3
How to Do a Short Series the Right Way: No "if's" about it
In three distinct aspects, “Love Begins in the World of If” demonstrates how to do a series right. Two of these aspects relate to the dramatic structure: first, it nails the intricacies of its primary genre (parallel universe); second, it delivers a masterclass in pacing a brief series (three hours runtime spread across six 30 minute episodes). The third relates to the narrative and characters: the story delivers an emotional weight that belies its brief runtime. These accomplishments are not beholden to any specific genre: manifesting these qualities would make any series better. Since many potential viewers may have arrived at this review thinking the series was BL, let me offer this reassurance: the series delivers satisfactory BL fare alongside the well-done parallel universe story—especially for us BL addicts who consume the genre because, when well-done, we get to mainline serotonin. Tightly written, sprightly paced, and well-acted, Love Begins in the World of If absolutely merits three hours of your time.
Let’s unpack how the series blends parallel universe tropes with BL tropes. The story details the connection between two work colleagues, Kano Akihito and Ogami Seiji. The story begins a year after Kano, trained as an engineer, has been transferred to his company’s sales department. He finds his performance in this role lacking in comparison to his peers whose backgrounds prepared them for the role of salesman. He has befriended none of them, holding himself aloof from workplace interactions out of a fear that his personal shortcomings will become a burden to the unit. Kano finds Ogami particularly intimidating. The more experienced salesman constantly checks Kano’s work and seems not to trust the newcomer’s judgment. One dark night, Kano wanders into a shrine, where a sign nailed to a tree challenges him to look into a mirror then imagine his ideal self. Partisans of fantasy will instantly recognize indications of a trusty old trope. The appearance of the mirror in a swirling fog amidst a woodland setting despite a moment earlier having been in the middle of a city, can mean only one thing: something magical is about to happen. We do not get an explanation; we do not need one. The magic advances the story; it is the point of the story. So be it. Kano unpours his inadequacies and insecurities as a salesman into the mirror, then wishes he were better at his job and had the respect of his colleagues, especially Ogami.
Apparently, the mirror listened: Fog swirls. The light changes. And Kano faints away. When he regains consciousness, Ogami stands over him. How his work colleague happened to stumble across him lying unconscious in the woods is unclear to Kano, but the veteran watcher of BL can probably guess already. Brusquely, Kano dismisses Ogami’s concern and rushes into the night. At his apartment, he notes several curious discrepancies: for examples photos of events for which Kano has no memory. His befuddlement extends into the next day at work where everyone treats him differently. Kano intuits quickly that the mirror somehow transferred him into a parallel universe, a universe where the local Kano2 handled his transfer by relying on others for help instead of fearing to become a burden. Ultimately, Kano1 spends a full month living out this uncanny version of his life. The experience leaves him to speculate how his own life might have turned out differently if he had made different choices following his transfer. Such epiphanies epitomize character development in parallel universe storytelling.
The most striking difference in the lives of the two Kanos centers on the engineer’s relationship with the local Ogami2. This Ogami not only trusts Kano, but they work closely together. To the surprise of Kano1, Kano2 even confided his deepest secret to Ogami2. Anytime Kano experiences high stress, his body temperature drops precipitously and he suffers fainting spells. In Japanese BL, the uke figure almost invariably manifests some odd quirk, which the seme figure will balance out. Here, the symptoms of stress serve that function. In true BL fashion, anytime Kano experiences acute stress Ogami2 proves to be nearby, ready to assume the mantle of hero/rescuer. In such moments, Ogami proffers a timely hug, shares a coat, or produces chocolate, all of which soothe Kano’s frayed nerves. (Sweets like chocolate alleviate Kano’s symptoms because—in a rom-com—of course sharing sweet things will do that!) In this way the BL story buttresses the parallel universe story because Kano1 realizes that Kano2’s cozy relationship with Ogami2 is something he might have enjoyed himself.
I deem parallel universe to be the series’ primary genre because if we removed the BL element entirely, we’d still have a workplace drama where the struggling character must learn to better himself. To effectuate that result, the writers would need to introduce only minimal changes to the plot and character beats. On the other hand, both plot and character arcs would require substantial reworking if the parallel universe aspect was not present. Any number of workplace BL series demonstrate the viability of romance in such settings, but the mechanism that inspired the change (here, seeing how Kano2 did it) would require complete reworking. In that sense, Love in the World of If stands among those occasional BL series where the BL buttresses the tropes of a dominant primary genre rather anchor the story with its own tropes.* As in those other examples, the BL storyline never drives the action forward. When romance does motivate the characters’ behavior, their choices also reflect an evolution in the parallel universe aspect. Yes, the story features many trappings associated with BL—including the all-important serotonin shot near the climax—but consider that romantic outcome a bonus to a well-told parallel universe story rather than the reason World of If exists in the first place.
