I initially stumbled upon Naoki Fujita's Beat & Motion in the first few days of January '25—not long before the series came to an end. Despite the less-than-opportune timing, I saw Beat & Motion as a solid little comic about rediscovering your creative passions and the doldrums that come with pursuing a career in them. But while revisiting the series ahead of its upcoming 2027 anime adaptation, I couldn't help but recall memories from my school days. Fujita somehow just kept striking at the hopes, dreams, fears, and uncertainty I felt as a young creative without a roadmap. It's amazing how he managed to do all that with the love story of a college-aged animator and a pop star on the rise—Tatsuhiko and Nico.

The sparks between these two start flying almost instantly, as does the projectile vomiting. After his first booze-drenched encounter with Nico, Tatsuhiko reflects on what exactly made him give up his interest in animation and take up the guitar. Some kid in middle school called him weird, so he went for the perceived “cool” hobby instead. This entire situation reminded me that I was a nearly constant doodler in middle school. Impractical weapons, video game characters, flaming skulls—I drew them all. Well, that was until a teacher brusquely broke me of it. It wasn't until my own college days that I picked drawing back up in any serious capacity. Needless to say, a moment like that tends to stick with people.

Returning to an old passion like that can be disorienting, especially when there's a new person in your life who's actually cheering you on for once. They're also the kind of person who's always got your back and is very aggressive in letting you know that. Nico is that person for Tatsuhiko, but at the same time, he's constantly worrying about dragging her down with his own creative inexperience. Anyone who's ever been in a relationship with a fellow creative should be rather familiar with this potential hurdle. It doesn't help either when you're constantly comparing yourself to your peers.

When Tatsuhiko starts hanging out with his fellow animation students, he feels he's struggling to catch up—that he's behind. I've been in this situation before, and I know many others who've felt this as well, so Tatsuhiko's difficulties strongly resonated with me. During my college theatre days, I was so intimidated by the people who'd been taking the stage since they were young that I'd only started in high school. Thankfully, those anxieties passed over time, but they did pop up again when I started writing about anime and manga. Needless to say, these aren't uncommon feelings. I've found that it helps to remember that everyone's going at their own pace, and Tatsuhiko's eventually reminded of this by his peers and Nico. But I'll admit, getting to that point can be daunting when you're meeting new people with big personalities.

Speaking of Nico, she's busy navigating her own challenges while trying to support Tatsuhiko. Plans for her debut go awry, expectations are mounting, and she's forced to examine a couple of old wounds. But within all those anxieties, she's plagued by the most devious question of all: “What if?” We've all come face-to-face with questions ourselves. Thoughts like “What if I never gave up music?”, “What if I kept drawing?”, and “What if I never left the theatre?” However, in Beat & Motion (and in real life), these young creatives do their best to focus on the now. Yes, there's always “What if?”, but without those rough moments, life wouldn't be what it currently is. For example, Tatsuhiko would've never met Nico.

And looking at it now, I especially appreciate how Fujita depicts the shift from passive viewer to active creator. For Tatsuhiko and Nico, they can no longer see their work as entertainment. But when they can step back from it all, the pair are instilled with a great sense of pride. That's a sensation I've felt myself many times—that getting to completion of a project was a pain in the tuchus, but it was worth all the trouble. It justifies the occasional slog that comes with work, as Nico says, “About 90 percent of an artist's life is slogging through work,” and I wholeheartedly agree with her. However, it's worth noting that the slog and time involved can strain relationships and other aspects of one's life.

Technically, Fujita's art is wonderfully conceptualized, executed, and incredibly expressive to boot. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the attention to detail he shows with Nico's and Tatsuhiko's sneakers. I dig that she's always rocking New Balance and he's always in adidas. On the localization front, translator Andria McKnight and editor Julia Walchuk really make Fujita's writing shine in English. That's very much the same for Snir Aharon's lettering, which expertly feathers the impact dials to suit the emotions of any given panel.

Despite an ending that feels a touch abrupt, Beat & Motion's six-volume run works wonderfully as a single big reading session—working at its best when taken in as a whole experience. Being a digital title (either in individual volumes or in the Shonen Jump app), such a session shouldn't take too much time anyway. However, I wouldn't say no to a physical omnibus in the future if there's a business case for it. Despite those minor hiccups in the ending, I found Beat & Motion incredibly relatable without overstaying its welcome. Heck, I even felt a little bit of catharsis this time around. Given the series' focus on animation and MAPPA's success at grappling with similar themes in Zenshu, I'm quite excited to see how Fujita's storytelling is adapted for the small screen.