This review may contain spoilers
An Incurable Case of Obsession
This series presents itself as a light-hearted romantic comedy, yet its central dynamic relies on clichés that are, in many respects, troubling, making it painful to watch.At the centre of the story is Sakura’s relentless pursuit of Dr. Tendo. The series frames this persistence as romantic devotion, but the boundary between devotion and stalking remains uncomfortably thin. The narrative repeatedly leans on the familiar trope that rejection can eventually be overcome through enough determination. In an era where “no means no” is widely recognized as fundamental to consent, the suggestion that refusal may simply require persistence to become affectionate feels distinctly outdated.
Sakura’s attachment is also rooted less in a genuine relationship than in a childhood impression. A brief encounter in the past crystallized into an idealized image of Dr. Tendo, suggesting she is pursuing a fantasy. When the real Dr. Tendo proves emotionally distant and verbally abusive, the story does little to interrogate the gap between fantasy and reality. Instead, it turns that tension into the engine of its romance, producing something closer to fixation rather than an incurable case of love.
As Dr. Tendo holds professional authority over Sakura, his repeated verbal abuse and public humiliation become normalized within their interactions. Over time, a pattern in which moments of minimal sympathy are interspersed with persistent verbal abuse, while he maintains far more functional relationships with colleagues, family members, and past partners. The effect is a dynamic that at times resembles a troubling pleasure in provoking and observing her submission rather than a healthy interpersonal bond.
Equally notable is Sakura’s perception of the situation. The series repeatedly emphasizes her unconventional personality, her unfiltered enthusiasm, exaggerated emotional responses, and an almost child-like excitement. While intended to make her charming, these traits also suggest a naïve emotional and intellectual understanding of the world around her.
Ironically, obsessive attachment and abusive dynamics are among the more realistic aspects of the story. What strains credibility is the expected fairytale resolution: the emotionally distant man ultimately softens and reciprocates the heroine’s devotion. By pairing realistic dysfunction with an idealized romantic payoff, the narrative risks sending a troubling message.
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This review may contain spoilers
Conformity vs. Surrender
Kyoichi plays with theatrical precision the role of a “good man”. The reliable employee, a "good husband" who discreetly fails as an adulterer within patriarchal acceptance. His affairs are extensions of conformity, with women who are aesthetically pleasing and submissive. His life feels less immoral than anesthetized.The sudden reappearance of Wataru, who has secretly loved Kyoichi since their college days, brings this façade crashing down. Wataru knows his weaknesses, his failures, and his ugly truths. Armed with that knowledge, he overwhelms him emotionally, as well as physically. What begins as a surrender of control gradually turns into a revelation.
The film’s explicit sex scenes may strike some as disruptive; however, their structural similarity is precisely the point. The mechanics of desire remain comparable, yet the emotional posture differs radically. With women, Kyoichi’s sexuality appears performative and rushed. In contrast, the intimacy between the two men unfolds through passion and a gentler mutuality. The difference lies not in the act, but in Kyoichi’s state.
Further within this new arrangement, Kyoichi appears generally more carefree, his laughter unforced, his gestures playful, almost boyish. Their shared space mirrors this contradiction. Though modest and framed by cold concrete and urban austerity, it radiates a quiet warmth, an intimacy carved out of an otherwise indifferent world, a fragile pleasure that seems in need of protection.
Yet the past catches up. Kyoichi’s habitual impulse to fill his inner void with trivial encounters remains omnipresent. The social “unacceptability” of their relationship, coupled with the weight of internalized shame, begins to erode their relationship. Longing turns into insecurity; vulnerability into pain.
During their ritualized separation, Wataru describes the type of woman who would best suit Kyoichi, painting an image of conformity and comfortable domesticity. In return, Kyoichi wishes Wataru a love that will grant him the affection he deserves, a quiet, guilty confession as farewell.
In his anguish, Kyoichi seeks another taboo breach, yet he cannot bring himself to follow through. Instead, he returns to old patterns, a new doll-like girl, and an outlook of domesticated security.
Wataru can't let go. Another passionate collision makes a defeated Wataru discard the small sign of hope he once left behind in Kyoichi’s space, and leave without a goodbye. Only then does Kyoichi realize the true imprisonment was neither marriage nor desire, but conformity and the emptiness that comes with it. He breaks with social comfort, choosing an uncompromising loyalty to his own emotions, even if that means solitude.
Overall, I appreciate the message because it refuses to offer an easy answer. The ending remains open and rightly so. It does not follow the formula of the romanticized myth of “I can change him” with a happy ending. Both Kyoichi and Wataru carry deeply rooted issues. Their emotional baggage and trust issues cannot simply be undone by passion. Yet it does not feel hopeless. Change will be slow and self-driven. Whether their paths cross again or not, something essential has shifted within them, especially within Kyoichi.
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