KnK has a terrible cast of side-characters
Couldn't think of an opening image.
While Kara no Kyoukai is my favorite Type-Moon series, that doesn’t mean it’s flawless; far from it. In fact, there are entire sections that feel like they actively detract from the story’s deeper themes, sometimes in ways that feel almost forceful or misguided.
What do I mean by that?
While characters like Shiki (especially in relation to Mikiya) and Araya Souren are brilliantly written, rich with inner conflict, philosophical weight, and haunting purpose, the rest of the cast often feels, at best, irrelevant... and at worst, downright insufferable.
In fact, it’s precisely because the core narrative is so strong that the contrast becomes so stark. The brilliance of Shiki’s arc, and the depth of Araya’s worldview, only serve to expose how poorly most of the supporting characters hold up in comparison.
This doesn’t mean all secondary characters are hopeless, though. Some, like Lio, Kirie, and even God’s Word, are fine, or at least coherent within the world. But I’m talking about the ones who should be central to the plot, and yet somehow feel like the story would benefit more if they just weren’t there at all. And wouldn’t you know it; they’re also the ones who get the most screentime or fandom attention.
So, let’s break it down.
Touko Aozaki:
"You know, I've been wondering about this for a while now. Is Touko actually a dumbass?" - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 6
Let’s start with Touko. Her role in Kara no Kyoukai is honestly quite weak when you break it down. She’s often propped up as a major player, but when you actually analyze her contributions, she’s mostly just an exposition device. Unlike Araya, who’s fully realized with a clear ideology and personal struggle, Touko doesn’t bring anything meaningful to the table beyond “I’m a magus and I know things.”
Her two biggest moments, her argument with Araya and her commentary on Shiki’s internal conflict, both fall flat because they’re not rooted in any real emotional or philosophical insight.
For example:
Touko:
“Eventually, an empty hole has to be filled. She will have to build a new self, not based on her memories of the past, but through her experiences in the present. That’s a shrine that no one can help her build. It’s not something another person should meddle in. In short, all you have to do is treat her as you’ve always done. Oh, and it seemed like they were going to release her pretty soon.” - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 4
Also Touko:
"Well, yes. You can't lead a normal life anyway. Leave your agonizing at that, Ryougi Shiki. Open your eyes a bit. You are originally a human of my kind. If you are --- abandon any dreams you have of living like everyone else." Do you understand? Your problem's simple. Okay, you've revived as another person. So what? It's just that SHIKI isn't here. I guess since you and SHIKI were definitely a set, his absence alone would mean that you are a whole different person. Even if you are the very embodiment of Shiki, I understand that you are different from before. - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 4
So which is it? Is Shiki’s journey hers alone, or does she need to accept a predetermined metaphysical destiny dictated by Touko? The contradiction here is glaring.
In the first quote, Touko emphasizes that Shiki’s rebuilding must be autonomous, unshaped by others. But moments later, she completely undercuts this by declaring that Shiki can’t live like a normal person, because she’s “one of her kind”, a not-so-subtle way of framing Shiki as broken or “other.”
Instead of offering principled, consistent guidance, Touko inserts herself as an authority, defining what Shiki is and what she must accept. It doesn’t deepen Shiki’s arc; it dilutes it. What should be a story about personal identity and self-definition becomes just another moment of Touko saying, “Trust me, I know better.”
And that’s the problem. Touko talks a lot, but most of it isn’t wisdom; it’s just arrogance with no real basis.
She sounds smart, but functionally she’s not actually saying much; or at least not saying anything particularly challenging, revelatory, or precise.
The same issue appears in her clashes with Araya. While Touko is framed as his philosophical opposite, she rarely challenges his ideology in any meaningful way. Her arguments rely more on emotional appeals and personal projection than coherent reasoning, ultimately reinforcing Araya’s worldview rather than dismantling it.
Let’s break this down point by point:
“Really, how indulgent. I’m getting weaker and weaker. Araya, my ideal of a transcendent being is a hermit. Someone with extraordinary power and knowledge, but does nothing with them and quietly dwells in a remote mountain. I’ve always admired that way of living. But when I look back, I can’t return to such a life.”
Here, Touko says she admires transcendence but admits she can’t commit to it; she feels compelled to meddle in the world. Fine, fair enough. But notice how she’s already praising Araya: someone with immense power and knowledge, dwelling in isolation. Araya’s entire character is built around creating closed-off worlds where he controls every rule and holds deep knowledge of reality’s inner workings. She’s essentially saying Araya has achieved what she always dreamed of, which is a testament to his power and clarity of purpose.
The problems come now, though:
“You know, Araya. Magi live fast. For what reason? If for themselves, then they would be isolated from the outside world. So why do they engage with it? Why are they dependent on it?”
Touko isn’t wrong. In fact, this line cuts to the core of what's hollow about the world of modern magi. As the lore shows us, many are self-absorbed, performative, and utterly disconnected from the true potential of magecraft. Their obsession with legacy, bloodlines, and trivial rivalries reduces something as transcendent as magecraft to a theatre of human pride.
They should abandon their foolish scuffles and study the craft itself. That’s the contradiction Touko rightfully exposes: magi claim to be seekers of truth, yet most of them are prisoners of status and ritual.
But then… why say this to Araya Souren?
