If you're someone who has ever felt truly lost at any point in your life. If you've ever had a passion for anything, but lacked the resources and support from your loved ones to pursue it. If you've lacked a sense of self-belonging or family. If you've ever felt distinctly untethered. You should watch "Medalist".

This is such a crackhead statement to make about a show that is essentially a fifth grader’s journey to become a top figure skater. But “Medalist” is fucking deep, man.

“Medalist” is a psychological drama whose accomplishments are in its fantastic characters and emotionally raw storytelling. Akeuraji Tsukasa, a retired figure skater drowning in regret, and Yuitsuka Inori, a prodigy whose talent is suffocated by neglect and self-doubt, aren’t just coach and student. They’re mirrors reflecting each other’s brokenness.

“Medalist” isn’t just emotional, but genuinely funny. On top of that, the animation and choreography is fantastic, only sabatoged by some awkward 3DCGI. But the true magic is Kenshi Yonezu’s opening song, “Bow and Arrow”. Its lyrics are a celebration of the shows main characters, coming-of-age, and identity. Defying doubt and embracing radiance. Struggle and resilience. Tsukasa is the bow, and Inori is the arrow.

There is so much about “Medalist” beyond just being a great show that I could go on about, like its beautiful ending cinematic. Or Haruse Natsumi, Inori’s and Ryuuzaki Kaoru of iDOLM@STER’s voice actress, and her connection to the manga’s author. “Medalist” is a show that will make you feel every stumble, every cut of the knife, and every flicker of hope that maybe the world isn’t too small for your dreams.

"Ao no Hako" is admittedly an unimpressive romance on premise. Taiki, a badminton rookie, is crushing hard on a girl in the grade above him, whose passion for sport outshines his own. So obviously, contrived circumstances land her living with his family during their final school years, forcing Tiaki to confront his feelings he's unprepared to handle.

The show’s gem is undoubtedly its main heroine, Chinatsu, voiced by one of my favorite voice actresses, Ueda Reina. She’s beautiful, smart, driven, competent, an idol. But what makes her so extraordinary isn’t just her drive or maturity. But the fact that she feels real. Her chemistry with Taiki is awkward, but most importantly, alive in every sense.

It is still regrettably a love triangle. It involves Chouno Hina, Taiki’s childhood friend, and an equally intelligent heroine, loyal companion, and gifted athlete. But “Ao no Hako” treats this dynamic with care, avoiding cheap drama for something far heavier that culminates in what I believe is an unforgettable finale.

To call “Ao no Hako” generic is too inexact. Beneath its rather mundane premise lies a narrative steeped in authenticity. There’s a story here that’s not afraid to talk about when love clashes with ambition, failure, or when real life stirs up complications.

“Ao no Hako” sincerely earns these moments and manages to subvert your expectations of romance in unexpected ways.

I didn't realize I was actually enjoying enjoying "Amagami-san Chi no Enmusubi" until the show went on break over the new year. "Amagami-san" masquerades as a typical ecchi harem rom-com, but quickly reveals itself as a supernatural story about fractured souls finding family. It explores the concept of "fate", both literally and figuratively. Though regrettably, it takes until halfway through the season to hit its stride.

Uryu, a guarded orphan hellbent on attending medical school, moves into a home with three sisters under the condition that he will marry one of them and take over their shrine. There is Yae, a ditzy, college-age artist. Yuna, a perfectionist tsundere around Uryu’s age. And Asahi, the youngest, a track star, and by far the most playful.

Unlike other harems, the romance simmers slowly, where bonds form through shared pain, and not just contrived tropes. What’s great about “Amagami-san” is that due to its extremely tight cast of heroines and 24 episode runtime, each of the characters have a chance to have their personalities and desires explored. This makes the Amagami Sisters more interesting than they otherwise would be in a more crowded lineup.

What pushed “Amagami-san” over the top for me was its incredible final arc.

“Amagami-san” isn’t exactly high art. Or low art, for that matter. It sits in a strange middle ground. “Amagami-san” could have just been an ecchi show about a guy picking a cute shrine maiden wife and I would have continued drinking that garbage. It’s not even a show I can outright recommend when objectively better, less offensive shows exist. And for some reason, I’ll probably be thinking about the Amagami Sisters for years to come.