The Wages of Redemption in My Hero Academia: a Meditation on Endeavor

 

Image courtesy of sugarfarts

 (WARNING: major spoilers ahoy)

The shonen battle series stands out as arguably the most recognizable genre in the wide world of anime.  This family of fist-pumping fictions aimed at boys includes dignitaries such as One Piece and Naruto among its ranks, and has attracted a peripheral demographic which cuts across age, gender, and national lines.  Its success lies partly in a tried and true heroic formula: young heroes/heroines set their goals, meet helpful allies along the way, and move up in the world to accomplish their dreams - usually by punching faces and smashing a few bad eggs along the way.  As a result, shonen fight manga have built up a reputation (both deserving and undeserving) as a shallow repository for competent but plebeian writers. Sure, there’s variation, and the pole of quality can shift from the lowest dregs to something approaching art, but minus a few superficial forays into “darker” topics like death or abuse, the genre usually limits what can and cannot be discussed at any level beyond middle school maturity.

Meet Endeavor

But every so often, one of these peddlers of physical might comes along and provides a rare, in-depth examination of a touchy subject not often looked at in a world stuffed with friendship power-ups and well-defined heroes and villains.  My Hero Academia, one of the most lauded modern shonen today, is one I've discussed before. Kohei Horikoshi’s story of a young boy named Izuku Midoriya who strives to become a hero despite being one of the few born in his world without an superpower, or “Quirk,” has enamored fans the world over with its endearing characters and surprisingly astute deconstructive observations despite keeping an upbeat and optimistic tone.  But there is one character who could be called anything BUT endearing. In this world, where superheroes are such an everyday presence that the public ranks them according to their prowess, few match the power and effectiveness of Enji Todoroki, aka “Endeavor,” the No. 2 ranked hero in the world and father of important main cast member Shouto Todoroki.  As bearer of a powerful flame-based quirk called “Hellfire,” Endeavor has saved hundreds if not thousands of lives over the course of his career. He is also, to put it lightly, a colossal tool to the third degree, rude and dismissive towards everyone, and driven as much by pride and envy of No. 1 hero All Might as by the desire to help the citizens who rely on him.  

But what really fixed Endeavor in the fandom’s eternal ire concerns how he treats his family.  His marriage to Shouto’s mother Rei seemed transactional to begin with, geared towards producing a worthy heir, which after three tries he finally found with Shouto.  His older children, deemed “failures,” lived in isolation from their little brother, neglected by Enji as he focused his attention to “training” (read: kicking the crap out of) his prized achievement.  And just to rain a few rotten cherries atop this unappetizing dessert, Rei sometimes got a face-full herself whenever she tried to protect Shouto. This led to her mental breakdown, culminating in a fit of blind rage which left Shouto scalded and permanently disfigured and landed her in a mental recovery hospital.  And all the while, Endeavor played the part of the pivotal patriarch, blind to the tremendous damage he’s done to his family, devoting his life to one aim: surpassing All Might, one way or another.

Endeavor’s characterization earned him considerable hate, but also a fair number of fans drawn to his cool design, undeniable badassery, and his status as a nominal hero among a top flight of generally clean paragons.  For a good few readers unable to draw the line between “evil” and “asshole,” Endeavor is held up as a great villain himself, to the point that many fans anticipated a showdown between him and other heroes down the line.

Character Growth and Its Discontents 

And then, dimensionality struck.

After All Might expends the last of his power in an epic fight and steps down as the world’s top hero, Endeavor gets kicked upstairs as the new big dog — which, since it was given to him rather than earned, royally pisses him off.  What’s more, years of playing the effective but aloof and vicious anti-hero has — surprise! — left him with an in-universe hatedom to match his fandom; instead of a “Symbol of Peace” like his predecessor, he’s a symbol of division and, in some quarters, scorn.  He comes to realize that all his actions over the past decade or two have amounted to nothing, and with this heightened perspective comes a recognition of the wreckage his hurricane of abuse has left in his own home, and it leaves a bitter taste.

For the fans, it was like: goodbye villainous aspirations, hello redemption arc.  And many of them loathe it.