The real emotional pay-off to this tale arrives when Kano returns to his proper universe. Once back, he must use his new found coping skills not only to improve his job performance but also to establish a fresh new dynamic with Ogami1. I give the writers tremendous credit for evenly dividing the series’ limited time between the Prime Universe and the alternate. Episodes 1, 5, 6 take place in Kano’s “natural” setting, while 2, 3, 4 unspool in the alternate. That even split served the story well. Too often, a parallel universe series becomes so invested in the alternate universe that it gives short shrift to how the “lesson learned” gets applied when the characters return home—if they ever do. Credit to the actors as well, who had to play subtle variations in their characters depending on which universe they were in. Moreover, I appreciated that Kano had to start over with Ogami1, where many series would have skimped on that, forgetting that Ogami1 is, technically speaking, a completely different being than Ogami2.
In closing, Love in the World of If stands as an exemplar of excellent storytelling, whether for BL or for parallel universe. The series paces plot and character moments evenly across six episodes. It balances its time between the two parallel universes. It smoothly blends professional development and personal development. It relies on familiar tropes yet deploys them in ways that feel fresh. The insecurity felt by Kano feels plausible, and so does the manner of resolution. The lessons Kano learns in the alternate are made to matter in the prime. The story cultivates a slow-burn romance between the leads that the viewer wants to root for and can feel building. No series can be perfect in all things, and World of If will likely disappoint some fans of the BL crowd. Certainly, that segment of BL fandom that always wants the BL story front and center will feel this show missed their mark. That is not a flaw of the series, it just never aspired to suit that particular taste. Additionally, BL fans who prize NC scenes, those who dislike slow-burn romances, and those who want the leads to establish their couple-ship early enough that the viewer gets to spend time with them as a couple may all come away feeling shortchanged. None of those factors makes or breaks a BL series for me; so, I don’t mind missing them here. What I do prize includes compelling character arcs and a narrative that buttons down big and small details alike. In that regard, Love in the World of If delivers.
*--In case this meaning isn’t clear, I have in mind series like Khemjira (primarily a supernatural thriller); Manner of Death (primarily a whodunnit); or Spare Me Your Mercy (primarily a whodunnit + debate on medical ethics). All of the above feature prominent BL stories as well, but the characters in those romances are chiefly concerned with other responsibilities. That take applies as well to my reading of this series: the BL results as a repercussion to developments in the parallel universe story.
Let’s unpack how the series blends parallel universe tropes with BL tropes. The story details the connection between two work colleagues, Kano Akihito and Ogami Seiji. The story begins a year after Kano, trained as an engineer, has been transferred to his company’s sales department. He finds his performance in this role lacking in comparison to his peers whose backgrounds prepared them for the role of salesman. He has befriended none of them, holding himself aloof from workplace interactions out of a fear that his personal shortcomings will become a burden to the unit. Kano finds Ogami particularly intimidating. The more experienced salesman constantly checks Kano’s work and seems not to trust the newcomer’s judgment. One dark night, Kano wanders into a shrine, where a sign nailed to a tree challenges him to look into a mirror then imagine his ideal self. Partisans of fantasy will instantly recognize indications of a trusty old trope. The appearance of the mirror in a swirling fog amidst a woodland setting despite a moment earlier having been in the middle of a city, can mean only one thing: something magical is about to happen. We do not get an explanation; we do not need one. The magic advances the story; it is the point of the story. So be it. Kano unpours his inadequacies and insecurities as a salesman into the mirror, then wishes he were better at his job and had the respect of his colleagues, especially Ogami.
Apparently, the mirror listened: Fog swirls. The light changes. And Kano faints away. When he regains consciousness, Ogami stands over him. How his work colleague happened to stumble across him lying unconscious in the woods is unclear to Kano, but the veteran watcher of BL can probably guess already. Brusquely, Kano dismisses Ogami’s concern and rushes into the night. At his apartment, he notes several curious discrepancies: for examples photos of events for which Kano has no memory. His befuddlement extends into the next day at work where everyone treats him differently. Kano intuits quickly that the mirror somehow transferred him into a parallel universe, a universe where the local Kano2 handled his transfer by relying on others for help instead of fearing to become a burden. Ultimately, Kano1 spends a full month living out this uncanny version of his life. The experience leaves him to speculate how his own life might have turned out differently if he had made different choices following his transfer. Such epiphanies epitomize character development in parallel universe storytelling.
