Tsuki ga Kirei is not for viewers seeking high drama or fantasy. It is for those who remember—or wish to remember—what it truly felt like to fall in love for the first time: the clumsiness, the butterflies, the quiet joy of holding someone’s hand. In a medium often obsessed with wish-fulfillment, this anime offers something rarer: a sincere, heartfelt mirror held up to real life.
The final episode—and particularly the post-credits scene—is widely regarded as one of the most satisfying conclusions in romance anime. Without giving everything away, the series follows the couple through the trials of long-distance relationships and personal growth. The ending does not cheat its audience with an ambiguous “and they continued to be friends.” Instead, it offers a mature, earned resolution that shows their love enduring the passage of time.
Unlike many romance anime that rely on misunderstandings or exaggerated coincidences, Tsuki ga Kirei thrives on subtlety. Kotaro dreams of becoming a novelist, while Akane is a reserved track-and-field athlete. They are not exceptional or charismatic; they are awkward, nervous, and often at a loss for words. The plot unfolds through small, significant moments: exchanging LINE IDs, stealing glances across a classroom, the nervousness of a first date, and the ache of an uncertain future.
The soundtrack, composed by Takuro Iga (of the group Yukueshirezutsurezure), blends soft piano and acoustic guitar with ambient sounds—train announcements, the chirping of crickets, footsteps on pavement. The opening theme “Imakoko” by Nao Touyama and the ending theme “Tsuki ga Kirei” by Takahashi Nana wrap each episode in warmth and nostalgia. The use of Dvorak’s “Symphony No. 9 (From the New World)” as a recurring motif for Kotaro adds an unexpected but fitting layer of emotional gravity.
Even the use of CGI for background characters (a common criticism at the time) fades into irrelevance because the core emotions are so genuine. The show also incorporates real-life locations in Kawagoe, Saitama, adding to its down-to-earth atmosphere.
The final shot, accompanied by the simple line “I love you” (finally said outright), brings the title’s metaphor full circle: the beauty of the moon was always just the beginning.
Essential viewing for fans of slice-of-life and romance.
The pacing is deliberate and grounded. The show doesn’t rush their relationship, instead letting it blossom naturally through shared silences and quiet gestures. The title itself becomes thematic—love is not always declared with grand speeches but felt in fleeting moments, like the beauty of the moon shared between two people.
Here is a proper piece on the series:
Kirei: Tsuki Ga
Tsuki ga Kirei is not for viewers seeking high drama or fantasy. It is for those who remember—or wish to remember—what it truly felt like to fall in love for the first time: the clumsiness, the butterflies, the quiet joy of holding someone’s hand. In a medium often obsessed with wish-fulfillment, this anime offers something rarer: a sincere, heartfelt mirror held up to real life.
The final episode—and particularly the post-credits scene—is widely regarded as one of the most satisfying conclusions in romance anime. Without giving everything away, the series follows the couple through the trials of long-distance relationships and personal growth. The ending does not cheat its audience with an ambiguous “and they continued to be friends.” Instead, it offers a mature, earned resolution that shows their love enduring the passage of time.
Unlike many romance anime that rely on misunderstandings or exaggerated coincidences, Tsuki ga Kirei thrives on subtlety. Kotaro dreams of becoming a novelist, while Akane is a reserved track-and-field athlete. They are not exceptional or charismatic; they are awkward, nervous, and often at a loss for words. The plot unfolds through small, significant moments: exchanging LINE IDs, stealing glances across a classroom, the nervousness of a first date, and the ache of an uncertain future.
The soundtrack, composed by Takuro Iga (of the group Yukueshirezutsurezure), blends soft piano and acoustic guitar with ambient sounds—train announcements, the chirping of crickets, footsteps on pavement. The opening theme “Imakoko” by Nao Touyama and the ending theme “Tsuki ga Kirei” by Takahashi Nana wrap each episode in warmth and nostalgia. The use of Dvorak’s “Symphony No. 9 (From the New World)” as a recurring motif for Kotaro adds an unexpected but fitting layer of emotional gravity.
Even the use of CGI for background characters (a common criticism at the time) fades into irrelevance because the core emotions are so genuine. The show also incorporates real-life locations in Kawagoe, Saitama, adding to its down-to-earth atmosphere.
The final shot, accompanied by the simple line “I love you” (finally said outright), brings the title’s metaphor full circle: the beauty of the moon was always just the beginning.
Essential viewing for fans of slice-of-life and romance.
The pacing is deliberate and grounded. The show doesn’t rush their relationship, instead letting it blossom naturally through shared silences and quiet gestures. The title itself becomes thematic—love is not always declared with grand speeches but felt in fleeting moments, like the beauty of the moon shared between two people.
Here is a proper piece on the series: