Shugakuryoko de Nakayokunai Group ni Hairimashita (2025)

Cliché, but charmingly so effective

Story
What immediately works here is the focus on a single main couple. I’m not against series with secondary couples, but giving the story this tight focus allows the emotions between Watarai and Hioki to fully breathe. The plot itself is simple... probably the most cliché out of clichés, but that simplicity is exactly why it works. It’s not a story that feels deeply personal, yet it hits in a strange, nostalgic way, almost like healing the teenage version of myself who had never experienced this kind of love as a gay teenage boy. The longing and intensity in Watarai’s gaze, his patience, and the eventual reciprocity from Hioki make it all feel tangible. I wish I could’ve been bolder like Watarai back then. To be reciprocated by someone you don’t expect after waiting so long is the best feeling in the world

Acting and Cast
The performances elevate the straightforward story immensely. Fujimoto Kodai carries his role with a natural ease, impressive for his age, while Hideyoshi Kan’s expressive eye expressions every time he looks at Hioki communicate so much without a word. Their chemistry is absolutely top-notch and it feels effortless and gives weight to moments that might otherwise feel ordinary

Characterization
Watarai’s characterization isn’t flawless. His possessiveness occasionally gives me the ick, to be honest. But that imperfection is what makes him believable. Teenage love is messy, intense, intimate, and flawed, and this portrayal embraces that rather than sanitizing it into a “perfect boy” stereotype. I also appreciated the supportive networks or supporting characters around them, from Morisaki’s brother to their circle of friends. It adds a grounded, lived-in feel to the story. It is just so easy to watch and comforting

Rewatch Value
This is a show I could revisit multiple times, alongside favorites like Eternal Yesterday, Cherry Magic, and My Love Mix-Up!. For me, the replay value is undeniable, a full 10 out of 10

Music
While the soundtrack itself didn’t stand out, in my opinion, the musical score is carefully crafted and adds a subtle layer that enhances the dialogue and emotional exchanges between Watarai and Hioki

Standout Moments
The kissing scene deserves particular commendation. I really wasn’t expecting that from a high school romance in a Japanese BL. Watarai’s gentleness in the first kiss was clearly mindful of Hioki’s inexperience, while the second kiss escalated with more passionate intensity, conveying a natural progression of emotion. He didn’t even stop there, the seemingly improvised stolen kiss at the end, which didn’t seem part of the script, added a layer of spontaneity, suggesting that the actors fully understood the emotional beats of the scene. They knew exactly what they were doing. Tbh, I was fully expecting a fish kiss, which I would’ve understood since that’s how it’s kind of described in the novel, but man? I just loved it. It’s so refreshing to see a real, proper kiss in a Japanese BL, which I think it elevates the intimacy between the characters and grounding the romance in authenticity

Critiques
If I were to nitpick, it would be the added line, “I like you whether you’re a boy or a girl.” It wasn’t in the original novel, and while I understand the intent, it feels a little forced and slightly disconnected from Watarai’s previous lines. It reads as a concession to a broader audience, mostly straight viewers, rather than an organic moment in the story

Overall
This isn’t a BL for those who demand tightly plotted, highly polished narratives. It’s a simple, heartfelt story that resonates, reminding viewers why they fell in love with this genre in the first place, and sometimes we just need a little escape from reality. I think this is exactly why this BL series worked so well. An MDL overall 8.7 score is a fair rating considering how good it actually is

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Sometimes all we really need is a simple story, told with care

Sometimes, you start a show almost without thinking, with no expectations at all, assuming they’ll be just another high school story to fill a quiet Sunday. And then, suddenly, you realize you’re far more emotionally invested than you meant to be. School Trip is exactly that kind of BL.

At first glance, its long title and simple premise don’t suggest anything groundbreaking: an awkward boy slowly finding his place within the most popular group in class during a school trip. What the series actually does, however, is soften this familiar setup and turn it into something unexpectedly warm and comforting, as if gently untangling emotional knots many of us have carried since our teenage years.

At the center of the story are Hioki, shy, polite, and slightly out of sync with his classmates, and Watarai, tall, admired, and seemingly confident from the outside. There are no big twists or dramatic revelations here. Instead, the narrative unfolds through shared silences, lingering glances, and small moments whose importance only becomes clear with time. This quiet simplicity is where the show finds its strength. By focusing almost entirely on this single relationship and avoiding unnecessary side romances, the story allows their connection to develop naturally, at its own pace.

One of the series’ most striking qualities is its emotional gentleness. School Trip moves against a genre that often equates drama with suffering, choosing tenderness instead. The conflicts exist, insecurity, jealousy, fear of rejection, but they’re handled through conversation rather than cruelty. Hioki reflects before reacting. Watarai feels deeply, sometimes crosses a line with his protectiveness, but learns to recognize his limits. The love portrayed here isn’t polished or idealized. It’s uncertain, awkward, and deeply human.

This balance is supported by performances that feel more mature than the premise might suggest. Kan Hideyoshi brings Watarai to life with a blend of visible confidence and quiet vulnerability, while Fujimoto Kodai portrays Hioki as gentle yet quietly steadfast. Much of what matters is communicated without words, in pauses, glances held a second too long, and the way the two share space. Their chemistry doesn’t rely on grand declarations. Often, a hesitant touch or restrained smile says more than enough.

The world surrounding the couple also deserves praise. Rather than falling into the usual tropes of toxic popularity, the friend group becomes a genuine source of warmth and support. These boys welcome Hioki without judgment and accept Watarai without turning his feelings into something to be scrutinized. In a genre often filled with shallow antagonists and casual cruelty, this kindness feels refreshing and deeply comforting.

That said, the series does have its limitations. Its predictability, while soothing, may disappoint viewers hoping for bolder storytelling or more layered conflicts. At times, the world feels slightly too idealized, with social reactions softened beyond what feels fully grounded in reality, especially in how outsiders involve themselves emotionally in the couple’s relationship.

There are also moments where the writing feels a bit too transparent. Some lines explain more than necessary, and a few situations seem designed mainly to push the leads closer together more quickly. Watarai’s jealousy and possessiveness, although acknowledged by the narrative, aren’t always explored as deeply as they could be. These issues don’t break the show’s charm, but they do reveal its preference for emotional safety over narrative risk.

And then there are the kisses, or rather, the careful journey toward them. Nothing feels rushed or included for effect. Each step is guided by a clear understanding of where Hioki and Watarai are emotionally. The series allows anticipation to build through shared looks, hesitant closeness, and unspoken understanding, until physical intimacy feels like a natural continuation of their bond.

By waiting until that bond is fully formed and mutually recognized, these moments gain a quiet weight. They feel tender rather than performative, intimate rather than decorative, standing out even within the expectations of a Japanese high school BL. This isn’t fanservice. It’s emotional payoff, grounded in trust, timing, and honesty, and because of that, it feels earned.

In the end, School Trip never aims to be grand, and that restraint is precisely what makes it work. It’s a story about belonging, about being seen without having to reshape yourself to fit in, and about how adolescence can be painful but also gently rewritten, even if only through fiction. Soft, sincere, and gently luminous, it reminds us that sometimes all we really need is a simple story, told with care.

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