Horikoshi received considerable backlash for even attempting to conduct a redemption arc with the character, with some fans even issuing veiled death threats over tumblr.  Others already dismissed it as “terrible” or “poorly-written” before it even began in earnest. This vitriol leaves me scratching my head, as it should any rational observer.  As a lover of good (key word here) redemption arcs, I welcome any attempt to have a character change themselves for the better; as a reader and a critic, I’m impressed with Horikoshi’s surprisingly nuanced and sensitive handling of the subject, certainly compared to other shonen anime (looking right at you, Naruto).  And yet despite the skillful way MHA handles this potential land mine, many fans remain bitterly divisive, still shrieking their discontent at even the attempt of letting Endeavor change, or better yet, saying that he doesn’t "deserve" a redemption arc due to the supposed severity of his past actions.

The Question of Why

All of this vexes me by its profound illogic.  The truth is that the world both in and out of shonen manga is no stranger to unlikely redemption stories; many of history’s most renowned saints started their lives as notorious sinners, and there’s no end of manga bad boys (and girls) who turn a new leaf after a series of nefarious crimes.  And while some of these turns fall prey to some seriously sloppy writing, few have inspired quite the visceral reaction (and death threats) as Endeavor. It looks all the more puzzling since Enji’s crimes, taken objectively, look paltry on the grand scale. While some clamor for the redemption of characters like Dabi, a notorious flame-based serial killer who shows no remorse for his actions at all, Endeavor — who to our knowledge has murdered no one, has saved many, and whose gravest crime is non lethal abuse to a handful of people — gets tossed to the fire by a large portion of the fandom.  While my initial reaction may be to call out the hypocrisy of this, further reflection helps place an understanding of these reactions into their proper context — and why despite that, Enji’s redemption arc is a worthy venture to get behind.

Close to Home

One thing consistent with the responses to this development, both for and against, is how many people bring their personal experiences to the fore in any discussion of Endeavor.  This lies at the root of why a hero whose biggest crime amounts to everyday douchebaggery can earn less sympathy than, say, an unreformed mass murderer; few people are unfortunate enough to run into a real life serial killer, but far too many have the specter of an abusive relative lurking in their closets.  This helps create a divide between extreme cruelty and our empathy with its victims. In addition, Endeavor’s victims are more intimately known to us: Shouto, a major character and a prime filter through which we perceive his father; his sister, Fuyumi, who seems most willing to forgive Enji but mostly wants some semblance of a happy family; their brother Natsuo, who hates their father with a passion and is resolved to never forgive him no matter what; and of course, Rei, who despite bearing the brunt of Enji’s abuse along with Shouto which eventually claimed his face and her freedom, looks willing to give forgiveness a try, even if the thought of facing her husband again terrifies her.  All four of these characters are known to us, their motives and concerns made “real” by their narrative focus, unlike the scores of faceless victims behind the story’s real antagonists. Now, there’s a ton of interesting psychology behind this (and frankly, it reveals some scary things about our capacity for empathy) but they all revolve around the fact that the struggles of a small group of known people, in relatable circumstances, will always trump the welfare of a huge swath of strangers, no matter how awful their suffering. The easy disconnect fiction brings to the table doesn’t help the empathy score, either. Now, this is by no means rational, let alone ethical, but it is understandable.

