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Fuan no Tane+ expands on the foundation laid by the original, offering longer, more varied, and occasionally interconnected stories while still preserving the punchy structure that defines the series. The sequels’ chapters dive deeper into themes of urban unease, cursed spaces, school folklore, and sudden encounters with the supernatural. Instead of simply repeating the formula, the manga experiments with pacing, creating shocks that feel more deliberate and sometimes even more haunting.

One of the strengths of Fuan no Tane+ is how it introduces recurring elements and subtle continuity. Characters, locations, or types of apparitions reappear unexpectedly, giving the sense that the world of the manga is ... shared, cyclical, and constantly haunted. It enhances the atmosphere, making it feel as though the reader is piecing together fragments of a larger hidden reality.

The artwork remains faithful to the first series: grainy, eerie, uncompromisingly direct. The ghosts still evoke traditional Japanese spirits—vengeful women, contorted faces, shadowy figures—but the sequel pushes these designs further, adding more grotesque shapes, surreal anatomy, and moments that border on nightmarish abstraction.

Overall, Fuan no Tane+ feels like a natural evolution. It retains the raw, sharp impact of the original while adding more depth, variety, and cohesion. As a pair, both works form one of the most memorable and effective horror manga experiences available, proving that sometimes the quickest scares are the ones that stay with you the longest.

Fuan no Tane stands out as a unique experiment in horror storytelling, using extremely short chapters—sometimes just a few panels—to deliver sudden, chilling moments. These micro-stories feel like urban legends told in the dead of night, where the final image hits with the force of a punchline designed to freeze your blood. There’s no buildup, no explanations, no long dialogues—just pure, concentrated dread.

What truly elevates the series is its visual identity. The ghost designs draw deeply from Japanese folklore: pale women with impossibly long hair, distorted faces frozen in rage, silent onlookers lurking in the background, and inhuman figures that defy explanation. The simplicity of ... the artwork makes each apparition more disturbing, as if the rough linework mirrors the rawness of fear itself.

Despite the brevity of each chapter, the manga masterfully captures that unsettling feeling of seeing something you shouldn’t have seen, or sensing a presence just outside your field of vision. It’s horror distilled to its purest form—quick, instinctive, and lingering long after the page is turned.
For anyone interested in how effective minimalism can be in horror, Fuan no Tane is essential reading.

Fire Punch was the first Fujimoto work I ever read, and without a doubt, it’s his rawest. It’s a bleak, powerful, and brutally intense story — almost like a twisted version of a world with “heroes.” Everything takes place in a frozen wasteland after an ice witch plunges the planet into a new ice age.

The protagonist, Agni, has the ability to regenerate, and Fujimoto, being who he is, pushes that power to the extreme. He makes Agni suffer, break, and fall apart in every way imaginable. The story moves through violence, madness, human contradictions, and characters who constantly feel on the edge of losing themselves.

Despite ... all the chaos, Fire Punch delivers a strange, unusual ending — curious, ambiguous, but not bad by any means. It’s a story that sticks with you, one that unsettles and fascinates. I truly feel it’s underrated, because beneath all its brutality lies a powerful reflection on identity, purpose, and what remains of humanity in a shattered world.

Elfen Lied struck me as a very interesting manga. I won’t lie: the art style isn’t exactly “pretty”—sometimes it even feels a bit clumsy—but it still works. There’s something about it that keeps it appealing and easy to read. The real strength of the manga is in what it conveys: the violence, the emotional pain, and the characters’ traumas feel powerful, almost uncomfortable, yet completely captivating.

The battles between diclonius are full of tension and brutality, and where the anime stops, the manga is only just getting started. The story expands a lot—it becomes bigger, darker, and more global. Everything builds toward a final confrontation that ... feels truly epic and devastating.

The ending… it’s rough. Lucy dies, and it hurts more than I expected. But at the same time, there’s a ray of hope: Kouta’s daughter meets two little girls —the reincarnations of Lucy and Nyu— as if, despite all the chaos and the broken world left behind, they were given a second chance. It’s a surprisingly tender ending within such a cruel work.

Emerging is a manga that hits hard from the very first chapter. It depicts the outbreak of a new, deadly disease with a tension that pulls you in, even if some aspects of the illness feel a bit exaggerated. Still, that exaggeration works: it throws you right into the fear, chaos, and helplessness of an uncontrollable epidemic.