Araya doesn’t resemble the magi Touko is criticizing. He exists in complete isolation, driven not by prestige or ego, but by a metaphysical imperative: to crystallize the chaos of reality into a static, perfected order. He engages with the world only to subjugate it into Stillness, not to validate himself within it. If anything, he would despise the very magi Touko condemns.
Even Cornelius Alba, arrogant and disdainful in his own right, doesn’t take Araya seriously, dismissing his talk of the One as abstract nonsense. Araya, by contrast, doesn’t care about the approval of other magi at all. He is considered mediocre by conventional standards, possessing no lineage, no prestige; only a miraculous affinity for bounded fields, tied directly to his Origin. And that Origin places him closer to a natural law than to a human being.
To call Araya a “magus” at all is almost incidental. He is more like an ancient metaphysical observer who adopted the tools of magecraft simply because they served his purpose. In this way, he embodies the purest concept of a magus: not the arrogant practitioner, but the seeker of structural truth, untainted by personal contradiction.
“What do they hope to accomplish with their power? Are they trying to save something? If so, they should abandon being Magi and become kings instead.”
This leap in logic doesn’t land. Why should the desire to save, even something small or personal, disqualify someone from being a magus? What does Touko mean by “saving,” and why does she associate that with kingship? Without clearer framing, her conclusion feels vague and forced.
Worse still, she overlooks the fact that Araya has a clear answer to this very question. He seeks to save the entire structure of existence; not a nation or a person, but the metaphysical framework of reality itself. His ideal is a world without longing, suffering, or instability. He doesn’t want to rule anything. In a world of Stillness, there are no kings or subjects. The hierarchy Touko invokes becomes meaningless.
And so, her critique rings hollow. She's not describing Araya at all, but the exact kind of magus he's already rejected. He was laughed at when he claimed to desire “nothing”, because no one understood what he meant. To him, “nothing” wasn’t nihilism; it was the end of striving, the stillness that follows when all need disappears. That’s not a king’s ambition. That’s not even a magus’s ambition. It’s something entirely alien.
Here’s now where Touko’s critique starts to feel less like an argument and more like a projection:
“You say that people are filthy and desperate to live, yet you yourself can’t even live like that.”
“Knowing it’s ugly, knowing it’s worthless, you still cannot bear to live accepting that.”
…Yes? That’s literally why Araya said it.
She’s not exposing hypocrisy; she’s restating his motive like it’s a contradiction. Of course he can’t accept it. He’s not judging humanity from above; he’s diagnosing a fundamental condition and seeking to solve it. That’s not weakness; it’s will.
Is Touko implying that people being filthy and unable to control their desperate urges are somehow strong? Stronger than someone who’s actively trying to solve the whole issue of desperation and need? That’s a bold claim.
And Touko… maybe tread lightly on this whole "authentic life" angle.
You were cursed by your sister.
You literally had to kill yourself to keep going; through a puppet.
Are you really in a position to lecture someone about living authentically?
“You have to believe you’re special. You have to carry the pride that only you can save this decaying world; otherwise, you cannot continue to exist.”
You could easily flip this:
“You have to believe you’re special. You have to carry the pride that your desires are worth dying for; otherwise, you cannot continue to exist.”
— All of humanity, ever
Wow, Touko. Didn’t know your projection machine could be used in philosophical debates too. Color me impressed.
Also, Araya doesn't think he's special. He explicitly says:
I am nobody. I just want a conclusion. - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
His motivation isn’t pride; it’s purpose. He wants to resolve the contradiction of existence; not exalt himself. Touko’s framing reduces a metaphysical pursuit to a narcissistic delusion, which honestly shows she’s not even engaging with what he’s really after.
Finally, her appeal to “accept the world as it is” kind of falls apart when you remember that the entire history of human civilization is built on not doing that. Progress, science, philosophy: they all stem from refusing to accept suffering and ignorance. Araya just takes that rejection to its absolute limit. He’s not asking for improvement; he’s asking for closure. That doesn’t make him arrogant; it makes him uncompromising.
“Yeah, I was the same. But there’s no meaning in doing that.”
Ok.
“Admit it, Araya, we are weaker than anyone else, that’s why we chose to become transcendent beings like magicians.”
Her arrogance right here is unspeakable. This is the era Araya lived through:
“What came to mind was only a vast, burned wasteland. No matter how many steps I took, there were only endless corpses. The gravel spread along the riverbank was not stone, but fragments of bone. The stench of death carried by the wind sought to fill all of existence; never ceasing. It was an age of conflict. A time before weapons were invented, where those who lived only today would fight with their own hands.
Wherever I went, there was conflict, and the bodies of the dead were, without exception, discarded in cruel abandon. The weak in villages were commonly slaughtered by flocks of strong humans. It didn’t matter who killed whom. On the battlefield, good and evil held no meaning. All that mattered was how many had died and how many could not be saved.”
— Kara no Kyoukai, Chapter 5
Araya survived this world, and went on to observe humanity from its most primal state onward, trying to resolve the contradictions of that existence. Meanwhile, Touko? She got humbled by her younger sister and killed her grandfather over a personal dispute. She’s not lasting five seconds in a time when humans killed anything inconvenient to their survival and where the gravel on the ground was made of bone fragments.
This reminds me of that scene in Fate where Sakura subjects Rin to what she went through, and Rin, despite all her bravado, breaks immediately. Touko would absolutely crumble if forced to endure what Araya did.