The most striking difference in the lives of the two Kanos centers on the engineer’s relationship with the local Ogami2. This Ogami not only trusts Kano, but they work closely together. To the surprise of Kano1, Kano2 even confided his deepest secret to Ogami2. Anytime Kano experiences high stress, his body temperature drops precipitously and he suffers fainting spells. In Japanese BL, the uke figure almost invariably manifests some odd quirk, which the seme figure will balance out. Here, the symptoms of stress serve that function. In true BL fashion, anytime Kano experiences acute stress Ogami2 proves to be nearby, ready to assume the mantle of hero/rescuer. In such moments, Ogami proffers a timely hug, shares a coat, or produces chocolate, all of which soothe Kano’s frayed nerves. (Sweets like chocolate alleviate Kano’s symptoms because—in a rom-com—of course sharing sweet things will do that!) In this way the BL story buttresses the parallel universe story because Kano1 realizes that Kano2’s cozy relationship with Ogami2 is something he might have enjoyed himself.
I deem parallel universe to be the series’ primary genre because if we removed the BL element entirely, we’d still have a workplace drama where the struggling character must learn to better himself. To effectuate that result, the writers would need to introduce only minimal changes to the plot and character beats. On the other hand, both plot and character arcs would require substantial reworking if the parallel universe aspect was not present. Any number of workplace BL series demonstrate the viability of romance in such settings, but the mechanism that inspired the change (here, seeing how Kano2 did it) would require complete reworking. In that sense, Love in the World of If stands among those occasional BL series where the BL buttresses the tropes of a dominant primary genre rather anchor the story with its own tropes.* As in those other examples, the BL storyline never drives the action forward. When romance does motivate the characters’ behavior, their choices also reflect an evolution in the parallel universe aspect. Yes, the story features many trappings associated with BL—including the all-important serotonin shot near the climax—but consider that romantic outcome a bonus to a well-told parallel universe story rather than the reason World of If exists in the first place.
The real emotional pay-off to this tale arrives when Kano returns to his proper universe. Once back, he must use his new found coping skills not only to improve his job performance but also to establish a fresh new dynamic with Ogami1. I give the writers tremendous credit for evenly dividing the series’ limited time between the Prime Universe and the alternate. Episodes 1, 5, 6 take place in Kano’s “natural” setting, while 2, 3, 4 unspool in the alternate. That even split served the story well. Too often, a parallel universe series becomes so invested in the alternate universe that it gives short shrift to how the “lesson learned” gets applied when the characters return home—if they ever do. Credit to the actors as well, who had to play subtle variations in their characters depending on which universe they were in. Moreover, I appreciated that Kano had to start over with Ogami1, where many series would have skimped on that, forgetting that Ogami1 is, technically speaking, a completely different being than Ogami2.
In closing, Love in the World of If stands as an exemplar of excellent storytelling, whether for BL or for parallel universe. The series paces plot and character moments evenly across six episodes. It balances its time between the two parallel universes. It smoothly blends professional development and personal development. It relies on familiar tropes yet deploys them in ways that feel fresh. The insecurity felt by Kano feels plausible, and so does the manner of resolution. The lessons Kano learns in the alternate are made to matter in the prime. The story cultivates a slow-burn romance between the leads that the viewer wants to root for and can feel building. No series can be perfect in all things, and World of If will likely disappoint some fans of the BL crowd. Certainly, that segment of BL fandom that always wants the BL story front and center will feel this show missed their mark. That is not a flaw of the series, it just never aspired to suit that particular taste. Additionally, BL fans who prize NC scenes, those who dislike slow-burn romances, and those who want the leads to establish their couple-ship early enough that the viewer gets to spend time with them as a couple may all come away feeling shortchanged. None of those factors makes or breaks a BL series for me; so, I don’t mind missing them here. What I do prize includes compelling character arcs and a narrative that buttons down big and small details alike. In that regard, Love in the World of If delivers.
*--In case this meaning isn’t clear, I have in mind series like Khemjira (primarily a supernatural thriller); Manner of Death (primarily a whodunnit); or Spare Me Your Mercy (primarily a whodunnit + debate on medical ethics). All of the above feature prominent BL stories as well, but the characters in those romances are chiefly concerned with other responsibilities. That take applies as well to my reading of this series: the BL results as a repercussion to developments in the parallel universe story.
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