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In short: an intriguing premise, poorly executed, with dreadful storytelling. No drama, just pointless padding; barely bothering to act. Characters lack consistency—strategists turn brainless, and power levels vanish and reappear without rhyme or reason. The logic is chaotic, leaving viewers utterly confounded. It carries the narrative carelessness seen since the Buu Saga, culminating in a contrived, saccharine happy ending.
This was the show that sparked my experience of chasing a weekly anime episode, and I genuinely had high hopes for it, believing it could be a great work. Yet, reality was brutally underwhelming, and those hopes ultimately turned into bitter regret.
A friend described my expression after watching DAIMA as identical to his when he finished Game of Thrones Season 8 years ago—a deep, indescribable helplessness for a work with the potential to be a masterpiece but reduced to a mess.
It all begins with the striking visual of Shin and Son Goku riding a flying dragon together.
DAIMA’s timeline follows the Buu Saga and ties into it, weaving old conflicts with a new world-building framework. In theory, this promised to be utterly captivating.
The plot summary goes like this: An ambitious mad scientist from the Demon Realm—Arinsu, sister of Universe 7's Supreme Kai Shin—wants to wish on the Demon Realm Dragon Balls to become the ultimate supreme Demon King.
On one hand, she subtly hints to the insecure, newly appointed Demon King Gomah that Son Goku and his friends might invade the Demon Realm, stirring him up enough to head to the outside world and carry out a conspiracy to turn Son Goku and the others into children.
On the other hand, she sends her overworked lackey Glorio—who's forced to run errands and even learn Namekian—to guide Son Goku's group into the Great Demon Realm under the cover of a mission from King Kadan to take down Gomah. All of it is really just a setup to exploit Son Goku's power in seizing the Dragon Balls, turning the whole thing into an "adventure" (or rather, a field trip) story.
The early character portrayals are genuinely excellent and faithful, with impeccable attention to detail. The balance of characters continues the strengths of Super, ensuring each character occupies their rightful place with distinct roles and uniqueness. What made me take this show seriously was the second episode onward—from Kibito’s displeasure at Bulma’s demands to Shin’s unprecedented gravitas in tone and expression when questioning suspicious newcomer. At that moment, I was in awe: the Shin we loved is back!
This echoed Toriyama’s advice to Toyotarou during Super revisions: “Please give the Supreme Kai some dignity,” even though Toriyama himself was the one who initially stripped it away. To this day, I’m curious about the look on Toyotarou’s face when he was corrected. Master, care to look at what you’ve drawn lately?
The Supreme Kai, a sacred role embodying creation and protection, guiding the universe toward peace and contributing immensely to its harmonious progress, is repeatedly misunderstood by the masses.
This stems from flawed character design clashing with the plot. Shin, inherently noble and sacred, so lofty that he refuses to take any risks for the sake of all beings, resolutely tries to prevent Buu’s revival, unwilling to gamble with the universe’s safety. This stands in stark contrast to the protagonist group, whose love for challenge and adventure leads to Buu’s resurrection. If Shin’s character isn’t undermined and reduced to a hapless, ineffective figure, the protagonists would be put in an awkward position.
Thus, the author had no choice but to shatter Shin, this pristine mirror, because any chance for him to speak out would hinder the plot and reflect the protagonists’ recklessness and selfishness.
What disgusts me most is this: after this mirror is broken, many viewers and readers don’t see the problem with such handling. Instead, they point at the shattered remains, mocking and insulting Shin for his ruined, tarnished state—a despicable and shameless act. Some fans hate Shin because he spoiled their thrill, thwarting the selfish battles they wanted to see.
The few Shin fans I know are outraged because they see the gross injustice and malice directed at him. Those who insult Shin care nothing for the bigger picture and ignore how the author, to shield the protagonists, distorts right and wrong, scapegoating Shin and dumping all the blame on him, branding him as incompetent and a failure.
