UlasanAnime.com – In the hushed, academic halls after dark, a familiar scene unfolded within a club’s meeting space. It was Saturday night, and amidst the imposing architecture of a university, a group of enthusiasts gathered, their conversation a typical blend of passionate discourse and playful banter.
The air buzzed with questions like, “So why do you like Nichijou so much?” and the inevitable follow-up, “It’s not that funny, yeah, do tell.” This sparked a debate that quickly escalated, with one member passionately declaring, “What are you saying? It’s second to Azumanga Daioh.”
The club’s scheduler, upon hearing the mention of a long-standing anime meme within their community, turned with a raised eyebrow, exclaiming, “Really, now.” Meanwhile, the protagonist of this scene, a figure lounging in the corner, had begun to idly sketch on a whiteboard he was leaning against. Unfazed by the escalating discussion, he started to bring sharks to life with his marker, a seemingly random yet striking visual.
The debate intensified, with some members delving into the meta-narrative aspects of “Nichijou,” while others simply dismissed it as boring. The stark simplicity of this latter critique seemed to fuel the passion of the defenders more than any elaborate argument. Some reveled in the playful trolling and exaggerated reactions, while detractors remained unconvinced by the show’s humor. Fortunately, the arguments were rooted in good faith, evidenced by the scheduler’s genuine interest, which signaled the seriousness of the discussion.
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The members looked to the scheduler as the de facto emcee of the evening, the curator responsible for the weekly curated selections. If the scheduler had chosen a screening of “Omoide Poroporo,” the same five dedicated individuals would have endured it, only to return home and face the boisterous crowds of frat boys and other campus revelers on a Saturday night. Similarly, if the scheduler had opted for the latest moe anime, attendees would have had to tolerate it in bite-sized, 30-minute installments.
“See, this is a shark. And this is another shark. And they are all sharks,” the protagonist remarked softly. The club president, seated beside him along with a few other solitary members, was already amused by the emerging shark illustrations. Their attention was captured as the protagonist began to meticulously draw the kanji for “shark” beneath one of the depicted creatures.
鮫
Now, one of these majestic, yet fearsome, beings was verbally identified. Two other unlabeled sharks remained on the whiteboard, prompting the protagonist to add another element:
SAME
He wrote this phrase directly below them. The club president’s eyes widened with understanding, though he remained silent for a moment. “You see, the joke is, they are the SAME. But they are also SAME. If you find this joke funny, then you will probably like Nichijou. If not, you probably won’t.”
The main discussion continued, but it felt as though it had drifted to a distant, less significant realm, its urgency lost in the quiet revelation on the whiteboard.