And this leads to the core problem: nobody in the story is qualified to criticize Araya in the first place. He lived through the origin point of human suffering. He saw what we are at our base level, and what we inevitably revert to under pressure. Yes, civilization, morality, and ethics came later, but those are all just patches: attempts to suppress the underlying condition. They're fragile. Break society, and people return to instinct. And even within society, those same primal urges subtly dictate everything. The so-called “human condition” isn’t solved by progress; it’s postponed.
To Araya, this isn’t pessimism: it’s pattern recognition.
“My reason is long forgotten.”
With his answer, the black magus retreated inward.
It has been a story from the distant past. Human beings can’t be saved. As long as they live, there will inevitably be those who remain unrewarded. Not all human beings can find happiness. Then, what is a human being who was not saved? What will be the reward for their lives?
There is no answer. It’s equal to infinite and finite. If no one is saved, then no one can attain salvation. If so, salvation is no different from a gold coin endlessly passing hands.
Human beings can’t be saved. There’s no salvation in the world.
That’s why I decided to record death. To record the end of everything, to examine the entire structure of the world from beginning to end. By doing so, perhaps I could distinguish what happiness truly was.
If the meaning of humanity’s happiness could be understood, then when the world ends, even those who died meaninglessly could be granted meaning retroactively.
That alone, is the one and only universal salvation.
“I’m nobody. I just want a conclusion. These ugly, dirty, filthy, ignorant humans. If that’s all that’ll be left in history after they die off, it could be concluded that the value of humans is in their ugliness. I would be relieved to know that an ugly and hopeless existence is what makes us human.”
“That’s right. But there are more steps to take. Just a few more steps, and yet once again the world has obstructed me. If it is impossible to open the path, then one is prevented even from acquiring the vessel that already possesses the path to begin with. How utterly, utterly pathetic. What a—what an inability to give up.
No one knows the world is in danger, yet everyone subconsciously wants to survive. They drown in pleasure but no one is trying to save the world from breaking down, and yet unconsciously everyone seeks to eliminate things that harm the world.
What do you call this paradox? The desire to live taints the prayers to keep living.
Those wicked thoughts are my enemy.”
— Kara no Kyoukai, Chapter 5
The “infinite and finite” line mirrors the moment when Shiki kills Araya’s infinite void with her MEoDP. The infinite, once recognized, becomes finite: it’s been measured, categorized, and given limits. So it can’t be perfect anymore. Similarly, salvation cannot be real unless it applies universally. If even one person is excluded, then the whole concept collapses into arbitrary favoritism.
And since human desires contradict one another, there’s no scenario where everyone is satisfied; someone always has to suffer. Which means salvation is just a lie we tell ourselves.
Even worse: perfection, true completion, is equivalent to non-existence. A perfect being doesn’t change, doesn’t long, doesn’t act. And yet humans are driven by longing. They chase what they lack. So the very engine of human life contradicts its own end goal:
“If the individual called a human becomes completed, all meaning of life disappears. In spite of that, these rank-and-file humans unconsciously reject completion because of their desire to just keep on living.
All humans, from the point where they realize they are human, become things lower than animals.
They exist in order to be completed, but in order to exist, they reject completion.
Humanity’s beginning starts from that paradox.”
— Kara no Kyoukai, Chapter 5
Touko’s entire rebuttal amounts to “don’t think about it and live for yourself.” But Araya literally can’t do that: his Origin forces him to seek meaning and structure in all things. He can create perfect internal worlds, sure, but he can’t stop unless all of existence is stilled as well. That’s why he sought Akasha: he wanted to bring creation to either perfection or non-existence, analyze it from start to finish, and determine the one condition that would yield universal happiness or meaning. Even something as bleak as “humanity’s only value lies in its ugliness” would’ve sufficed, he just wanted a conclusive answer. His Origin basically gives him metaphysical OCD: he can’t rest until he identifies fixed patterns that remove the randomness of change.
The problem is, Touko calls him weak for not accepting suffering, and praises humans for enduring it. But that’s completely backwards. Even if Araya’s inability to tolerate suffering is a “weakness,” what more meaningful weakness could he possibly have? How is that worse than the petty, self-serving flaws everyone else carries over far lesser concerns?
His obsessive drive might be pathological, but it’s directed at solving the deepest metaphysical problem in existence. If that’s weakness, then what do we call everything else?
To put it simply: a random chick who was bullied by her reckless younger sister is lecturing a primordial entity who’s been around since prehistoric times, who’s observed humanity for millennia and concluded they’re beyond saving unless forced to resolve their contradictions, and her counterargument is “humans are fine, just don’t overthink it, trust me bro.”
It’s the highest form of arrogance: exactly the behavior she just criticized in other magi.
No wonder Araya’s reaction is this:
The Magus did not answer.
He took one step, and then another, toward the staircase.
“... I have already obtained a path to the Root. My wish will come true with a few more steps. Anything that stands in my way will be regarded as the Counter Force. Aozaki. In the end, you too are a mere human.”
Araya’s response says everything. He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t engage. Because there’s nothing worth refuting.
Touko didn’t make a reasoned counterpoint; she made an emotional appeal, thinly veiled as a moral stance. Araya sees that clearly. Her words don’t threaten his ideology; they confirm what he already knows: humanity is driven by contradictions it refuses to resolve.
His path is already laid out. Her objections aren’t obstacles: they’re background noise.
But if you think this was bad, it's nothing compared to their final dialogue:
“You failed again, Araya.”