If the author can’t articulate a character’s worth and significance, it only highlights their shortcomings in balancing characters and ensemble storytelling. No author deliberately creates an ‘incompetent’ character. Every character is created with intent, meant to serve some purpose, and thus inevitably holds significance.
If a character feels redundant in the story, the question isn’t their worth but what went wrong with the author’s setup. What was the purpose of designing this character? What role do they play? What necessity do they fulfill? Fortunately, there’s a silver lining. Super’s revamped dual-god system of Supreme Kai and God of Destruction shows the author’s effort to restore Shin’s dignity and provides a more comprehensive perspective on the universe’s workings. Creation and destruction, like day and night, are equally vital, inseparable.
Sadly, many of the manga’s elaborated lore is absent in the anime, leading careless readers to overlook them. Even though the manga clearly outlines the gods’ respective roles, some forget and still fail to grasp their distinct roles. So, when we learned Shin would have a significant role in DAIMA, we fervently wished Toriyama would take it further. Super already forged a fresh direction for Shin; DAIMA just needs to build on its foundation to bolster his character.
DAIMA Was Once Masterfully Crafted, But…
DAIMA did have its moments of success. Shin was incredibly sharp early on, immediately noticing the suspiciously convenient timing of Glorio’s appearance and grilling Glorio over his claim of being sent by King Kadan. Ultimately, Glorio’s lies were completely exposed in the face of Shin’s scrutiny.
There’s a scene where the plane flies beneath the continent, and the camera lingers on a close-up of the two in shadow—a brilliantly subtle use of cinematic language. It symbolizes their subtle showdown while representing Glorio’s secrets and Shin’s piercing insight. Their battle of wits truly defined the highlights of the early episodes. Even Son Goku’s fight with Glorio, where he finally got serious, only happened at Shin’s insistence. This was truly a return to Shin’s strategic, visionary brilliance—the Shin we know and love. If only Shin’s telepathic mind-reading ability had been brought back, Glorio would’ve been toast.
But just as this confrontation reached its peak, when we all thought Shin’s focus would inevitably shift to the mastermind behind Glorio, the author pulls the rug out from under us: “Nope, just kidding, nothing’s there!”
In a normal storyline, the lines you cast are supposed to reel in something—anything—to deliver some resolution to the audience. But the author declares that this line was cut long ago. Whatever could have been caught—fish, shrimp, anything—has long slipped into the abyss, nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, the audience is left looking like fools, holding a fishing rod with a broken line, waiting for a payoff that’ll never come. What the hell, is this a sick joke?
Glorio is hiding something, furtively contacting someone, and Shin is fully aware of it. If the author doesn’t intend for Shin to pursue this further, they need to tell the audience: Why does Shin drop his suspicions? Why does someone so doggedly inquisitive, now holding hard evidence, suddenly completely ignore a shady character? To have no explanation, no reason, and just… let it vanish into thin air, as if the author completely forgot their own story—it makes me wonder if the writer of this story isn’t Akira Toriyama but Joe Biden.
The Notion that Shin Doesn’t Know Glorio is Working for Arinsu is a Fallacy
With Shin’s strategic foresight and the knowledge that his younger brother is involved in the conspiracy, his urgency far surpasses that of the others. The moment he hears Glorio is heading to the Third Demon World, he instantly smells a rat. They’re supposedly after Gomah, yet they’re going to the Third Demon World, the furthest from Gomah’s First Demon World.
Glorio even lies, claiming only people from the First and parts of the Second Demon World can use ‘Warp,’ all to bind himself to Son Goku and complete the Dragon Ball quest. Shin immediately seizes on the inconsistency, cornering Glorio into admitting he works in the First Demon World. Later, when they stop at auntie’s shop, Glorio barely takes a sip of tea before Shin, with a scowl, presses him about whether their transport is ready.
During the journey, Glorio’s fixation on the Dragon Balls is glaringly unusual. Despite being tasked with defeating Gomah for King Kadan, he repeatedly prioritizes the Dragon Balls, tagging along with Son Goku’s whims. He even objects when Shin suggests using the gendarme’s plane to head straight to the First Demon World.
