Kanzaki Riri, the new girl in class, has a peculiar pastime—she wants the school's toughest delinquent, Atsuko, to say ridiculously cute things. Atsuko plays along, thinking Riri's just a harmless weirdo… until those silly little word lists start making her cheeks turn red. With each sweet phrase, the gap between them closes—and it's not just Atsuko who's getting flustered. Is this just a quirky game between opposites…or the beginning of something real?

The Delinquent and the Transfer Student has a story and art by Fujichika. Translation by Minna Lin and lettering by Aidan Clarke, with an adaptation by Cae Hawksmoor. Published by Seven Seas Entertainment (June 2, 2026). Rated T.

Rebecca Silverman
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Atsuko just doesn't understand what Riri's deal is. While we don't know how long she's spent building up a reputation as a bad girl – it's long enough for everyone to attribute very bloodthirsty behavior to her, though – it's something she's comfortable with. Sure, sometimes it's annoying, like when everyone assumes she's going to beat the snot out of them when she's just asking a question, but she seems largely comfortable with being left alone. But then Riri transfers into her high school and begins relentlessly pursuing her. Does she really just like to listen to Atsuko say cute words? Or is there something else going on?

In all fairness, Riri spends most of the book not really understanding her attraction to Atsuko, either. Both girls are at a loss when it comes to same-sex crushes, which may be part of why this series is set in the 1980s; while queer people absolutely existed then, it just wasn't talked about in the same way, by which I mean “honestly and openly,” at least according to my older cousins. Probably the best way this is shown is when Atsuko looks up “koi” in the dictionary and gets a definition of “love” or “a crush” that's specifically heteronormative: it explicitly says that this is a feeling between people of opposite sexes. That makes the girls' stumbling around in the dark less a question of not understanding themselves or their sexuality and more one of queer erasure. How can you be aware of something and know that it's normal and okay if no one, including the damn dictionary, is talking about it?

That doesn't stop this from being a love story, albeit a slow-burn one. While the book starts out with shorter, goofier chapters that mostly revolve around Riri's apparent fetish for listening to Atsuko say things like “puppy,” it grows into a series of longer, more thoughtful chapters where the girls really think about things. Because they're trying to figure out their mutual attraction, they land on thinking they want to be friends (with the help of Atsuko's fangirl, who has these two entirely figured out). And you know what? That's not a bad thing. They do need to like each other platonically as well as romantically if the latter is really going to work, and there's nothing wrong with taking the long road. There are still gags like Riri sculpting idols out of eraser shavings and throwing onigiri into Atsuko's mouth so she can fight off thugs from another school, but they're balanced by the growing realization that there's something more here.

This is also another one for fans of girls built on a larger scale. Atsuko, in her fabulous 80s yanki finery, is just bigger than the girls around her. (Pop over to the K-Comics Guide to meet Haena, a gyaru in the same vein.) From her fabulously feathered hair to her floor-length uniform skirt, she's got a great design, especially when placed alongside perky girl Riri. I really want everything to work out for these two, and I'll definitely be picking up future volumes.

Erica Friedman
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The 1980s were a wild time if you were a schoolgirl in Japan. Girl gangs, delinquent detectives and other iconic images filled your media—and sometimes your school. I've been told that in middle schools, girls would engage in the fashion of the long-skirted delinquent, thereby becoming what they admired. One of the many things they admired was the crude jargon of the girl gangs. Speaking like a punk made a girl an outcast, but a feared and admired outcast.

In The Delinquent and the Transfer Student, Volume 1, Fujichika looks back on those days with fondness. Our protagonist, Riri, loves to hear the terrifying (yet cool) delinquent Atsuko read off cutesy words in her gangland patois. This game will make Riri fall afoul of another gang member, but as this manga is 100% comedy, with some light yuri for flavor, we're never really worried for Riri.

There is a reasonable, but slightly disappointing, translation choice not to try to create a “delinquent accent.” The art here is chaotic, scratchy, and fun, with stop-motion views that embrace the 1980s manga aesthetic for visual impact while also borrowing heavily from yakuza stories and even horror manga of the period.

Under the tough-as-nails exterior paint of this series, it is a charming little nascent romance. Atsuko and Riri are as unlike as can be, but it does seem that they are on the same trajectory. Each has their heart throbbing at the thought of the other. Each worries if they have upset the other, and both are quite ridiculous as humans, so the misunderstandings abound. Even though this isn't truly a girl gang manga, there's even a bit of off-screen pummeling to give the fans of that genre a little service.

The Delinquent and the Transfer Student, Volume 1 is a sweet and slightly kooky story, rooted in a love of school-delinquent tropes. Two thumbs up from me.