Araya didn’t respond to Touko’s voice.
“What a terrible state you’re in. Collecting the deaths of people, creating hell, and personally experiencing their suffering. Isn’t it just painful? Why do you corner yourself like that? Why do you go so far to reach the Swirl of the Root? It couldn’t seriously be that you dream of saving humanity like you did when you were a Taimitsu Monk, right?”
“My reason is long forgotten.”
With his answer, the black Magus retreated inward.
It has been a story from the distant past. Human beings can’t be saved. As long as they live, there will inevitably be those who remain unrewarded. Not all human beings can find happiness. Then, what is a human being who was not saved? What will be the reward for their lives?
There is no answer. It’s equal to infinite and finite. If no one is saved, then no one can attain salvation. If so, salvation is no different from a gold coin endlessly passing hands.
Human beings can’t be saved. There’s no salvation in the world.
That’s why I decided to record death. To record the end to everything, to record the end of the world, to examine everything from beginning to end. By doing so, perhaps I could distinguish what happiness truly was. If it were possible to reevaluate everything, from those who were unrewarded to those who were not saved, then perhaps I could determine what could be referred to as happiness. If the meaning of humanity’s happiness could be understood, then after the world ends all those who died meaninglessly could be granted meaning in the end. Therefore, when the world reaches its conclusion, people would finally be able to measure the value of human beings.
That alone, is the one and only universal salvation. “You’ve forgotten your reason? Your hopes are empty, and even your beginning point is zero. So then, what exactly are you?”
“I’m nobody. I just want a conclusion. These ugly, dirty, filthy, ignorant humans. If that’s all that’ll be left in history after they die off, it could be concluded that the value of humans is in their ugliness. I would be relieved to know that an ugly and hopeless existence is what makes us human.” “And that’s why you want to touch the Swirl of the Root? Everything is recorded over there. Even if it weren’t, you could reduce everything to nothingness. You want to eliminate all the filthy humans for your sake.”
“That’s right. But there are more steps to take. Just a few more steps, and yet once again the world has obstructed me. If it is impossible to open the path, then one is prevented even from acquiring the vessel that already possesses the path to begin with. How utterly, utterly pathetic. What a- What an inability to give up. “No one knows the world is in danger, yet everyone subconsciously wants to survive. They drown in pleasure but no one is trying to save the world from breaking down, and yet unconsciously everyone seeks to eliminate things that harm the world. What do you call this paradox? The desire to live taints the prayers to keep living. Those wicked thoughts are my enemy.”
“The world? That’s wrong Araya. It wasn’t the human’s Counter Force that obstructed you this time. You did really well; the Counter Force didn’t come into play. There was just one thing that destroyed Araya Souren. You lost to something as trivial as the familial love of only one person, Enjou Tomoe.”
Araya refused to accept it.
He was determined to overcome the will of the whole world and even turn the will of every human being in existence into his enemy. Who would have thought that he would have stumbled over a mere youngster like that?
“Even if that were true. What backed him was the scum, the rabble striving to maintain the age of humanity. It would have been impossible for the original Enjou Tomoe to act as he did. What moved him was not a heart that cared for his family. Such a thing doesn’t exist in humans. All they have is their desire to survive. He only wore the ornament of something like familial love to conceal his hideous true feelings. Because he wanted to live, he pretended to protect others.”
Araya’s words were filled with nothing but hatred. Touko did not think this man, who insulted humans as filthy, was correct. Araya Souren had lived so long he had become a single concept. Those who didn’t change the direction of their thoughts were no longer human.
Even though she knew it was useless, her curse continued to leave her mouth.
“Let me tell you something interesting, Araya. You probably don’t know this, but there is something called the collective unconscious that a famous psychologist defined. The idea is that the lowest levels of consciousness inside of all human minds end up in the same lake. As a former Buddhist monk, this idea should be intimately familiar to you. This is, in other words, the Counter Force that is not of the Gaia type – but instead is the unified agreement within the unconscious of humans.
And you know, Souren. Generally, it’s called Arayashiki.
“Wha, what?” Said a breathless voice.
The Magus had previously answered her questions thus: My enemy is the thoughts of humanity, the irredeemable nature of human beings. Touko continued on. “It’s funny isn’t it, Araya Souren? You were born with the same last name as the thing you consider your lifelong enemy. Yet you yourself were unaware of it. No one around you taught you about it, and you set your own path preserving that miraculous coincidence. What a malevolent trap this world has laid. Listen, Souren. There were a lot of paradoxes this time, but you the architect were the biggest paradox of all!”
... The curse became the image of an atrocious demon invading Araya’s thoughts, eroding them and crushing his existence. The Magus did not respond. Only the focus of his eyes faded away.
Nevertheless there was no motion; he had a look of anguish on his face. Was that darkness, and that heaviness like that of a philosopher burdened with an eternal and unresolved question?
The Magus didn’t deny it, but simply accepted the curse and muttered. The Magus didn’t deny it, but simply accepted the curse and muttered.
“This body is at its limit.”
“Starting over again? How many times has it been? You never learn.”
That was the spiral. Araya’s sour look didn’t break down until the very end.
Touko had a clear look of disdain aimed towards him; she threw away the cigarette she had pinched between her fingers. In the end, she had lit the cigarette but hadn’t brought it to her mouth even once. Though she had disdain for him, she did not hate this Magus, who had become more of a concept.