Redemption Is Not What You Think It Is

Furthermore, our punitive outlook when it comes to the riddle of retribution often leaves us confused when faced with an arc like this.  Some fans protest against Enji’s new turn on the grounds that he doesn’t “deserve” redemption, or that it’s too easy an out for his crimes, which is utterly ridiculous.  Redemption — or rehabilitation, if you prefer — is by definition the act of restoring, of making right. Redemption occurs simply when a character realizes “I done f***ed up,” and trudges down the difficult path of atonement.  Fans likely oppose this so fervently because they confuse atonement with forgiveness.  Atonement is an action on the part of the one who has wronged, and in that respect, no one can tell him or her they have no “right” to it; that’s completely their choice.  Forgiveness, on the other hands, rests with those they have wronged — in this case, Enji’s family. The boundary between a mature or immature redemption arc falls on how clearly the writer draws this distinction; having everyone suddenly forgive a character who has done great evil to a good many people breaks realism and leaves attentive fans deeply unsatisfied.  And again, Horikoshi sets himself above the competition in how he handles this most delicate of topics, showing that there is no right or wrong way to forgive one’s abuser. In the latest rung of Enji’s turn to good, his family remains divided, with some willing to forgive, others beyond the point of any forgiveness, and Shouto stuck in the middle, respecting his father’s skills and wanting to let go of his hatred, but justifiably skeptical over whether Enji’s change of heart will stick.  Enji, reading the atmosphere, comes to a very reasonable solution for them all: he will not seek forgiveness, and instead wish only to atone from afar, letting his family heal while he takes himself out of the picture. Such a mature reckoning should be lauded, especially coming from the pen of a “mere” shonen mangaka, and in fact, gets me thinking that if anyone in the medium has shown the attitude which merits forgiveness, it’s Enji.

The Bakugo Effect

I can’t leave this topic without kicking another fandom powder keg, one that’s only been agitated further by Endeavor’s redemption arc.  Enji at this point often gets compared to another character in MHA — Katsuki Bakugo, the series’s deuteragonist. Bakugo, a volatile, hot-headed punk with a powerful explosion Quirk and a superiority complex, follows a similar narrative trajectory to Enji: both got introduced as arrogant, violent, nominal heroes at best; both abused and tormented main characters (Enji to Shouto, while Bakugo bullied Midoriya for years); and both were hated by a fair portion of the fandom for their demeanor and actions.  And both have since revealed more complex and engaging depths to their characters, and in their owns ways are clawing towards redemption of a sort. The key difference, Endeavor fans keenly point out, is that Enji has actually apologized for his past actions, admitted his wrong doing, and has made a conscious effort to change and repair. Bakugo, though considerably mellowed compared to his introduction and learning to channel his anger constructively, remains a loud, pushy jerk, rude and verbally abusive to everyone, and has yet to acknowledge let alone apologize for his past bullying to Midoriya, which besides physical beatings included effectively telling him to go kill himself — an action which could have legal repercussions in real life.  And yet despite this, while Katsuki remains far from universally loved, he has gained tremendously in popularity since his character development, and gets consistent encouragement from fans for his growth, while these very same fans will dismiss any effort to “humanize” Enji. I’m a bit at a loss to decipher this; the characters are similar in the nature if not extent of their crimes, and Bakugo’s youth, while certainly a factor, gives no excuse.

It could simply be that we don’t have the right perspective to wrap our minds around characters like Enji and Bakugo.  Both prove less controversial in their native land than here in the West, with Endeavor even ranking high in one recent popularity poll for his new leaf.  Regardless, any attempt of a character to change for the better should be welcomed, especially if it leads from a writer with enough skill to treat the topic with respect. Horikoshi reveals redemption for what it is: messy, painful, and decidedly unheroic, but when handled well, speaks to a deep desire in all of us that by setting right what we have wronged, we can change ourselves and the world for the better, even if we never find forgiveness.  I don’t know where this road will lead, but I wish Horikoshi and Enji all the luck they can muster. 

They'll definitely need it.

Manga Review: Beastars

 (WARNING: This review contains spoilers.  You have been warned)

Copyright belongs to Akita Shoten

Beastars

Created by: Paru Itagak

Status: 2016-present, ongoing

From Reynard the Fox to Watership Down, Bre’r Rabbit to Animal Farm, the tried and true beast fable has weaved enchantment down the millennia with allegorical tales expressing truths on everything from the threat of tyranny to the absurdity of mob mentality. And of the myriad works in this categorical zoo, few in recent memory match the impact and wide appeal of Disney’s 2016 animated film Zootopia. Set in a diverse metropolis where creatures of all kinds live together in a shaky peace, Disney’s Oscar offering blended humor and buddy cop sensibilities with a mature meditation on racial bias and institutional prejudice. With rich world building and some complex characterization, Zootopia made a huge splash with critics and audiences alike. And yet in that same year, Paru Itagak, an unknown mangaka in the Land of the Rising Sun, embarked on her own journey into the question of interspecies community, one closely resembling Zootopia but with a bit of a darker twist. Her work, Beastars, tackles that same quagmire of interspecific living with a touch of charm and a pinch of brutality, and with an upcoming anime set to debut this fall on Netflix, let’s take a peak at this edgy parable full of overlapping layers of meanings.