This is the same Shin who spotted Glorio’s suspicious behavior at a glance. How could he not suspect Glorio has a hidden agenda when Glorio seems unsure whether to even follow through with Kadan’s mission?
Even if Shin didn’t connect the dots earlier, he should’ve had an epiphany upon seeing Arinsu with the Dragon Balls, tying together Glorio’s odd behavior. This would cohere with the four episodes’ worth of buildup emphasizing Shin’s suspicion and vigilance. Deliberately stripping away Shin’s sharpness invalidates all that setup, undermining the story’s depth and character coherence.
If Shin knew or suspected Glorio’s connection to Arinsu, his direct negotiations with her could’ve been key to unsettling Glorio’s allegiance, not a meaningless plot point. This would lead into the group’s united battle against Gomah, where Glorio’s close coordination with Shin would carry deeper meaning—no longer mere spectacle but a testament to their evolving relationship. From initial distrust and confrontation, they’d grow to trust each other, proving their bond as partners and the thawing of tensions.
This approach would make their arc from suspicion to friendship clear, retrieving the earlier foreshadowing without letting it become a barrier. Instead, it could’ve been a clever tool to outsmart Arinsu.
But the author chooses to dwell on empty suspense rather than fleshing out character interactions, erasing Shin’s potential involvement. This leaves Glorio to wrestle in isolation until a last-minute reversal, making him seem shallow—prioritizing bonds over morality. In his talks with Arinsu and Shin, Glorio remains indifferent to the chilling revelation of a ‘Demon Realm that enslaves the universes,’ shaken not by objective morality but by shallow sentiments.
This contradicts Glorio’s character. In Episode 6, when Shin asks why he wants to defeat Gomah, Glorio replies, ‘Because he’s a tyrannical villain.’ I thought it was a lie, but it turns out to be true. Shin even praises his ‘staunch sense of justice.’
So how could a justice-driven Glorio hear his employer’s horrific ambitions and not react? They’re no different, if not worse, than Gomah’s rule. If he despises Gomah, he should be equally appalled by Arinsu’s plans. What reason does he have to waver until the very last moment? This contrived and shallow twist wastes so much material, discarding foreshadowing and ruining the character. This move is an utter disaster.
Shin should’ve been the one best positioned to sway Glorio. Despite suspecting him, Shin is also the one shielding him, never exposing Glorio’s deception in front of the group. Even when Glorio repeatedly delays going to the First Demon World to follow Son Goku’s whims, Shin never uses his damning evidence against him. In the end, after Glorio betrays Arinsu, it’s not Shin who should be thanking him—Glorio’s the one who owes him an apology.
What Is the Purpose of Degesu’s Existence as a Character?
As the key catalyst for Shin’s return to the Demon Realm, Degesu finally reunites with his long-estranged brother in Episode 16 after a long wait. I was expecting more emotional depth, more dynamic interplay, but all Degesu offers is a tepid taunt and a question he already knew from Episode 1: ‘Brother, what have you been doing in the outside world?’ It left me wondering—just how estranged are they?
Degesu’s reaction to seeing his brother in person is less visceral than in Episode 1 when he was glaring at a screen, teeth gritted, eyes blazing with fury. It’s established that Degesu loathes Shin, but the story fails to explain why he harbors such profound animosity toward his own brother. He mentions Shin’s exalted position twice, hinting at possible envy of his accomplished sibling.
Yet, the author provides no details to give depth to Degesu’s motivations, not even a shred of backstory. Degesu detests humanity, but no reason is given. If he had a substantial rationale, it could’ve added complexity to his emotions and allowed him to confront Shin by pointing out humanity’s flaws. After all, Shin nearly died twice due to the Majin Buu crisis, orchestrated by human malice. This could’ve also implicated Son Goku and Vegeta.
