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This review may contain spoilers
The music spoke. The ending mumbled.
This drama had me from the premise alone: a small-statured, big-dreaming drummer joining a band of musical prodigies. Akane’s underdog energy was irresistible — the kind of aspirational grit that makes you root for her even before she picks up the sticks. I expected romance to creep in, as it often does, but then came Naoki: reclusive, obsessive, and seemingly married to music. From that moment, I knew this wasn’t going to be a love story — at least not the kind with roses and longing glances. This was about artistry, ambition, and the messy business of finding your own sound.
Akane’s journey to discover her voice — and the band’s eventual fusion of clashing styles — was the emotional core. The creative friction, the push-and-pull of personalities, resonated far more than the late-stage romantic subplot, which felt like an afterthought. If there had to be romance, I’d have preferred the adaptation stick to the novel’s original ending with Kazushi. Naoki, written as emotionally detached (possibly neurodivergent or asexual), didn’t need a love arc. His most compelling dynamic wasn’t with Akane at all, but with Sho — the hot-headed guitarist whose chemistry with Naoki sparked more than any scripted romance. And yes, I only realized halfway through that Sho was the same actor from Cherry Magic. Oops.
While it never reached the fluffy warmth of "I Will Be Your Bloom", "Glass Heart" had far more, well, heart. Takeru Satoh’s portrayal of Naoki was quietly devastating — especially during that haunting English solo, which nearly made me swoon for someone supposedly incapable of inspiring swoons. The production was sleek, but the pacing veered into rollercoaster territory, leaving little room for nuanced character development. Naoki’s sudden emotional pivot toward Akane felt especially forced, undermining the careful restraint that had defined him.
Despite the uneven emotional payoff, Akane’s arc held firm. For a moment, I feared she’d be overshadowed by Yukino (played with quiet magnetism by Takaishi Akarii), but Akane remained the beating heart of the story. Glass Heart may stumble in its execution, but it delivers a resonant message: finding your rhythm isn’t about being the loudest — it’s about being heard.
Akane’s journey to discover her voice — and the band’s eventual fusion of clashing styles — was the emotional core. The creative friction, the push-and-pull of personalities, resonated far more than the late-stage romantic subplot, which felt like an afterthought. If there had to be romance, I’d have preferred the adaptation stick to the novel’s original ending with Kazushi. Naoki, written as emotionally detached (possibly neurodivergent or asexual), didn’t need a love arc. His most compelling dynamic wasn’t with Akane at all, but with Sho — the hot-headed guitarist whose chemistry with Naoki sparked more than any scripted romance. And yes, I only realized halfway through that Sho was the same actor from Cherry Magic. Oops.
While it never reached the fluffy warmth of "I Will Be Your Bloom", "Glass Heart" had far more, well, heart. Takeru Satoh’s portrayal of Naoki was quietly devastating — especially during that haunting English solo, which nearly made me swoon for someone supposedly incapable of inspiring swoons. The production was sleek, but the pacing veered into rollercoaster territory, leaving little room for nuanced character development. Naoki’s sudden emotional pivot toward Akane felt especially forced, undermining the careful restraint that had defined him.
Despite the uneven emotional payoff, Akane’s arc held firm. For a moment, I feared she’d be overshadowed by Yukino (played with quiet magnetism by Takaishi Akarii), but Akane remained the beating heart of the story. Glass Heart may stumble in its execution, but it delivers a resonant message: finding your rhythm isn’t about being the loudest — it’s about being heard.
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