Plot Synopsis

In a world of civilized anthropomorphic animals, there exist multiple divides extending across and within species lines, but few run deeper than the line between carnivores and herbivores, thanks to entrenched instincts on both sides of the food chain serially poisoning any attempts at achieving true unity. Although predation has been outlawed, the prey drive remains strong in most carnivores, leading them to either suppress their desires, or indulge them on the down-low by purchasing herbivore meat in illegal back-alley markets or, worse yet, cutting loose and actively hunting. These sporadic acts of murder leave herbivores in a perpetual state of high tension, uncertain if or when their carnivore friends and neighbors will snap and make a meal of them. At the heart of one city in this world marked by diversity, communion, anxiety, and mistrust lies Cherryton Academy, an integrated elite high school that stands as a microcosm for the hopes and horrors of life beyond its hallowed walls. Legosi, an oversized grey wolf and stagehand in Cherryton’s drama club, is used to slinking about the margins of social life. With the face of a vicious thug but the gentle soul of a lamb, he faces much fear and hatred, not helped by his social awkwardness, but keeps to himself and tries his damnedest to resist any predatory lurches from his dormant instincts. But his comfortable world fractures when a member of his club turns up murdered in a tragic act of predation. As suspicion falls on him and other carnivores in the school, a fateful encounter with a dwarf rabbit and fellow social outcast named Haru forces Legosi out of the shadows and into the limelight, where his courage, strength, and empathy may yet propel him further to the most coveted rank in their society: the Beastar, a mark of noble distinction conferred upon only the most worthy of animals. 

Story

It’s way too easy to pigeonhole this series as “dark Zootopia,” when in fact it’s so much more. Though classified as a shounen manga — and hence, a supposed cousin of such battle staples as Naruto and One Piece — Beastars sits far above the usual teenage smashfest, drawing power from its deep and nimble characterization and complex, layered, multifaceted world building. Our main boy Legosi (or Legoshi, depending on the translation) is a perplexing bundle of strength and awkwardness, tied up in a package that comes off as terrifying and adorable in equal parts. It seems unbelievable how a teenager can be punching mobsters in the face one minute, and yet barely stammer out a greeting to the girl he likes literally the next. Somehow, his ungainly charm keeps his foibles from grating my nerves, and watching him mature and develop is a signature draw of this manga. And “develop” really is the central clause binding this work, since if there’s one thing you can say about Itagak’s characters, it’s that she designs them to be as dynamic as possible. Legosi constantly grows with each new encounter with his expanding circle of friends and loved ones, evaluating his principles in light of fresh discoveries and revelations. And Legosi shares the spotlight with a diverse cast, each noteworthy for the depth and care with which Itagak sculpted their personalities. Haru, an earnest spitfire of a dwarf rabbit who becomes Legosi’s friend and eventual love interest, comes saddled with speciecist self-loathing she assuages through sex with multiple animals. Then there’s Louis, an arrogant, carnivore-hating red deer and the darling of the Cherryton drama club burdened by memories of a terrible past and a pervading sense of inadequacy which together drive some of his most extreme actions. These characters, though par for the course in the teen dramas Beastars so closely resembles, distinguish themselves through incisive and believable growth and development. Spurring this along is the complex world of species politics Itagak constructs with meticulous care and detail. Like the minds behind Zootopia, she eschews simple black-and-white views of “predator bad, prey good”; but she boldly goes where even the beloved film in its darkest of drafts dare not enter. The persistence of feral instincts complicates carnivore/herbivore relationships, and some of the most delightful and nerve-racking parts of the series stem from uncertainty over whether or not a quaint scene of mixed dietary creatures will end tragically. The creator twists the carnivore prey drive into an unconscious urge or even addiction, one that many characters try to come to terms with to varying degrees, while herbivores try to reconcile their desires to get closer to select carnivores with the deep-rooted instinct to flee for their lives. Although the carni/herbi divide takes center stage for most of the story, each new volume brings added depth to the world, showcasing the lines drawn within both sides of the food chain dichotomy among birds, mammals and reptiles, along with the existence of the “sea people” who are a different kettle of fish (pun intended) altogether. This expansive world allows Itagak to explore the fault lines of diversity beyond the racial bias angle of Zootopia, slapping down analogues to mixed-race children, sex discrimination, and even religious beliefs. Her concern pushes past Zootopia's tunnel vision to target the great riddle of diversity within unity itself, and through Beastars, she ponders it with much greater sensitivity and nuance than one would expect from a "mere" shounen series.

