“Alice in Borderland” takes the familiar battle royale framework and turns it into something far more mature: a coming-of-age story about how, in an extreme situation, you begin to genuinely ask what you’re living for—and what you’re willing to sacrifice to construct that meaning for yourself. The brutality and death games matter here, but they are not an end in themselves; they function like a magnifying glass, bringing character, fear, egoism, courage, and despair sharply to the surface.
The series’ greatest strength is its gallery of characters. Even the supporting cast aren’t just “cannon fodder” for the next brutal round—they have their own motivations and defining moments. They suddenly become painfully human, and when they make a mistake… That’s why the tension doesn’t stem solely from the lethal rules of the games, but from who you find yourself rooting for, and how much you dread watching them fail.
The artwork is highly refined: clear, dynamic, and expertly choreographed in action scenes, yet capable of slowing down in quiet moments and landing a blow through detail alone. Haro Asō paces the suspense with real skill—after intense sequences he allows you to breathe, but he never fully releases the emotional pressure. The scene where Usagi runs across the shipping containers held real tension even though I already knew how it would end from the Netflix series… And the moment when Arisu and Usagi take a bath together is wonderfully romantic.
What else works in its favor: the variety of games (each demands different competencies from the characters), a well-constructed escalation of the “price” of survival, and that distinctive sense of the world’s alienness, which keeps the atmosphere suspended somewhere between surrealism and a cold, clinical thriller. On top of that comes the theme of community—not in a sugary, uplifting version, but as a hard decision: when cooperation becomes salvation, and when it becomes another form of clan-based or group violence.
In its own way, it reads like a philosophical treatise on the cost and meaning of life. Meaning doesn’t arrive here effortlessly or by revelation; it is forged through pain, choices, and their consequences.