An Indecisive Coming-of-Age Tragicomedy
"In the first flush of adolescent love, every small misunderstanding festers into mutual silence; hearts full of longing yet too proud to speak, the romance ends not with a bang but with the slow extinction of time and unbroken quiet."
The title My Stepmother’s Kids Make Me Feel at Home (a.k.a. Suisei no Witch) is poorly chosen—it has almost nothing to do with the content. Viewers expecting the kind of step-sibling daily life seen in Eromanga Sensei will be sorely disappointed. Though I can’t think of a better title myself.
Worth noting: this is not a traditional male-lead romantic comedy. In terms of perspective, both the male lead Mizu-to and the female lead Yume-san give the viewer a substantial emotional experience; in terms of screen time, a considerable portion is devoted to internal monologue and flashback, with even more given to Yume-san. We thus realize that the step-sibling element—though it evokes visions of taboo storylines—is actually beside the point in this series; it is merely the mechanism that reconnects the two. What this show really wants to portray is a first love, from beginning to end, and what it truly depicts are the two parties to that first love—Mizu-to and Yume-san—in which both play equal roles.
Unlike the smooth, happily-ever-after romances of typical rom-coms, the first love depicted here is authentic: from first encounter to final parting. The obstacles in Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai are deus-ex-machina plot devices from outside; My Teen Romantic Comedy SNAFU never has any real romance to speak of, and Yukino is far too remote from real life. Mizu-to and Yume-san’s romance is ordinary: dates, a first kiss, being cared for during illness—nothing unusual. Its motivations spring from the tremors of adolescence—just two classmates interacting, perhaps with some affection, but nothing you could really call love. The process is naturally full of first-time awkwardness, mistakes, and inexperience, and the ending is, of course, regrettable. This is most people’s first love: in the words of a friend, “just practice,” and what practice that never goes smoothly is. Most people’s first loves are practice runs—failures.
And so the painful emotion, the wistful emotion, the regretful emotion: these are the genuine article of a first love. In the tender first stages of adolescent love, every small thing becomes a misunderstanding; hearts full of longing yet too proud to speak; drifting into unwillingness to be honest while hoping the other will take the initiative; growing mutual incomprehension; until finally, even though both still have feelings, the romance ends with the gradual extinction of time and unbroken quiet. The show’s golden finger is that they become family—two people who might otherwise have been nothing but each other’s memories get a second chance at contact, a chance to clear the air, to understand each other’s world more deeply. In reality, what chance do the rest of us get?
In terms of character, the male lead’s portrayal resembles Hikigaya Hachiman from My Teen Romantic Comedy, and lacks Hachiman’s self-awareness—making him the kind of character who can easily repel viewers, what with the ambiguous interactions with Higashide and his cutting, mocking tone. But I understand Mizu-to quite well. Episodes 11 and 12 are the highlight: they resolve the misunderstanding between the two, clarify their feelings, and sketch the environment in which Mizu-to grew up. Mizu-to, to me, conveys a sense of deep loneliness. As a child, alone in a corner, reading his great-grandfather’s memoir buried away somewhere—a memoir narrating life in a Siberian POW camp—and it is through that memoir that Yume-san truly comes to understand Mizu-to, to feel his inner world. That line is well-chosen: the fictional feels real, and the real feels fictional.
Of course, seeking meaning in toilet paper is rather misguided. The emotional thread culminates in episode 12 with the two finally clearing their misunderstanding and sorting out their feelings—or, one might say, clearing themselves—with a kiss. As a pure love story, ending here is a satisfying completion; the character dynamics can’t sustain a second season, and to further plumb Yume-san and Mizu-to’s emotions would come off as rigid and contrived. In short: no second season, please.