In fact, I’d say most of the series’ minor weaknesses spring from whenever Itagak indulges in the shounen side of its lineage. While the first couple of arcs give the impression of a teen coming-of-age drama, the introduction of a group of lion gangsters shifts it into a clunky shounen fight manga for a couple of chapters. This settles into a recurring pattern, where psychological introspection fades into a meritocracy of the fist and back again. The developments aren’t necessarily bad in and of themselves, but the seesawing implementation gives the series a chunky, uneven texture. In addition, Itagak occasionally stoops into shounen-esque melodrama, particularly during fight scenes; last minute power-ups, extended mid-battle dialogue, and the dreaded “power of friendship” pick-me-up all make an appearance at one time or another, and I reflexively cringe whenever they do. Still, I guess it comes down to a matter of taste, and the dynamic genre shifts and over-the-top displays of drama may add to the charm for some readers, and in either case, do little to ruin the series’ strong showing.

Rating: 9/10 

Art

Despite some early roughness, Itagak gives her art a smooth touch that fits the mood and direction of any scene almost perfectly -  a crucial talent in a story that bends genres so often. Characters can morph from adorable to horrifying on a dime, and she captures personality and states of mind almost perfectly. Legosi has the greatest range as you’d expect, introduced in the first chapter as almost disturbingly menacing before his inner goodness manifests into a cuter, less threatening countenance. However, Legosi’s ferocity resurfaces during any of the manga’s intense fight scenes, and you’re left wondering in awe how such disparate drawing styles can coexist in the same work. Itagak displays a distinguished capacity for artistic nuance, somehow making a character like Haru expressive and emotional despite her pitch-black eyes, or morphing an elderly Komodo dragon grandfather into an almost preciously adorable old man. She straddles the line between realistic and cartoonish depictions of the beasts in her play, which works out in avoiding uncanny alley while bringing the creatures close enough to human to garner sympathy.  Besides the range of expression she gifts her characters with, Itagak masters the use of shadows and darkness in setting an atmosphere, and can communicate menace and humor with skillful timed paneling. Sure, she’s still rather rough even at her best, but I have no complaints; art in a graphic novel should work in service to the story, and the engaging way Itagak sets up her scenery more than makes up for a little lag in technique.

Rating: 9/10 

Throughout its three-year run, Beastars has proven a sleeper hit in Japan, and it’s no wonder why. Itagak’s rich, engaging world and compelling characters suck you in, and even though the fights and drama prove an uneven mixture at times, they do not detract from the experience. Though an award winner in its native land and on the cusp of exposure to a wider audience, I fear that it may prove incapable of shaking the “darker Zootopia” label here in the West. If so, it would be a right shame; without taking anything away from Disney’s excellent film, Beastars has the potential to be so much more, and I’d invite anyone, whether they’re into manga or not, to feast on the offerings of this dark, mature fable of our times.

Total: 18/20 = A

All Might and Deku: a Relationship in Five Openings

My Hero Academia has been a darling of Animanga City ever since it strolled into town a few years ago. Kōhei Horikoshi’s superhero shonen adventure about a boy striving to become a hero against all odds has captured the hearts of even the most jaded manga fans worldwide thanks to a deceptively simple story that nonetheless touches some deep and prescient lessons on the risks and rewards that come with following your dream. The anime adaptation has also been praised for its stellar music, stunning yet succinct fight scenes, and overall tight narrative that breaths with the warmth, humor, and odes to the possible inherent to the source material