If she had made one wrong step. No, if she had not made a wrong step she surely would have ended up like this too. Neither a human nor a living being, but merely the embodiment of a theory resulting in a phenomenon.
Now that she thought that, it was sad.
“Gaha”, Araya vomited blood.
The body, starting from the left side had begun to disappear and turn to ashes.
“I didn’t make any spare bodies. If we are to meet again, it will be in the next generation.”
“There will be no such thing as a Magus by then. There won’t be a reunion. You will be alone in the end. Even so, you won’t stop?”
“Of course, I won’t accept defeat." - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
Touko’s claim that Araya was defeated by familial love, specifically Enjou Tomoe’s attachment to his parents, completely misses the actual cause of his downfall. Both Araya himself and the official guidebook confirm that he was defeated by the Counter Force, the manifestation of humanity’s irrational drive to survive:
Lio was the first chess piece Souren Araya prepared, and also the one he saved for last. However, the magus was defeated by the Counter Force before Lio could take the stage. - Garden of Sinners Pamphlet - Shirazumi Lio [Person]
There are times when it blocks acts that would make everyone happier. The tricky thing is that in the end this nuisance is the representation of humanity itself - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
Araya was well aware of its interference. He noted at least three instances:
“The Counter Force is already at work. There’s the fact you’re present in this town. There was the man who committed theft here by chance, as if possessed by something for no reason. There was the woman who was the victim of a random murder in this area, although no such incidents had occurred here before. The Counter Force has acted three times even though I have restrained myself to this extent.” - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
The Counter Force's interference makes sense in the context of Enjou's Origin of "Worthlessness", which compels him to search for meaning in anything he can latch onto, but ultimately never allows him to find peace. This perpetual struggle to find purpose is the essence of humanity's irrational drive to survive, and the Counter Force exists to reinforce that desire. Araya himself acknowledged its interference, and given that Touko is also likely influenced by it, there is nothing shocking about a fourth instance of the Counter Force acting in ways Araya did not foresee:
Indeed, Touko had no particular reason. Perhaps without fully intending too, she was subtly being pushed forward by the mysterious thing known as the Counter Force. However, even if that were the case it shouldn’t matter. She had accepted the current life she was living as Aozaki Touko. - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
In fact, this could even explain Enjou’s sudden and irrational attachment to his parents, justifying their present failures and shittiness just because they were in better conditions in the past. His emotional turn fits perfectly with the Counter Force's nature. His Origin ensures he will always seek meaning, even in contradictions; and the Counter Force thrives on precisely this type of flawed persistence.
I’ve seen people argue that Araya was “ideologically defeated” in this scene. But where’s the evidence? What actual argument did Touko provide that overthrows Araya’s position? None. Even if Enjou’s actions were sincere, they were still driven by his Origin; and Araya’s whole point is that all humans are ruled by impulses they don’t understand and can’t control. It doesn’t matter if Enjou believed in what he did; he was still acting out a compulsion. That doesn’t refute Araya: it proves him right.
And let’s be real: the guidebook, which speaks from a meta-authorial perspective, doesn’t credit Touko or Enjou’s ideology with the victory. It explicitly says Araya was defeated by the Counter Force, meaning his defeat was not the result of philosophical weakness, but a metaphysical inevitability.
And no, before anyone tries the “but the Counter Force was Shiki!” argument; Shiki literally resisted Unified Language, which rewrites all of creation. She is directly connected to the One. She’s not a pawn of Gaia. The Counter Force acted through Enjou.
And what did he do? Exactly what every human does: suffer, die, and hurt others in the name of instincts they may not even truly believe in.
Araya’s words were filled with nothing but hatred. Touko did not think this man, who insulted humans as filthy, was correct.
Yeah, we got your reasons for disagreeing with him; and honestly, they’re not very convincing.
Araya Souren had lived so long he had become a single concept. Those who didn’t change the direction of their thoughts were no longer human.
That was precisely what Araya sought, so he succeeded, yes.
But that aside, this is hilariously hypocritical on two levels: First, the very force that destroys him, Alaya, the Counter Force, is itself nothing more than a conceptual being: a construct born from the collective unconscious of humanity’s will to live. It is irrational, unconscious, and directionless, yet treated as sacred simply because it is shared by six billion people. Araya, in contrast, mirrors that same will, but individually. Where Alaya is a chaotic mass of unexamined instinct, Araya condenses all that noise into a single, coherent will. His rejection of humanity is not inhuman: it is hyper-human.
His will is absolute. Like Alaya, he exists to persist, to see meaning where there is none, but unlike Alaya, Araya does so consciously, deliberately, without hiding behind instinct or herd-thought.
That Counter Force is the consciousness of every human being on earth. Do you really think you can win against the will of nearly six billion people all by yourself?”
“I will win.”
This isn’t arrogance. This is Araya Souren: the one who has internalized the entire weight of humanity’s irrational deaths, their lost futures, their pain, and has chosen to bear it all within himself. Touko herself acknowledges this:
Without any hesitation and without exaggeration, the Magus replied immediately.
A living hell that had collected the deaths of many people. The Magus had imagined each person’s history and the future that should have existed beyond their actual end. No matter how meaningless the death was, he lived as if it were his own.
Touko thought it was an extreme ego, forged like steel, that would win; even if it meant making all of humanity into his enemy.
Araya Souren possessed that. Whether it was true or not wasn’t really an issue, what mattered was his unshakable will to assert it as truth. When he asked this question, Araya Souren must have clearly imagined having to confront the dignity of six billion people; one by one.