Babidi, not a Demon Realm native, and his father Bibidi, likely native to the cosmos the Supreme Kais protects, dared to turn traitor against that protection by using Majin Buu to attack the Sacred World of the Kai.
Shin, twice harmed by cosmic humans, is stuck with a slumbering ally and a negligent superior. A conversation with Degesu could’ve ignited a profound clash, delving into the essence of a Supreme Kai’s role, allowing Shin to explain why, despite such injustice and pain, he remains steadfast in his duties.
This would reveal the determination and faith behind his resilient spirit. It wouldn’t just be a hollow line like ‘protecting the universe’s order and peace’ (though that phrase has its place for those unfamiliar with a Supreme Kai’s role).
The canon notes that Namekians are a docile race, with Piccolo’s evil likely influenced by human corruption. This suggests Namekians, though inherently good, are vulnerable to external influence. This is why, despite being a valued race, they aren’t considered for supreme divine positions.
It underscores the stringent spiritual resilience required to be a Supreme Kai—to witness humanity’s rise and fall over tens or hundreds of thousands of years without being corrupted in the slightest by their malice, to gaze into the abyss without being consumed by it.
After leaving the Demon Realm, Shin took the name ‘Shin,’ meaning ‘god’ in Japanese. Whoever gave him that name, it signifies a solemn mandate: from now on, you are no longer Nahare—you are the divine guardian of all creation.
The reunion of two brothers with such opposing values should’ve unleashed deep-seated tensions, not this superficial encounter. It’s hard to see what purpose Degesu serves, and it certainly doesn’t justify making Shin go through all this trouble to the Demon Realm. If Degesu’s sole purpose is to serve as mere bait to draw Shin there, that’s utterly half-baked and careless.
Arinsu’s Inexplicable Motives, Inexplicable Redemption, Everything Inexplicable
“I want a stronger, more fearsome Demon Realm, with the outside world subjugated beneath its heel.” —Arinsu
When I heard Arinsu say this, I felt a profound sense of incongruity. The Glind race, from which the Supreme Kais originate, is tasked with guiding the progress of the universes. Why, then, would Arinsu, knowing her people are on the brink of extinction, seek to undermine the very universes they safeguard? It’s utterly perplexing.
I seriously wonder if the author even remembers that all the Supreme Kais are Glind or grasps what the impending doom of extinction entails for their race. Many criticisms of DAIMA point to its shallow characterization, with the biggest issue being the failure to weave the setting into the characters’ very essence, making it seem like the author doesn’t understand them or reflect on how their experiences and personalities shape their thoughts and actions.
Why does Arinsu want to be the Demon King? The answer: “She’s just power-hungry.” It’s as if Arinsu and Degesu are pre-programmed automatons with a microchip labeled ‘ambition’ implanted in their brains, obsessed with ambition from childhood to adulthood, unchanging over time. If their thoughts were visualized as a word cloud, it’d be filled entirely with ‘ambition.’ It’s like the Glind race only produces two types: the utterly saintly or the utterly wicked—except for that one perverted old creep.
This is Toriyama’s preferred villain archetype: two-dimensional, shallow, devoid of nuanced motives, just a bad guy for the sake of being bad. But in a newly crafted worldbuilding tied to the Supreme Kais’s origins, clinging to this simplistic villain template completely squanders the Glind race’s potential. It feels like the author merely swapped ‘Core People’ for ‘Glind’ and nothing more—utterly uninspired, so stingy with explaining how the noble and morally upright Glind, historically chosen as top-tier cosmic deities, could descend into someone like Arinsu or Degesu.
The fact that all the Glind Trees—the very source that birthed the entire Glind race—have completely withered and died is such a powerful story element that could have been used brilliantly. It’s downright bizarre for the root of such a noble race to perish like that, yet the story doesn’t even bother to give any reason or cause. It feels like this enormous, species-level catastrophe is treated merely as a convenient excuse for why Shin doesn’t want to go back to Kaishin, rather than the actual existential crisis it should be for the Glind people.