Whole volumes of hyperink have been dashed out on various aspects of the series, but I’d like to focus on just one tiny part of this brilliantly composed shonen epic: the anime openings.  That’s right, with the second half of season 3 underway and the fifth OP out, I will examine a theme I've noticed running through all the openings: the evolution of the series’ most crucial relationship - that between our hero-to-be Izuku “Deku” Midoriya and his mentor Toshinori Yagi, aka All Might, the world’s greatest hero. All five openings sprinkle little hints about where their relationship stood at the time, and show us how Izuku grows to see All Might less as an idol and more of a comrade and father figure as time passes, while All Might evolves into a more complex figure, with his own hurdles to move past. I won't give a play-by-play of all parts of each and every opening, as many others have before me. I examine the Deku-All Might relationship alone, with glances at other parts just to highlight their ever-changing dynamic.

Opening #1: The Eternal Longing

MHA’s first opening, “The Day” by Porno Graffitti, establishes in the first few shots what will be a recurring image in the rest of the openings: All Might standing in the light, his back turned to the viewer, while bathing in a shower of sparkles. We only get glimpses of the big man himself at first; parts of his body that, when combined, make a whole. We then cut Izuku, his huge eyes bursting with wonder as they fill the screen, and soon realize that we’ve been seeing All Might this whole time the way he sees him: powerful, godlike, and larger-than-life - so much so that Izuku needs to work up the effort just to glimpse him in full, magisterial form. Stuck in the shadow of All Might's radiance, Izuku can only stare in awe before stretching a hesitant hand out to touch him.  Perspective is key here, for we don't know how close Izuku actually is, but it doesn't matter for the metaphor at play. All Might represents the impossible goal, an ideal that seems too far to reach no matter what Izuku does.  At this point the boy is still an outsider, something the rest of the opening really drills in.  He wears a tense, unhappy expression the entire time, combined with frequent shots of him strolling through the rain lost in thought.  He seems detached and disconnected, either weighed down by the impossible goal of being a pro hero without a quirk; or, post meeting with All Might, now heavy with the burden of being a (potentially inadequate) inheritor of a tremendous power he has yet to understand, let alone master. Izuku seems locked in the role of eternal spectator, longing for a dream bigger than his ability to grab it, and the two don’t even share the same frame until the very end, with the fledgling hero now nervously under All Might's tutelage along with the rest of his new classmates.

Opening #2: The Dream in Reach  

“Peace Sign,” performed by Kenshi Yonezu, brings on a small but noticeable shift in the hero/protégé dynamic. Not much hints yet at the deeper relationship the two have begun to forge in the series, but Izuku’s perspective has certainly changed for the better. Standing from a high place, he sees All Might in the distance, leaping between skyscrapers, and smiles, something totally absent in "The Day." The top hero may remain out of reach, but Izuku's eyes now sparkle with a determination to catch up to him. The sky is clear and blue - again, a nice contrast to the first opening, where the dreary overcast mirrored Izuku's burdens and inability to see past his assumed inadequacy - and its reflection in his eyes matches the clarity of focus he now has due to his relationship with All Might and his newfound friends. With his mentor no longer an impossible hurdle to climb over, Izuka now has a course of action, a chance to make his dreams come true, and he's taking hold of it with gusto.  All Might isn't seen again until he makes his signature dramatic entrance towards the end, dropping down at the head of a group of our main characters.  Pay attention to how everyone is positioned: All Might stands at the front, while a line of first teachers, and then students, zoom out to finally reveal Izuku at the very back.  The message is clear: All Might is the goal, and Izuku is still at the starting line, behind a host of more experienced mentors and more naturally talented peers.  But while the race ahead will be long and daunting, it isn't as flat-out hopeless as it seemed before. And thanks to All Might, Izuku feels up to the challenge.

