[There is no such thing as an objective review. Interpretations and opinions of all forms of art and expression are subjective.]

Anyone who has lived past the age of five has wished ill will on someone at some point in their lives. Revenge stories are timeless because they are relatable. The titular Migi & Dali are young twin brothers who want revenge on their mother’s killer. The problem is they have no idea who it is.

Despite the odds against their favor, Migi and Dali are determined. Using all the cunning they possess, they are adopted by an older couple who reside in the town their birth mother perished in. Perfectly masquerading as one child is just one of the great lengths they go to in order to solve the mystery. How far are they willing to go, and what manner of misdeeds are they willing to do? Attempting murder dressed as a mosquito, becoming a perfect toddler, and dating your sibling whilst in drag.

It would be painfully easy for a story like this to laugh at itself—to constantly break the fourth wall, for a meta-joke waiting to land at the end of every gag. Instead, its humor lies in fearlessly committing to its ridiculousness and following through until the end. If it didn’t, Migi & Dali would only be remembered as yet another story that played it safe. Migi & Dali recognizes its own absurdity without ever mocking itself. The characters approach every bizarre thing they do with such drive and such purpose that it gives these things weight.

But revenge isn’t the only name of the game. Very few revenge stories are solely about revenge. Some vengeance seekers will remember that there’s more to life, or to learn how to love again, or that it simply isn’t worth it. Beneath the weirdness, the center of Migi & Dali’s emotional core is about family. As the twins slowly track down the murderer, their new parents take small steps into forming a relationship with them. Providing the boys with delicious home cooked meals, a shiny new bicycle, and love, sincerity gradually melts away distrust.

Unfortunately, not all children are blessed with such kind parents. The local boy wonder and golden child, Eiji, ends up being targeted by Migi and Dali. Intelligent, popular, and wealthy, Eiji seems perfect. As the twins dig deeper, the depths are even darker than they imagined, and Eiji’s indomitable façade crumbles. But it’s not all the fault of the twins. After all, children and unrealistically high expectations make for poor companions.

We want what’s best for ourselves. We want what’s best for the ones we love. We wish our lives could be perfect. Perfection isn’t real. Perfection isn’t attainable—not in art, and not in life. To force those expectations on yourself and anyone else is a heavy burden, and the pressure can ruin a relationship and destroy a person.

Sano Nami was an artist who did not burden herself with such expectations. When a creator has a strong and unique point of view, not everyone will understand it. When a creator takes risks, not everyone will value it. But there will always be someone who will find beauty in something so wonderfully and perfectly strange.