If the author had just spent a little more ink on it, connecting the trees’ death to King Abura—the one who forcibly separated the Demon Realm from the rest of the universes—would have been incredibly easy. He genuinely despises the Glind: they were born as nobility of the Demon Realm, yet so many of them abandoned their origins, left, and even became gods who help humans advance and thrive.
Thanks to the guidance of the Supreme Kais, humanity flourished rapidly and vigorously in their respective universes, eventually posing a real threat to the Demon Realm’s position. Originally, the universes were just extensions of the Demon Realm, but now they’ve completely overshadowed their “parent” and taken over as the main stage.
Because of exactly this mindset, Abura isolated the Demon Realm from the universes. Given how much resentment he must feel toward the Glind for “betraying” their roots and aiding the other side, it would be completely unsurprising if he took his revenge directly on the Glind Trees themselves.
A friend suggested Bibidi’s creation of Majin Buu via a witch might’ve been secretly backed by Abura, only for Buu to spiral out of control and devastate the Demon Realm first. Thus, Bibidi’s use of Buu to attack the Sacred World of the Kai and the universe wasn’t merely personal greed but Abura’s venting of his grudge against the outside world, targeting the Seventh Universe, where the God of Destruction shirked his protective barrier—a naked malevolence.
This also makes it traceable why Dabura allowed himself to be controlled by Babidi: he intentionally collaborated, sharing his father’s loathing for the Glind who left for the outside world.
This setup could’ve given Arinsu a compelling motivation, making her character rich and multidimensional, while transforming the story’s depth and layers.
Arinsu could be incensed about the attack on the Sacred World of the Kai, as Abura not only destroyed their future but spared not even the Glind who ventured abroad. Her desire to become the supreme overlord could stem from a wish to ‘protect her people and prevent another tragedy,’ or even take a darker turn: despairing over the Glind’s looming extinction, unable to stop it, she chooses to annihilate all. This would highlight the tragic decline of a noble lineage, giving Arinsu a Breaking Bad-esque doomed antihero aura. Her actions would be far more than a mere ‘she’s ambitious.’
If the intent was to portray Arinsu as profoundly heartless, bereft of any moral compass or care for the universes her own Glind kin protect, then claiming she’s merely ‘power-hungry yet not malevolent’ is like slapping themselves in the face. I don’t know how the author’s handling of characters could be so egregiously mishandled—utterly ignoring their internal logic, forcing everyone to inexplicably forgive as though all prior events were nullified.
Panzy forgets 82 years of living in chains, forgets the suffering of the Third Demon World’s residents, despite earlier lamenting their plight with deep-seated anguish and pitiable despair. Suddenly, it’s as though it never happened. Shin, too, forgets hearing Arinsu scorn peace as garbage, remaining mute in response.
I once remarked that Shin’s reaction in the Buu Saga was utterly bizarre and dehumanized. Despite his wholehearted efforts to prevent Buu’s revival, when Buu does revive—nearly killing him and Gohan, endangering Earth and the universe—he never holds Son Goku accountable for hiding Super Saiyan 3 during his fight with Vegeta.
This was clearly the author shielding Son Goku by deliberately robbing Shin of his agency, making it seem like he erased all memory of his ordeal. The dread of confronting Buu anew, the near-death struggle—all completely obliterated.
Apparently, this amnesia still hasn’t been resolved and has infected other characters, causing a collective memory lapse. Toriyama, please don’t carry the flawed tendencies from the Buu Saga into this new work!
Power Levels Like Tides, Ebbing and Flowing Wildly
I’m not opposed to drawing out the pacing. The depictions of the field trip crew’s overnight stays genuinely evoke the nostalgia of young Son Goku and Bulma’s adventures. Even on the Planet Mega, I found small joys—Vegeta obediently listening to Shin is endlessly entertaining, and seeing him fight alongside Piccolo to protect the plane and team was great. Honestly, the harmony of them collaborating without discord is refreshing. But dragging things out to the point where characters seem to have amnesia and the power scaling implodes? That’s too much.