Opening #3: Face to Face At Last

Now we’re getting down to business. “Singin' to the Sky” by amazarashi is definitely my favorite opening by far - nothing else even comes close. Note the radical departure it makes from the other two in how Izuku - or rather, Deku - relates to All Might. Unlike the impossible dream in the first opening, or the distant yet obtainable goal in the second, All Might now squares face-to-face with him for the first time. The initial scenes show Deku dispelling some of a misty gray fog with his fist, before All Might, in typical dramatic fashion, comes spiraling out of the sky to land in front of him, bringing the sun and banishing the rest of the haze. They exchange warm smiles and clasp hands in a gesture of comradery. This shows just how close the two have become, as well as how their student/mentor relationship has blossomed; though Deku now charges down the path of a hero-to-be, he still needs his idol to light the way. Still, Deku activating his Full Cowl in the middle of it points to a central theme of this arc: despite all his admiration for All Might, he’s steadily moving out from the shadow caused by his blind admiration, slowly but surely making One For All his own. But there’s another change with the opening, and that’s with All Might himself. Until now, he's been more an idea (or ideal) than a person; he is Deku’s dream, his goal, and the few times we see him, he’s either posing or socking baddies in the face with his awesome self. But after Deku punches the title card into being, we’re treated to a more contemplative All Might standing on a rooftop, as images of his two masters flash by. In other words, All Might - or more specifically, Toshinori - is becoming a more human figure in Deku’s eyes. He’s flawed, he makes mistakes, and while he’s every bit the hero Deku and everyone else admires, parting All Might the myth from Toshinori the man is a significant step in how his student (and the audience) relates to him.

Opening #4: Deku Steppin’ Out

UVERworld’s "ODD FUTURE" continues the same theme developed previously, but with a few odd twists. For one, it’s definitely more Deku focused in the beginning, but 10 seconds in we’re given a major tease related to Toshinori’s background: the moment he received One For All, tying more into the expansion of the character as a person in our eyes. After that, we see him and Deku sitting together on a park bench. That’s it, really; they’re not posing, or locked in combat, or anything of the sort. They’re just kind of chilling, hanging out and enjoying each other’s company while cherry blossoms - known symbols of life, death and renewal in Japan - dance around them. This is the culmination of their relationship on a personal level; All Might has become a familiar and comfortable presence to Deku. But the real clincher comes at the very end, when Deku, rising from the ground, stares determinedly into the distance, while the swirl of smoke behind him clears to reveal All Might, staring off with him. Long gone are the days when All Might was practically a god to him, admired but so out of reach; he's become a mentor, a friend, a true comrade in arms setting their sights on the same goal. The fact that Deku stands in front is notable, for whatever goal lays before them, it clearly belongs to him. Deku's ambitions no longer orbit around being like All Might or making him proud. Right then, at the opening's end, it's all about his fight, his focus - with All Might behind him as if to say, “I’ve got your back.”

Opening #5: My Story

And now we come full circle with the aptly named "Make My Story" by Lenny code fiction. This one is all about Deku, with All Might faded into the background, with a few significant peeks here and there. For one, there’s a blink-and-you-miss-it shot 28 seconds in, where Deku hesitates while watching his classmates jump into the fray. He then gets a gentle push from behind by All Might, setting him off while Toshinori looks on in pride. The names are there for a reason; All Might’s muscular hand is the one giving him the push, showing that while Midoriya is still unsure of himself and whether or not he has what it takes to be the new Symbol of Peace, the spirit of his mentor - of the perfect hero All Might - still moves him forward. But it’s Toshinori - thin, frail, and newly depowered - who now stands behind Deku, waiting to give aid and advice if and when his successor falls. But there’s a bit of a down note in all of this, one shared with Deku's rival, the ever-temperamental Katsuki Bakugo. Towards the end, we see the image of All Might standing with his back to us as so often in previous openings. But the brilliant sparks of light and flowing cape befitting a dazzling Symbol of Peace have all vanished. He stands against a bare, stark-white background, as washed and faded as the powers he used to wield so masterfully.  His shadow trails behind him, connecting to both Deku and Bakugo. Both boys, for different reasons, feel the fall of the house of All Might as a more personal burden than anyone else, but for Deku in particular, the reality of it brings a daunting challenge: the Age of All Might has ended, and now, the Story of Deku truly begins - whether he’s ready or not.

These are just a few of the observations most readily apparent from a quick look at the openings; more could be mined by comparing lyrical content, as well as context from the show. But even with what’s given, the openings share much about the iron bond between Izuku and Toshinori - how it has grown, and where it may go next.