Novel Thoughts: How Tsukimichi: Moonlit Fantasy Surprised My Isekai Expectations
This month, Novel Thoughts asks, “What Work of Media Surprised Your Expectations?” To begin, Managing Editor Vaughn R. Demont lets his Weeb Flag fly…
This month's "Novel Thoughts" topic asks us to explore a work of media that surprised our expectations. For me, that work is the anime adaptation of Tsukimichi: Moonlit Fantasy. Given my familiarity with the Isekai genre – both as a fan and through studying trope mechanics in my own writing process and my graduate work at Goddard – I went in with certain assumptions. What truly surprised me was how Tsukimichi doesn't just use Isekai tropes, but often feels like it actively critiques and studies the genre itself, especially across its first two seasons.
Most modern Isekai stories share common DNA: a protagonist, often from Japan, is transported to another world. Frequently, a sympathetic goddess grants them immense power or "cheat skills" to survive, often setting them on a quest against demons or some other monolithic evil. Tsukimichi's first season initially seems to follow this path when protagonist Makoto Misumi is summoned. He's granted significant power, but here's the first twist: the world's main goddess rejects him outright for not meeting her standard of beauty. Instead of a welcoming kingdom, he's abandoned in a desolate wasteland.
This initial subversion ripples outwards. When Makoto finally encounters humans, his average looks cause them disgust in a world where humans are uniformly beautiful – his very humanity is questioned. He gains immense power, yes, but not from the goddess who summoned him. And instead of pursuing her quest, he carves out his own path: building a welcoming society in a pocket dimension for races marginalized by humans – orcs, lizardmen, gorgons, spiders, and others. He becomes an overpowered main character, but one who uses his strength not to dominate, but to protect and uplift his found community.
The ubiquitous harem trope also gets a refreshing rework. Makoto's two most powerful followers, the dragon Tomoe and the spider Mio, are fiercely devoted, but their relationship with him is far more complex than simple romance. They have their own potent personalities, interests, and agency. While the idea of romance is sometimes floated, Makoto remains largely oblivious, viewing them more like family. Seeing these powerful female characters make their own choices and operate with motivations beyond simply vying for the protagonist was a welcome change, giving them genuine control.
If Season 1 laid the groundwork for subversion, Season 2 felt like an explicit exploration of the different shades of Isekai, featuring my favorite character conflicts. Here, we meet Tomoki Iwahashi, a character who literally fantasizes about receiving "cheat skills" before he's summoned by the same goddess who rejected Makoto. He gets his wish, including a concerning "magic eye" that charms nearly anyone he chooses. He uses this power specifically to build a harem of warrior women, effectively negating their agency. It plays out almost like a direct satire of countless Isekai from the past decade, where the hero quickly accumulates beautiful women competing for his affection. In Tsukimichi, however, Tomoki is cast in an antagonistic light; his reliance on charm is portrayed as cheating, and his anger when refused highlights the entitlement inherent in this trope. Frankly, these sections, while perhaps intentionally mimicking standard Isekai fare, often drag and can be considered cringe.
Contrast Tomoki sharply with the third summoned hero, Hibiki Otonashi. She represents the "empowered heroine" archetype, portrayed as intelligent, kind, and a capable leader before she even arrived in the new world. The goddess gives her only a minor gift (a spirit companion). Hibiki gathers followers not through magic, but through her genuine charisma, personality, and the bonds she forms. She struggles, fails, picks herself up, and grows through practice, determination, and the mutual support of her friends. She has flaws and complexities, ensuring she never feels like a "Mary Sue." Her storyline feels like an honest portrayal of the heroic spirit, leaning into what could be seen as a Feminist Isekai with its focus on gender equality, the strength of friendship, and earned respect.
Considering Isekai has long been dominated by male protagonists and power-fantasy harems, Tsukimichi: Moonlit Fantasy truly surprised me with this multifaceted exploration of the genre. We see Makoto, reminiscent of protagonists in nation-building Isekai like That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, focused more on community than conquest or romance. We see Hibiki, a welcome shift from the bog standard Fantasy Isekai towards a more feminist-leaning narrative. And we see Tomoki, a satirical reflection of the genre's more problematic tendencies. It's this willingness to present and contrast these different models within one story, using them to comment on the genre's conventions, that elevated Tsukimichi beyond my initial expectations and made it such a fascinating watch for someone attuned to trope mechanics.
