Reviews - 光が死んだ夏 2

761 reviews for:

光が死んだ夏 2

Mokumokuren

4.29 AVERAGE

vavaloutchou's review against another edition

4.75

mysterious tense fast-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Yes

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: N/A

Flaws of characters a main focus: N/A

icarus_plummets's review against another edition

5.0

the art style is so pretty

chryskay's review against another edition

5.0

adventurous dark emotional lighthearted mysterious fast-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Complicated

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: Yes

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

fysmiin's review against another edition

5.0

emotional mysterious tense medium-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Complicated

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: No

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

dearmoonys's review against another edition

5.0

I'm obsessed

aishiean's review against another edition

4.0

dark emotional mysterious tense fast-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Complicated

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: Yes

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

Some manga do not unfold so much as they linger—like urban legends whispered between breaths, or the remnants of a dream that vanish upon waking but leave behind a bruise you can’t explain. The Summer Hikaru Died, Vol. 2 continues this spectral tradition not by resolving anything, but by sharpening what already aches. It resists clarity. It deepens the disquiet. And, crucially, it lets the silence between panels carry the heaviest weight—those spaces doing most of the bleeding.

The premise still wavers on the edge of horror and intimacy: Hikaru, or rather the thing that wears Hikaru’s face, continues to haunt Yoshiki—not with overt malice, but with something far worse: gentle, persistent affection. And that’s what makes this second volume so unsettlingly tender. The creature’s attempts at mimicry only intensify the wrongness, even as we, disturbingly, begin to empathize. Against our better instincts, we root for the not-quite-boy, even as each gesture reminds us that something irreparable has occurred.

There is a quiet, devastating tragedy in watching a being try to become human in all the wrong ways—especially when it does so for love. Or something close enough to pass for it. Yoshiki’s continued presence, his quiet acquiescence, only compounds the unease. We are not watching a descent into madness; we are witnessing the slow erosion of boundary—between person and imitation, grief and comfort, memory and monstrosity.