Are the Tamagamis truly unbeatable?
The absurd plot in Episode 15, where Saiyans and Piccolo need cannon fodder to bail them out, seems meant to contrast their later return to normalcy. But here’s the issue: Vegeta already transformed into Super Saiyan 3 in their diminished child forms, and Son Goku defeated a Tamagami—deemed invincible—proving they’ve adapted to their child bodies and the Demon Realm’s environment. So why do they later need cannon fodder to bail them out from a ray gun? What were those earlier feats even for?
Does the author even understand what ‘never beaten by anyone’ means? This turns the once-awe-inspiring Tamagamis into an utter farce. It feels like those lowly grunts could just grab some blasters and obliterate the Tamagamis—so where’s this invincibility myth coming from? The finale casually drops that the Third Eye is mass-produced, yet there’s no hint anyone used it to fight, only to fall to a fiendishly complex mental math gauntlet.
During the battle with Gomah, Shin is depicted as excelling at long-range combat, with power not to be underestimated. But does the author even remember that this is the same combat-ready character who feigned death throughout when sniped by a squad of gendarmes?
Has Vegeta’s classic “faceplant” meme finally made its way to the production crew?
After the group fight with Gomah, inexplicably, it’s Piccolo and Shin propping up Vegeta. Is this supposed to show the impact of their child transformation? But Piccolo, who initially lost control, smashed into a tree, and ended up with a bloody nose, with far less power, didn’t fare this miserably. If this isn’t the production crew intentionally trolling Vegeta, then blaspheming against a deity must truly incur divine retribution.
Super Saiyan 4 Without Build-Up
I still remember in Dragon Ball GT, against the backdrop of the Golden Great Ape, Pan’s diminutive yet vivid figure in red stood out. A single tear, like a clear spring dissolving bewilderment, awakened the ape’s consciousness, emerging from its frenzy to birth Super Saiyan 4. This depiction of a human catalyzing the ape’s transformation was fascinating from both an artistic and biological perspective. For a fan-created work to deliver such high-level symbolism is impressive. Yet, in the official sequel DAIMA, it’s just an old man walking over to trigger latent power, and—poof—Super Saiyan 4 just pops up.
It reminds me of those old hidden-object games: you haven’t collected all the items, time’s running out, and you’re on the verge of failing the stage. What do you do? Use a game item—some extend time, others reveal the items’ locations. Use the item, and you pass. DAIMA’s Super Saiyan 4 feels exactly like that: the heroes are beaten down and on the brink of annihilation, and suddenly the writer recalls a ‘deus ex machina’ to deploy, sending an old man to help the protagonist clear the stage. It’s all so utterly lackluster, so blatantly scripted contrivance, that I felt utterly uninspired by the fights afterward—I just wanted to nap.
An Unconvincing New King
When it comes to Gomah, he’s described as sly, mighty, and fearsome.
But this guy fumbles endlessly just to remove an eyeball from his belt. Watching him flail reminds me of myself wrestling futilely with a jammed jar lid. Where’s the mystical prowess? Where’s the power? There’s no explanation for why Shin, Arinsu, Degesu, and Glorio—four whole characters—fear him so much. It feels like even King Kadan could effortlessly overpower him.
Is his so-called ‘fearsome sorcery’ just some subconsciously imprinted message in people’s minds that ‘he’s powerful and terrifying,’ so everyone who meets him mindlessly repeats the same mantra? If so, at least stage it convincingly to convince me outright!
Doesn’t Son Goku Need to Show Some Remorse?
Let’s bring up Dragon Ball GT again. The concept of the Shadow Dragons, born from the overuse of the Dragon Balls, truly delivered unprecedented shock and depth. It starkly contrasted with the Buu Saga’s flippant attitude, where the protagonists ignored the Old Kai’s ranting about ‘violating the natural laws’ just to use the Dragon Balls. (This really shows how dismantling Shin’s deserved authority in the Buu Saga facilitated lazy plotting.)
