English Dub Season Review: Kirio Fanclub Season One

Based on the Japanese manga series written and illustrated by Ponchan Chikyū no Osakana, the story follows high school students Aimi Miyoshi and Nami Sometani, two girls who form an unlikely friendship through their shared obsession with their seemingly ordinary classmate, Ken Kirio. Despite having little in common, they spend their days discussing their classmate Kirio, imagining interactions with him, and competing to prove who loves him more through increasingly absurd debates and hypothetical scenarios. While both are best friends and romantic rivals, neither can bring themselves to actually confess their feelings, preferring instead to admire him from afar and occasionally envy those who get closer to him. Meanwhile, Kirio himself is an unremarkable yet endearing boy with average grades, poor soccer skills despite being on the team, and a quiet demeanor that conceals his own secrets. As classmates begin encouraging the trio to interact more directly, Aimi and Nami find themselves questioning whether winning Kirio’s heart is truly more important than the hilarious, heartfelt friendship they have built together.

On the technical side, this self-contained 12-episode anime adaptation was produced by Satelight and directed by Sō Toyama, with series composition and screenplays by Aya Satsuki, characters designed by Nami Hayashi, and music composed by Tomoki Kikuya. The opening theme song is “Fanclub”, performed by Skirt and ODD Foot Works, while the ending theme song, “Harmony”, was performed by Ako.

On paper, Kirio Fanclub is about two weird high school girls who discover they like the same boy and form a club to make him notice them. In practice, calling this a rom-com is probably the show’s first joke. Aimi Miyoshi and Nami Sometani spend their days obsessing over their classmate Kirio, competing over who loves him more while coming up with increasingly ridiculous ways to learn about him. Aimi is especially unhinged, casually ranking her favorite parts of Kirio’s body, while Kirio himself is so bland that his bizarre comments somehow become the most interesting thing about him. That’s the joke: two completely deranged girls are worshipping the most NPC-like boy imaginable. The comedy is crude, dry, awkward, and intentionally uncomfortable, so it won’t click with everyone. But when it does, the chemistry between Aimi and Nami is hilarious. Their conversations feel like the kind of completely nonsensical conversations close friends have when they’ve spent so much time together that everyone else has stopped mattering.

The real surprise is how damn clever the show can be. What initially looks like a collection of disconnected gags gradually reveals a carefully constructed story where seemingly meaningless details actually matter. Episode one drops a major hint that something deeper is going on, and later episodes repeatedly recontextualize earlier scenes. A joke that seemed completely stupid can suddenly become funny for an entirely different reason, or even turn into something genuinely touching. That level of continuity gives the series far more substance than its chaotic surface suggests. More importantly, the story isn’t really about whether Aimi or Nami will win Kirio. There isn’t much of a traditional romance here at all. Kirio is largely a catalyst for the girls’ wacky antics, while their friendship is the real heart of the series. Even the supporting cast gradually gets their own struggles and eccentricities, creating a surprisingly rich web of relationships beneath all the nonsense.

And eventually, the nonsense starts hurting, as the show gradually reveals itself as a story about loneliness, unrequited love, loss, and the strange ways people can save each other simply by being there. Its characters are weird, flawed, and sometimes painfully awkward, but that’s precisely what makes their relationships feel human. The series understands that loving someone who doesn’t love you back can still be meaningful, and that finding someone who accepts your strange, eccentric level of weirdness can completely change your life. The comedy also becomes part of the drama rather than simply disappearing whenever things get serious. That tonal balancing act is risky, and the finale occasionally pushes the dramatic material a little too hard while relying on flashbacks to deliver its emotional payoff, but I respect the hell out of the attempt. Very few comedies would have the nerve to hide a genuinely bittersweet coming-of-age story underneath this much degeneracy.

Visually, the show is much less impressive than its outrageous opening suggests. The actual series is fairly modest, with limited animation, dialogue-heavy scenes, and little in the way of elaborate direction. It’s closer to a colored, lightly animated manga than an animation showcase, although the exaggerated facial expressions are used effectively and the backgrounds occasionally look great. Fortunately, the sound side of things carries more weight. The opening, “FANCLUB” by Skirt & ODD Foot Works, is an absolute banger that captures the series’ manic energy before unexpectedly settling into a melodic chorus. Its bizarre imagery also becomes more meaningful once you’ve seen the whole story. The ending, “Harmony” by Ako, is considerably more subdued, focusing on Aimi and Nami and emphasizing the emotional core of their relationship. The voice cast is similarly strong, selling both the ridiculous comedy and the quieter dramatic moments.

Overall, Kirio Fanclub is exactly the kind of show that will make some people laugh uncontrollably, and others stare at the screen wondering what the hell they’re watching. Its crude humor, awkward characters, slow-burn pacing, and complete commitment to its own weirdness make it an acquired taste, but that’s also what makes it so memorable. What looks like an unhinged comedy about two girls obsessing over the world’s most unremarkable boy gradually reveals itself as a story about friendship, loneliness, love, loss, and the strange connections that make life worth living. It isn’t perfect, and adapting a short six-volume manga series into 12 episodes inevitably means some moments move faster than they should, but the fact that it manages to tell the entire story as a self-contained anime is genuinely refreshing. There is no cliffhanger, no obvious sequel bait, and no feeling that you’re only getting half the journey. Few shows are willing to be this strange while still taking their characters seriously. If its particular brand of absurdity clicks with you, Kirio Fanclub hits an almost ridiculous number of emotional notes without ever forgetting what kind of show it is. I came for two idiots thirsting over one dude and somehow left caring about all of them. A fan club of two is still a fan club.