Araya had answered that he would win. He imagined the struggle as if it were reality, even after realizing how painful it would be. This strength of will was the strength of the Magus. - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
This is what makes Araya terrifying. Not his intellect or his plans, but the purity of his will. He’s not merely reacting to the world: he is shaping himself in opposition to its broken logic, and doing so with full knowledge of the cost.
And ironically, it’s this exact thing Touko critiques: that he has become too fixed, too unwavering, no longer human. But this completely misses the point. Humanity thrives on fixations: on clinging to arbitrary meanings and ideologies even when they become destructive. Wars, dogma, social rot, all come from people who refuse to let go of bad ideas because they need something to believe in. Touko’s critique falls flat because she doesn’t confront this truth. Instead, she projects those same flaws onto Araya, then scolds him for embodying them too well.
The second layer of this hypocrisy comes from Touko herself: Touko criticizing Araya for becoming a "concept" is hilariously hypocritical. She, who has already abandoned a normal human existence, now lives on as a distributed network of puppets: effectively immortal, and arguably even further removed from “humanity” than Araya. She perpetuates her identity through artificial means, untethered to a singular self.
At least Araya remains a singular being. At least he chose his path. He didn’t escape death through tricks or proxies: he transcended it through will. His identity, no matter how conceptualized, remains coherent and whole. Meanwhile, Touko’s existence is a fragmented ghost play-acting morality while sidestepping its consequences.
She didn't even accept the curse Aoko placed upon her. And yet, she presumes to lecture someone who faced the meaning of life and death head-on.
The only somewhat valid counterpoint Touko raises is that Araya’s name is identical to that of the Counter Force, implying he cannot escape it; as long as he exists as an individual, he will inevitably be subject to it. However, Araya already sees himself as “nothing” and has effectively transcended individuality, becoming more of a living concept than a human being; something Touko herself acknowledges in this dialogue. He has lost his individual identity and ascended into a conscious theory; this is not damning, which is why Araya ultimately accepts it and says he will return.
Moreover, this argument can be turned back on Touko herself: Alaya is a dollar store version of Araya. Alaya is the chaotic, irrational mass embodying humanity’s collective will to survive, whereas Araya represents the coherent, powerful, ideal variation: a conscious entity embodying humanity’s pure potential to create meaning where none exists, much like Stillness allows him to create entire worlds from nothing.
In that sense, Touko is telling Araya that he has become a concept equal and opposite to his enemy. They share the same origin but have evolved in opposite directions. This mirrors Ryougi Shiki’s path of living authentically without her family’s imposed meanings. The core message of Kara no Kyoukai is that one can live without externally imposed meaning, provided they accept the isolation it entails.
Yet Touko inexplicably withholds this understanding when it comes to Araya.
Though she had disdain for him, she did not hate this Magus, who had become more of a concept. If she had made one wrong step. No, if she had not made a wrong step she surely would have ended up like this too. Neither a human nor a living being, but merely the embodiment of a theory resulting in a phenomenon. Now that she thought that, it was sad.
The funniest part is that Touko already became this very thing. She is nothing more than a phenomenon that transfers memories to her next puppet, no different from Tatari or Araya Souren himself. Yes, embodying a concept can be sad, probably because you’re bound to that concept, unable to stray or find meaning beyond it.
But here’s the kicker: this is exactly Araya’s problem with humanity. They are trapped by instincts they cannot reject or escape. Touko’s critique is deeply hypocritical: she fails to realize that everything she condemns is something Araya has long acknowledged and is actively striving to resolve.
----
Outside of these rare moments, Touko mostly just exists to explain things to the audience. She has no real stake in the story, no meaningful relationships, and her personal motivations are vague at best. Unlike Shiki, Mikiya, or even Araya, she doesn’t truly experience anything; she’s just there, a shadow of someone who lost everything to her sister in Mahoyo, spending the rest of her life just coping with that.
If you removed Touko from the story, nothing of real substance would change. Shiki would still defeat Araya. The Counter Force would still activate. All of Touko’s exposition could be delivered through other means. She doesn’t drive the plot; she merely narrates it.
Oh, and I guess she killed Alba too.
Enjou:
“Araya, I’m going to kill you!” - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
Enjou is often presented as an important character in Kara no Kyoukai, but on closer look, his role feels mostly inconsequential, almost irrelevant.
His relationship with Shiki is framed as meaningful, but it’s mostly one-sided. From the start, Shiki barely connects with him, using him more as a means to reach Araya Souren than as someone she truly cares about. Even his key act, giving Shiki her sword, could have come from anyone, making his role feel like a narrative convenience.
By the end, Shiki reflects on Enjou’s absence with a faint hint of sentiment, not grief. This is often mistaken for deep emotion, but it’s better understood as fleeting melancholy. The dreamlike final scene in Paradox Spiral, with its illusory café, surreal silence, and mirage-like city, captures the impermanence of their bond. They sit back-to-back, wait for different people, and leave through separate doors. It’s not a heartfelt farewell between close companions; it’s two strangers crossing paths briefly:
For some reason I was in town. The weather was very nice today. Looking up, the sky was endlessly blue. The cloudless sky was gentle and the sunlight wasn’t harsh. It must have been because of the dreamy, white, and warm sunlight. The city was somehow blurred like a mirage, and the usual main streets felt as calm as a desert. It had been cloudy every day since November but today was bright, like it was midsummer again. I was wearing a brand new crimson casual kimono, and went into a coffee shop. Even I have been going to coffee shops recently. Perhaps because it was a day like this, but the normally gloomy Ahnenerbe was crowded. The only light in this coffee shop came from the sunlight shining through the windows, it made this place popular on days where the sun shined strongly like today. The white sunlight streamed through the large windows onto the plain white tables. The rest of the shop possessed dry black shadows. The combination of light and dark gave the place a church-like solemness, making it a popular spot for meeting up with others. I was one such person. There were only two empty tables.
