It spends an hour lulling you into thinking you're watching a pretty music piece, then detonates. This is the Bamboo Cutter tale rebuilt inside Tsukuyomi, a virtual realm staged like a live concert, and Yamashita's 3D camerawork treats the performance space as something you're standing inside rather than watching. The character animation is the flex here: fluid, expressive, vibrant to the point where you'll rewind purely to watch a body move. The sapphic romance isn't decoration bolted onto a myth retelling, it's the engine, built out of small unforced moments of two people getting comfortable with each other, and it earns the emotional gut punch that fans of Oshi no Ko will recognize. Be warned, the structure is a mess, slow burn then sudden frenzy, like a series compressed with a hammer. Sit through it anyway. The last stretch is worth the whiplash.
A princess falls from the stars into a digital world called Tsukuyomi, where reality bends like code and memories live in music. She's beautiful, mysterious, and completely out of place among the humans who've never seen anything like her. But someone wants her back in the sky, and others want to keep her earthbound, each side pulling her toward their own version of destiny. As her story unfolds like a live concert, the line between performance and truth keeps shifting. Songs become weapons and confessions. Dance becomes defiance. The virtual realm itself responds to her presence, glitching and transforming around her as she tries to understand what she really is and where she actually belongs. This isn't a quiet reimagining of an ancient legend. It's loud, visual, kinetic, explosive. It swings between humor and heartbreak without warning. If you want something that treats folklore like a stage show and animation like a musical instrument, this pulls you in.