When Lycoris Recoil begins, Takina wants nothing more than to get back to the DA and return to the position that she once had there. Her disobedience in the field has led to her expulsion, and she is unceremoniously dumped into a new setting with a partner, all of which she never asked for. As far as Takina is concerned, everything that happens over the next several weeks is meant to serve the purpose of getting her back to the DA, and she makes that stance rather clear. So, imagine her surprise to see that supposedly one of the best Lycoris that the DA ever produced is the happy-go-lucky Chisato, who acts without a care in the world and seems to spend more of her time having fun than taking her role as a Lycoris more seriously.

As time moves forward with Chisato and Takina spending more time together, we learn some rather fascinating things about Chisato – she’s not only extremely good at what she does (dodging bullets as though they were barely moving at all), but she also doesn’t adopt the traditional Lycoris method of killing her targets. She subdues them, defeating them non-fatally regardless of the wrongs that they committed. She gives triage to one lackey, asking if he has any plans for later that evening. Takina is indignant at this merciful approach, especially given that the lackey didn’t care whether she or Chisato lived or died. As far as Chisato is concerned, the lackey lost and his job is done. She doesn’t say it aloud or in this exact way, but it’s time for him to move on with his life.
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The idea of “moving on,” of continuing to march forward anyway regardless of what life has in store for you, is central to what makes Lycoris Recoil work as a narrative. Nearly every character in the show is, in some way, shape, or form, dealing with a past or a past event that has colored them personality-wise, professionally, or perhaps at an even-more-fundamental level. It doesn’t matter whether the root of the cause was through disobeying orders, clinging to a fleeting reputation, or a relationship that, for one reason or another, simply did not work out for the best. Lycoris Recoil takes the numerous frameworks of past-as-influence and demonstrates how they impact a character or larger social structure’s thinking, and how one’s ability to go with the flow or obstinacy impacts their ability to navigate the present.

Depending on who is it, the evidence of this is rather apparent. The notion that a life for Takina exists outside the DA, or that she might never return to the DA building proper (despite still technically working for them as a Lycoris) and has to adapt to this new life against her will, is a gnawing thought. Chisato’s very existence and manner-of-being seems antithetical to the Lycoris calling or lifestyle, and the idea that Takina has to work with her naturally creates a source of tension between the two.

Takina was already rather brusque and blunt beforehand, but her circumstances have, interestingly enough, caused her to act even more brusque, which puts her chances at getting back to the DA even further away. It was that very attitude and manner of thinking that caused her to be kicked out, so indulging that attitude and manner under the assumption that it will get her what she wants, rather ironically, doesn’t do her any favors of getting what she wants. Moving on for Takina is not something that she wants to do, but rather is something that she has to do, because the door back to the DA is seemingly closed forever.

Chisato clashing with Takina does not merely manifest in terms of everything Takina wants to be, but also in how readily she accepted her life’s position. The DA makes it clear that Chisato is special, if not occasionally aggravating in more ways than one. But she doesn’t pay that thought any mind; if anything, it’s just something she lives with by shrugging her shoulders and readily wanting to scarf down some sweets. Chisato evidently learned a long time ago that you don’t always have control over the things in your life, and that as a result, some things are just not worth stressing about or worrying about. The bleakness that being a Lycoris entails, the demands of the job’s less-glamorous aspects, makes her cheery personality absolutely magnetic. If Takina’s experience getting kicked out of the DA is any indication, Chisato long-since knew that it was not a place for her.

