many within his previous life are suddenly suspect as the new world he is beginning to understand seems primed to strike at the bizarre sphere now surrounding what was once Tokyo itself. Alongside operative, Haruka Shitow, and various others, Ayato must come to grips not only with his “destined” place as the operator of a mysterious mechanical god, but of those he loves left behind within Tokyo Jupiter. An often beautiful, and beguiling mixture of eastern and western myths, and a paen to human expression, Izibuchi’s collaboration with writers, Chiaki Konaka and Yoji Enokido remains something of a last remnant of TV anime’s previous generation.

 
During, and immediately after its initial run in 2002, it was more than easy to see why so many viewers would have dismissed it despite its ambitions. Firstly, as previously mentioned, Evangelion had only ended a few short year before, and was easily the first thing that came to the minds of many upon first glance of this series. Second, it was presented with an unusual color and line palette that was unusual, even when anime budgets were suddenly beginning to rise after years of decline. And third, for a mecha drama, it certainly lived up to the “drama” part of it’s general label. There was indeed a dedicated following on both sides of the Pacific, but it in no way came close to what many would consider a runaway success- cable TV runs, or no.

 
But beneath the similarities between RahXephon, and the aforementioned television phenom, lies something that while casual anime fans might not catch, tends to hit others square in the heart; an artistic response with a lot on its mind about Anno’s final analysis. What comes together in RahXephon, is something of a directly converse retort by way of revealing the value of acquiantance. Togetherness & diversity versus self-imposed isolation, and additional themes of a collective need for inspiration play heavily throughout. There is a certain pluralism that acts as a mirror, thereby offering up the reasons why certain works find themselves capable of transcendence. And it also (personally speaking) remains a television series capable of inspiring a sense of awe.

 
So did Izibuchi succeed in what he initially set out to do with RahXephon? Yes, and no. Anime has been playing matters almost wholly safe for the last several years. And even as certain shows flirt with becoming more than mere product, it’s been a long time since any series has been able to reach well beyond the familiar to tell a uniquely human tale. More often than not, the best shows of the last several years have been either too remote, or too knowing of their inspirations to reach that raw barrier. Even Izibuchi has had to do a straight-up remake. Which isn’t to say that it isn’t still possible to deliver both the ability to absorb, and provoke discussion.

 

Ray’s Top Ten List from the Last Decade

Disclaimer: I never liked making a top 10 list because I watch shows from a varieties of genres and I believe that comparing them on the same level playing field is vastly unjustified. But as a tradition, I made mine. Merits? What merits?

Without any fancy blogwork or word wizardry, here’s my top ten for the last decade.

Continue reading Ray’s Top Ten List from the Last Decade

AD Top 10 List #1: Top TV Anime of the 2000s

It’s 2010. A new year. A new decade. Amazing how time flies, doesn’t it? In celebration of this historical event we, your anime-loving couch potatoes here at Anime Diet, have painstakingly compiled a list of what we feel are the cream of the crop, the very best anime of the past ten years.
Continue reading AD Top 10 List #1: Top TV Anime of the 2000s

Blue Drop Promotional Vid.

 

Wow, I didn’t know this one has been on Youtube for a couple of months already. Hats off to those of you who have already seen it and have been panting for yuri for a couple of months…I mean been anticipating some great drama and friendship issues. Anyway, I just watched it and here are my thoughts.

I can see the color is quite bright even though they tried to tone that down a little. CG colors are never muted, dull or earthy. In any case, a little bit of Makoto Shinkai nostalgia in the colors and background, and I also got the vibe of Eva and Rahxephon from it. The shots remind me of preview animations for large-scale graphical novel games. Actually the setting itself reminds me of Sci-Fi graphic novel games for some reason. Anyway, it looks like it will have some serious introspections and reflections. But we also get that huge space battle ship.

There’s a good but lonely feeling emanating just from the preview. This definitely looks like it’s going to be a thoughtful show.

I’m looking forward to the yuri and other elements. Let me know what you think.