I took a seat. Then, a teenage boy took a seat at the other table, perhaps he was also waiting to meet someone? I continued to sit in my chair and wait. And the guy who had arrived at the same time as me was also waiting. We sat with our backs facing each other in the warm sunlight. There was a strange silence. Apparently, I’m a bit short-tempered. I myself was not aware of it but everyone around me said so, so it must be true. Yet here I was, waiting for someone without any complaints. I wondered why I was so calm? After thinking about it I answered my own question. It must be because the guy sitting with his back to me was so engrossed in his waiting. I felt relieved that there was someone else who was waiting just like me, then I could wait for that guy without complaining.
After a long time, I noticed some idiot waving his hand outside of my window. He must have ran here, since he was really out of breath as he waved. I was a bit worried about whether or not it was okay for him to run when his legs had been recently injured. Anyway, I thought rather naively that his sense of fashion would have to be changed; he was dressed in black from top to bottom even on a pleasant day like this. When I looked there was another person waiting outside and waving. It was a woman in a white one-piece dress. I stood up from my seat. The guy at my back also stood up from his seat at the same time.
... I could be at peace now. It seemed like the woman in the one-piece dress was the person he was waiting for. I somehow felt relieved as I stepped towards the shop’s exit. Strangely enough, this shop had two exits. One at the east end and another at the west, like a parting road. I stepped towards the west exit and the guy stepped towards the east exit. While leaving the store, I looked back only once. And he looked back in the same way. He had red hair and a slender build like a woman’s. When he met my eyes, he looked away and raised one hand. He was a stranger, but I guess this was some kind of fate. I raised one hand in response. We stood at separate exits and exchanged these farewells. It looked as if the guy had said, “See you later,” but I didn’t hear his voice at all.
“See you later,” I also responded and then left the shop. Outside the weather was beautiful; it made everything that happened so far feel like a dream. I felt like I was melting away in the strong sunlight, I stepped towards someone who was waving his hand at me. Somehow I was really happy, and yet, I was also somewhat wistful. The white sunlight was so strong I couldn’t see the person waving his hand at me. The red haired guy had a place to walk to like this, and for it I thanked some non-existent God. Really, how unsightly. I’m sure it was because Ahnenerbe felt like a church that I ended up indulging in such a whim. Looking back, there was no church there. There was just a horizon as flat as a desert. See, nothing remained behind. But I had already been prepared for that. I think that’s what life is, “nothing is left behind.” But I’m sure someone would say that life is all about making sure you don’t leave anything behind.
Ding-dong. The sound of the doorbell rang. Hearing that sound, I realized this couldn’t be anything but a dream. From a town as beautiful as a desert, I seamlessly woke up from my sleep – Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
Shiki’s final thoughts seal this reading:
"Looking back, there was no church there. There was just a horizon as flat as a desert. See, nothing remained behind. But I had already been prepared for that." - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
If Enjou truly mattered, something would have lingered. Instead, Shiki’s reaction is like watching a wounded bird take flight; relief without real attachment. Her gratitude isn’t for Enjou himself, but for the fact he has somewhere else to go.
This sharply contrasts with her relationship with Mikiya. She seeks him out, protects him, and emotionally depends on him. The real emotional core of the story lies in her realization at Paradox Spiral’s end: not about losing Enjou, but about needing to protect the one person who truly matters.
Enjou’s subplot might have been intended to trigger this realization, but it feels more like filler than necessity. The same narrative beat could have been delivered more effectively through direct conflict with Araya or a deeper dive into Shiki’s existential struggles. Ultimately, Enjou adds little to the core story, and the narrative might have benefited from trimming or removing his role altogether.
Beyond his limited narrative role, Enjou’s personal arc is riddled with contradictions, particularly in how he retroactively idealizes his parents.
In the second half of Paradox Spiral, Enjou shifts abruptly from resenting his parents to suddenly claiming he loves them. This transformation feels less like genuine growth and more like a convenient emotional pivot, aligning him with the manipulations of the Counterforce rather than with any internal resolution. He says:
"The past, memories from when the family was still peaceful. Parents who prioritized their child's growth above all else; a kind mother, a proud father. Those were the real thing." - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
Here, Enjou rewrites his family's history, treating their former kindness as their "true" selves while dismissing their later dysfunction. It’s a shallow, naive view. People change. His father's abuse and his mother's collapse weren’t aberrations: they were real, and part of who they became. Pretending the past defines the truth is a comforting lie.
This self-delusion becomes even more apparent when he blames himself:
"I was an idiot for deciding that they were fake just because time had passed and those things were lost." - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
Enjou internalizes his parents’ failures, burdening himself with guilt for things far beyond his control. He supported the household, endured emotional neglect, and watched his family disintegrate. Yet he convinces himself that if only he had “seen the good,” none of it would have happened.