I noticed early on that the author consistently avoids making the protagonists face consequences for their errors, particularly egregious in the Buu Saga. You never see Son Goku express even a shred of apology toward others, not even his friends. It’s as though all mischief is invariably others’ doing, and his penchant for fighting, stalling, or stirring up trouble is never wrong.
It’s the same in DAIMA. The mission was to save Dende, but the moment Son Goku hears about the powerful Tamagamis, he immediately perked up. Even Shin’s reminder to prioritize Dende goes completely ignored. Son Goku insists on merging the goals: saving Dende while fighting Tamagamis and gathering the Dragon Balls along the way.
If Son Goku hadn’t flip-flopped midway, Glorio, who suggested collecting the Dragon Balls first, gained a two-to-one numerical edge to pressure Shin into agreeing. Otherwise, Glorio’s original plan was likely to defeat Gomah first to clear the way for his employer, then entice Son Goku to battle the Tamagamis.
It was these two acting on their personal whims that gave Gomah the chance to obtain the Third Eye, causing Dende to suffer longer as a hostage. It’s ironic that, when the battle began, Shin still charged in without hesitation to fight Gomah alongside them. Afterward, upon reflecting on the fallout of their antics, don’t these two owe Shin and Dende an apology? Even a single apology—just one—would do!
In the End
It’s hard to believe that a new work connected to the Buu Saga, with a fresh world-building framework, could take such a wealth of elements and still deliver a story so utterly lackluster—increasingly unbearable toward the end. In a way, it outdoes even AI, because even AI couldn’t churn out content this crude and utterly uninspired.
The biggest issue with Dragon Ball DAIMA isn’t that it’s ‘not good enough’ but that it hasn’t the faintest clue about its own purpose. The premise had potential, but the character management is utterly deplorable. The author lacks any grasp of writing an ensemble cast or crafting meaningful character arcs. The story wants to explore the new Supreme Kai and Demon Realm settings but shies away from exploring the characters’ psychology or motivations. As a result, all the settings become mere superficial window dressing, never genuinely leveraged.
Character transformations hinge entirely on ‘scripted necessity’ rather than genuine epiphany or development, squandering the setting and trampling over the characters, rendering the story utterly unconvincing. Then, it shoehorns a contrived happy resolution that defies character logic. This isn’t just a matter of poor narrative coherence—it’s an utter abandonment of logic, tantamount to aimless scribbling, completely squandering all the potential of the characters and story.
The author’s internal contradictions are evident in every aspect, creating sheer bewilderment and anguish for viewers who rely on a story’s logical flow. It reminds me of Hikaru no Go, where Akira Toya plays blind Go. Ordinary opponents don’t faze him, but an abysmally incompetent player, whose every move is devoid of sense or continuity, throws him off. Akira’s sophisticated thinking is unable to piece together the game, leaving him distressed.
Truly, it’s migraine-inducing.
Overall, it’s profoundly disappointing and heartbreaking. Master Toriyama, how fervently we longed to believe you could tell a great story, how fervently we longed to believe in you.
But to be fair, compared to the Buu Saga—not to mention its flawed structure, even its values were problematic—this doesn’t feel quite as awful. Having already endured the worst, nothing can truly plunge me into despair anymore. The path has been riddled with thorns—what’s there to fear? Shin, at least, displays early cunning and later proves formidable in combat, making him the most versatile team member.
Out of ten, I’d give it four points. I considered five, but the final episode’s ghastly redemption arc for Arinsu knocked off a point.
At least three points go to Shin (I vividly sensed his status in this work was duly honored and redeemed, and it did bring me some joy. Vegeta listening to him is an absolute riot every time, and Son Goku suddenly introducing him to Panzy as if he’d been thoroughly enlightened). The rest go to the animation, voice acting, and soundtrack.
The sole takeaway? All universes were forged by the demon. And, by the way, Glorio’s stolen plane is still missing.