It’s not surprising that there are ghost stories about Awajima. Any building that processes that many kids for that number of years is going to find itself the subject of all kinds of tall tales, superstitions, and legends. This episode, however, presupposes a different kind of ghost story. It suggests a karmic debt accrued by both the institution and its adherents—a specter that haunts the hallways of the mind.

In fact, the episode emphasizes hallways in its visuals. It bookends itself with the image of a girl walking alone after classes, with two different kinds of figures, one physical and one spectral, haunting each other. Hallways are a school’s liminal space. Functionally, they exist to ferry students between what officially counts as their education. In practice, however, hallways become a distinct area where a lot of important socialization occurs. It’s where students catch up with friends between classes. It’s where bullying and ostracization can be their most brutal, away from the eyes of teachers but on display for the rest of the student body to see. If there’s any place where bad spiritual energy might fester, it could certainly be the hallway.

Horiuchi’s perspective provides the most direct example of this thesis. She tells us that she fears the living, not the dead, and we see a few examples of how the other students mistreat her, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when she calls Awajima a “cesspool.” These are actual harms, as opposed to the shrieks from the “test of courage” we hear happening in the background of the school festival prep. Ghost stories like Hanako-san are part of the glue that holds the school together, because they invoke a mysterious Other that the students can fear and talk about together. Horiuchi, though, would probably add that bullying serves a similar social function, except she’s real where ghosts are fake. To cope, she imagines the bullies themselves as ghosts: faceless entities who haunt her and torment her. This way, she too gathers the courage to run away from them.

For another perspective, A Hundred Scenes of AWAJIMA again jumps across timelines to visit Emi Okabe’s class. In the past, the girls lamented their role in Emi’s decision to leave Awajima. Emi’s absence, however, does not satisfy the “ghosts” that linger in the school. Ibuki, as we already knew, was consequently ostracized herself, although she seemed to accept that as her penance. Meanwhile, for her part in bullying Emi, Sumiyoshi contemplates suicide, and even though she doesn’t follow through, that reputation follows her. Oshiage also voices her own guilt for being a bystander and doing nothing to help Emi. Note that their meeting in the stairwell mirrors Asami’s conversation last week with the girl she knew from the cult, which adds to the confessional vibe. These girls are trying to unburden themselves of their sins.

In the present, however, all of these women remain burdened. As a teacher, Ibuki comments on the skeletons buried throughout Awajima’s closets because she knows she’s responsible for one of them. Oshiage also returned to the school as a teacher, and although she sports a rosier disposition, she still hears disembodied whispers she cannot (or will not) do anything about. And Sumiyoshi, now married, finds herself back at the school she tried to escape. Her mother fawns over Awajima. Her daughter thrives there. And Sumiyoshi cannot extricate herself from its walls quickly enough. It’s a fittingly ironic punishment, but it’s also not a punishment at all. Her daughter did not attend Awajima to teach her mom a lesson. She went there because she wanted to, and Sumiyoshi’s personal hangups only tarnish the joy of that accomplishment.

I like that A Hundred Scenes of AWAJIMA refuses to hand any of these characters absolution. This week’s perspective provides a sympathetic portrait of Emi’s tormentors, but it neither excuses nor dismisses their actions. In fact, the narrative suggests that there’s nothing they can do to atone. Staying at Awajima doesn’t help. Running away from Awajima doesn’t help. Guiding the next generation doesn’t help. They can’t undo what they have done (or didn’t do), and they can’t apologize to Emi anymore. They are irrevocably haunted.

More messy feelings about Awajima merge in the festival production of Romeo and Juliet, which is itself a thematically appropriate choice. The play starts as a comedy and ends as a tragedy. It boasts a timeless romance while its titular relationship dissolves into youthful dalliances and misunderstandings. Romeo and Juliet is both a cultural institution and a categorical chameleon, and so is Awajima.

Similarly, Kinue and Ryouko form their own pair of star-crossed lovers suffused with conflicting emotions. I’m always a big proponent of letting female characters be layered, rough, and complicated, so I appreciate our front row seat to Ryouko’s resentment. Kinue comes from a privileged background that informs her naive ambitions, however admirable those might be. Ryouko comes from a different stock, and she keeps her distance from Kinue to stop tarnishing their relationship further. However, buried here is also the quintessence of queer attraction: does Ryouko want to be with Kinue, or does she want to be her? The question remains unresolved. Perhaps, it is a question that Awajima does not allow to be resolved—it can only be found in that mirror at the bottom of the cesspool, reflected to the audience through the conduit of theater.

Rating:

Hundred Scenes of AWAJIMA is currently streaming on
Crunchyroll.

Sylvia is on Bluesky for all of your posting needs. In high school, you could catch her in the pit orchestra, but never on stage. You can also catch her chatting about trash and treasure alike on This Week in Anime.