While reading it, it’s impossible not to remember certain moments we lived through in 2020, which makes the story land even harder. Despite being a short series, it’s intense, straightforward, and very enjoyable—perfect if you’re looking for a medical thriller that isn’t afraid to show the raw side of ... a health crisis.

Black Paradox is one of those stories where Junji Ito pushes his imagination into territories so strange they verge on the metaphysical. It begins with a disturbing premise: a group of people who decide to meet and end their lives together. Yet, their repeated failed attempts and bizarre coincidences create a constant tension, as if some unknown force refuses to let them die.

When one of them finally succeeds, the story takes a turn both unexpected and deeply unsettling — from their body emerge mysterious orbs, both grotesque and beautiful. From that moment on, Black Paradox dives into a world where science, the soul, and humanity’s ... obsession with transcendence intertwine in impossible ways.

The revelation of where those orbs come from — and what they truly are — is as shocking as it is fascinating. Ito transforms a tale about suicide and despair into a reflection on life, identity, and the search for meaning beyond the physical world.

The ending, true to his style, offers no comfort or clarity. Instead, it lingers — strange, brilliant, and haunting.

Black Paradox is a visual and emotional experience unlike any other: a philosophical nightmare only Junji Ito could make feel so terrifying… and yet, so beautiful.

Dragon Head by Minetaro Mochizuki is one of those stories you don’t just read—you experience. From the very first pages, it drags you into an atmosphere so oppressive you can almost smell the dust of the tunnel, feel the darkness closing in, and sense fear slowly sinking into the characters’ minds.

The first part is a masterpiece of claustrophobia: that feeling of being trapped, not knowing whether there’s rescue outside or just more death. Mochizuki makes the true horror not a monster or a catastrophe, but uncertainty itself—the primal fear of the unknown, of silence, of the possibility that maybe there’s no world left to go ... back to.

When the characters finally emerge into the outside world, the terror changes shape. The physical confinement turns into a mental one; the open world feels just as suffocating, only now the enemy is despair. Everything seems broken—the landscape, humanity, even hope itself. What began as a fight for survival becomes a confrontation with madness, isolation, and the complete loss of meaning.

The ending doesn’t give answers; it dissolves into symbolism and confusion. But maybe that’s the point—to show that there’s no clear explanation for fear or for the collapse of reason. Dragon Head doesn’t close its story; it leaves you stranded inside it, just like its characters.

It’s an uncomfortable, intense, and deeply human manga. Not everyone will understand or enjoy it, but those who feel it… will remember it for years.

I liked Dragon Ball, though only to a certain extent. The anime never really clicked with me, so I don’t have that sense of “nostalgia” many fans feel for it. Still, I can say the manga is quite enjoyable — it has a fast pace, simple yet effective humor, and a strong sense of adventure that really captures the spirit of its time.

It didn’t fascinate me or leave a deep mark, but I do recognize its huge importance in manga history and within the shōnen genre. Dragon Ball laid the foundation for countless stories and creators that came after it. Personally, I see it more ... as a fun, light read than a story that resonated with me emotionally — but I completely understand why it’s considered a classic.

Chapter 358 serves as the official epilogue to the series. It offers a brief but meaningful glimpse into what became of the team after the main story ended, working as a much-appreciated reunion with Kogarasumaru. True to Oh! Great’s signature style, the chapter is packed with ecchi, which adds humor but at times feels excessive and breaks the flow of the moment.

Rather than expanding the plot, it plays out as a lighthearted, comedic side adventure. Still, it fulfills its role: giving fans a nostalgic farewell and the chance to spend one last moment with the characters after their epic journey.

Air Gear struck me as a manga with a truly spectacular art style, something rarely seen in other works. The story of Ikki and, above all, his team Kogarasumaru, is genuinely epic: an odyssey full of challenges and battles that culminates at the top of the Trophaeum Tower. It’s a narrative that draws you in, excites you, and makes you feel every key moment.

The ending is quite beautiful and, while it leaves some secondary elements unresolved, it manages to close the story of the main characters in a satisfying way.

My only complaint would be the excessive amount of ecchi. It’s far too present in many ... parts and often breaks the intensity or emotion of the moment. It happens so frequently that it ends up feeling unnecessary.

Overall, Air Gear is an unforgettable manga: visually spectacular, emotionally engaging, and with a worthy—if not perfect—conclusion.