Why go back to the DA building when she’s enjoying herself and her work, having fun and playing video games, fraternizing with patrons, and the like? Why go back to an organization that gives carte blanche to kill their targets when Chisato lives her life to the fullest every day? Lycoris Recoil uses its two main characters to reflect two possible outcomes of being thrown into a similar situation. Both are out of the DA’s picture for the most part and had to move on, yet each approaches the matter by entirely-differently means. The juxtaposition between Chisato and Takina’s attitudes is what ultimately keeps the show’s focus tethered; at times, they butt heads. At other times, they act like old friends or sisters. Through its two main characters as the main vehicle, the show’s tone allows many of its moments to work in either the dramatic or comedic sense, if not both at the same time. They learn to move on with their lives together. And as they grow together as individuals and as a pair, each of them possesses qualities that makes either doing their jobs easier or running Café LycoReco more reliable and stable.

For the DA, the idea of “moving on” is essentially their motto – keep life moving on ordinarily, and don’t let the public know of anything unpleasant going on behind the scenes. As is often the case with science-fiction (action-oriented or otherwise), the future does not promise that there will be no more crime or no more problems. Various agendas, groups, and people will still crop up to cause trouble, either at seemingly-random moments or through calculated planning and execution. The Lycoris as the secret police of their world themselves have an ordinary appearance, dressed like schoolgirls to casually hide in plain sight, making them effective assassins / escorts. After all, who would suspect a cute girl to have a gun in her pocket, keeping the city safe as life moves on? The city itself also embodies this overarching ideology – the ruined tower stands as the final monument to a terrible event from the past, standing out like an eyesore against the far-more clean, pristine cityscape foreground that surrounds it. Its existence acts as a symbol that the supposed tragedies of the past will not be repeated because they, as a city and as a citizenry, have moved on.

But for every character or every system in place that tries to just move on, there is someone or something operating in the background that cannot do so, or at least not in the same way as others. The indignation at seeing the world around them, or being stuck in a place or memory that consumes their very thoughts seemingly day-in and day-out, fuels their desires to seize the present for their own purposes. Lycoris Recoil uses the collisions between the society and characters that have moved on versus those that have not to set up its overarching mystery. The result is a roster of characters that is equally as colorful as they are varied in motivation and appearance. While the series flirts rather dangerously with oversaturation, it never crosses the boundary since everyone’s personality and actions command attention, even if the “why” doesn’t unveil itself until later in the run.

It’s because we understand why these characters are doing what they do, or are intrigued by the mystery that gradually unearths itself, that make many of the action sequences themselves so compelling to see. Director and series composer Adachi Shingo’s previous efforts as chief animation director for numerous Sword Art Online installments reveals that he has a keen eye for an action scene’s sense of motion and fluidity. This is not a series that oozes sakuga, but the motions metaphorically feel slick—even in its gunshots—because the characters at the center of the conflict are all distinct. While they could have easily gotten by solely on personality alone, each sequence heightens the tension, progresses the plot, and most of all, keeps the theme I’ve been hinting at in focus.

But action scenes are enhanced ever-further by strong characters, which is where Lycoris Recoil shines. In that sense, perhaps Adachi himself has moved on from the older stories that defined his previous work. It’s worth remarking that this is Adachi’s first time serving as both a director and series composer, responsible for most of the show’s inner substance. I cannot say this with certainty, but I imagine that he paid close attention to the idea that detractors of Sword Art Online complained about the lack of interesting characters, or at least that there wasn’t enough adequate emphasis placed on character to make the good action scenes even better. With him now in command of his own team and Asauro’s story and characters, designating jobs and tasks to those who are able to handle the things that he cannot, he has likewise moved on to something newer and, frankly, grander. The fact that production on the series was finished before its first episode aired is a testament to all involved that they wanted to make the best product possible.
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Lycoris Recoil has the notion of “moving on” throughout its entire run and even into its very lifeblood creatively, fueling many of the drives behind its background plot manipulations, character dynamics and interactions, and is woven into the foundation of the world it created. Bolstered by two strong characters who initially contrast like cats and dogs, it manages to honor its theme both in terms of its comedic and dramatic payoffs, occasionally at the same time and always without sacrificing the overarching mystery. Watching this series was a pure delight, and I will well-and-truly miss it.

As an aside, I want that Takina parfait!