Looking back at the last 10 years of anime in 2017

From The Diet 3 Daily (long ago known as believewhatyouhear.org news) in The Diet 3 –

Sept. 23, 2017, The Diet 3, Atlantis. As the Anime Diet web site is now literally a Cyber City with the address thediet3.atn that also has real physical infrastructure on the current continent of Atlantis (used to be known separately as California, China, India, Japan, and Taiwan) with the address atlantisempire.atn, the Diet 3 Daily will look back at the last 10 years in anime.

Lady Hirano Aya became the first “Haruhi (the rough equivalent of a high priest. Some have been calling her the Popette)” of the Religion of Haruhi. However, these days she’s looking to pass on her position to the current idol seiyuu, Tanaka “Tiffany” Sakura, because according to the Haruhi Apostles’ Creed, once “the Haruhi” becomes 30 years old, she has to give up her position to a younger woman.

We are expecting political intrigues, assassinations, poisoning and many more Otaku riots.

The Cyber Nation of Gainax has been fighting a bitter 2-front war with The Cyber Federation of I.G. Bones and the Cyber Ghibli Liberation Front. Anno Hideki lost his life in a cyber terrorism incident and lost all his capacity to be creative. These days he can be seen posing as Ultra-man in front of the physical infrastructure of Tokyo 30, the capital of the Cyber Nation of Gainax and muttering phrases like: “I mustn’t run away”, and “I alway bring trouble to everyone around me.”

Goro Miyazaki, the leader of Cyber Ghibli Liberation Front, has been churning out stick figure anime with exceptional quality music and gorgeous scenery; he insists on these being hand drawn without the use of any CG. Many critics hailed these as “facinating art pieces commenting the mockery of the truly classic of animation”.

Ishii Mamoru started a cult named Shirow Savior, which also happens to be the name of a mecha anime that features Ultranet-ready mecha that features only bishonen pilots and only moe girls that simply can’t be killed outright. The believers of “Shirow Savior” and the believers of “Haruhiism” have been in constant cyber paper fan battles since 2014.

The giant robot “Rahxephon” has been installed as the Guardian of I.G. Bones and it has been almost completely invincible in battles against The Cyber Nation of Gainax. In its last battle is slayed 15000 Eva Unit 13 mass-production types. Miraculously, a pilot only known as Ikari S., piloting Eva Unit X1, actually successfully defeated Rahxephon using the Lance of Longeness and what is now known to the Cyber domains as AT attack Field.

KyoAni remained an animation studio in Japan. However, it’s now also known as the “Underground Diet (Parliament)” of Japan. Because Cyber Gainax took over Tokyo and made it into Tokyo 30 and became separated from the rest of what once was Japan, Kyoto became the capital of what once was Japan once again. KyoAni’s AIR defense force series became one of the best sellers in anime all time. Rumor has it that KyoAni is actually run by Lady Hirano Aya, but our sources couldn’t confirm that.

the Otaku is now the 1st class citizens on the entire continent of Atlantis. Instead of the New Year’s Day, January 1st was change to “Otaku shopping Day”, on the day no anime-related stores would close and Otaku can shop 24 hours straight on that day and on January 2nd, which is now known as the Cosplayer’s Day, by law, everyone on the continent of Atlantis is required to cosplay as an anime character.

Common crimes include: whacking someone with a cyber paper fan and steal his or her memory while screaming: “nandeyanen!” Stealing priceless artifacts (figurines) of Kanon, Air, Haruhi, Akane (from Ranma) and others, Gigaslaving people up their asses and almost destroying the world in the process, disrespecting Lady Hirano Aya, dressing up as Zetsubo Sensei without screaming “I’m in despair” every 5 minutes, riding giant robots, mechas, Tachikomas and the like without a pilot’s license (a special license is required for piloting transformable robots). conducting mecha combat without applying for combat permits, carrying Claymores without symbols, using anti-Akuma weapons without registering with the Black Society of Jesus, dating yaoi vampires without drawing doujinshi of them, sexually harassing mecha musume (military mecha girls) and/or using them for prostitution purposes, hacking people’s cyber brains and play the OP song for Potemayo 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and 365 or 366 days per year in their heads, disrespecting your mother and Inoue Kikuko-sama(Belldandy, Mizuho, Miria) in the same sentence, and many other crimes, all of which are punishable by death with “Full Cavity Synchronization Capacity” probes, in groups inside special death agencies.

We here at The Diet 3 Daily is now fearing for our lives.