It’s a tragic and absurd conclusion, the kind only a child could reach when trying to find meaning in a senseless environment. The truth is, his parents were genuinely pathetic, and in the end, their downfall was the natural consequence of their own choices.
His rationalizations reach their peak here:
"She had no one to talk to, she was beaten by my father, and she kept working silently. It was no wonder her heart broke. If... If I had turned around just once, that wouldn’t have happened." - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
As if a glance from her son could have undone years of abuse. But Enjou clings to this fantasy because it offers him a false sense of control, of meaning, even if it’s rooted in guilt.
Worse still is the contradiction in his philosophy:
"Must things be eternal? No, to wish for eternity was wrong." - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
Yet his entire justification for loving his parents is built on preserving an eternal version of their past. He simultaneously denounces eternity while elevating nostalgia. The contradiction reveals his confusion: his arc isn’t about resolution, it’s about escape.
This dissonance points to the Counterforce's influence. Enjou’s emotional about-face isn’t growth; it’s instrumentalization. He doesn’t change because he heals; he changes because he has to serve a purpose. He needs to care about something in order to resist Araya, so the Counterforce gives him something to care about, even if it’s fabricated. As the KnK guidebook confirms:
Lio was the first chess piece Souren Araya prepared, and also the one he saved for last. However, the magus was defeated by the Counter Force before Lio could take the stage. - Garden of Sinners Pamphlet - Shirazumi Lio [Person]
Even Touko acknowledged the subtle influence of the Counterforce:
Indeed, Touko had no particular reason. Perhaps without fully intending too, she was subtly being pushed forward by the mysterious thing known as the Counter Force. However, even if that were the case it shouldn’t matter. She had accepted the current life she was living as Aozaki Touko. - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
If even Touko, a formidable magus, is susceptible to Alaya’s influence, then Enjou, whose Origin is “Worthlessness,” is even more vulnerable. His hollow self-conception and emotional instability make him the perfect vessel for the Counterforce’s designs. His sudden “love” for his parents doesn’t stem from healing or self-realization, but from necessity. This emotional reversal isn’t character development. It’s instrumentalization. The Counterforce doesn’t need Enjou to grow; it needs him to function. It needs him to stall Araya, to deliver Shiki’s katana, to buy time for her awakening and trigger her Self-Hypnosis state. His self-deception is simply the mechanism by which that outcome is achieved.
A more compelling approach would have been to frame Enjou’s story as a standalone subplot; one that unfolds gradually and independently of Shiki’s central narrative. His arc could have charted a tragic trajectory: a naive, well-meaning boy caught in Araya’s scheme, gradually spiraling into delusion. His idealization of his parents, his misplaced guilt, and his belief that he had control over something far greater than himself would form a coherent, self-contained tragedy.
He could have paralleled Shiki rather than intersected her; a reflection of how different people handle existential despair. Where Shiki accepts contradiction and grounds herself in her nature, Enjou would be consumed by illusion. His arc would then serve as a cautionary tale about the dangers of self-deception and the refusal to accept reality.
But as written, he’s not allowed that space. He’s presented as significant to Shiki without earning that role. Rather than enriching the narrative, he ends up feeling like an unnecessary distraction.
“Araya.”
Standing before the absolute being that was Araya, Tomoe had completely lost his freedom. He shouldn’t have been able to do anything, nevertheless he had given words. To exchange words was a sign that they were equals. The fact that he was now as he used to be made the Magus’s look cloud over even more sternly.
“Why did you return?” the Magus asked with a heavy voice. “Did you come here in order to save Ryougi Shiki? How foolish. That heart of yours does not belong to Enjou Tomoe. But if you’re still unaware, you’re a puppet in the end. If you deviate from this spiral can you still function normally?”
“Huh...?”
“You certainly did escape out of the spiral. But after that, I knew you would commit suicide. Those who are killed by their family, die because of their family. You escaped from your own home in despair. If I had left you abandoned as you were you would have died. However, that would have leaked your abnormality to the outside world. As a result, I decided to make use of you by giving you a different role. As a different Enjou Tomoe from the original Enjou Tomoe who would have died tonight. A different role, do you understand?”
Tomoe tried to shout
“That’s a lie!”
But he was unable to voice it and he just stood there. The Magus’s expression did not change, his eyeballs just distorted in mockery.
“That’s right. This was a low stakes bet for me. I was planing to invite her here, but it’s for the best if the mystery is maintained. Enjou Tomoe, you do not know me and have no connection to me, if you brought Ryougi Shiki to me on your own then that was the best outcome. I didn’t have any expectations for you, but you pulled it off beautifully. I let you escape as a reward, but I never thought you would come back once more. How extremely arrogant. You were not attracted to Ryougi Shiki of your own will. There was only one truth I added to you after you ran away. That’s to feel interest in Ryougi Shiki, it was an unconscious imprinting.”
The strength in Enjou Tomoe’s legs was draining away. There was no way he could refute what Araya had said. Because it was true. Up to now he had never really loved someone before, why was it only Ryougi Shiki that he had so much interest in? From his first time meeting her, it felt like something had ordered him: observe that girl, make a connection with that girl.
“Do you understand? You did not make any of your decisions by your own will. You just brought Ryougi Shiki to me as I intended. Also, your body only has the memory of a day spent in my world. No memories from before this day exist and no memories after it do either. Your will was born from an illusion, and was kept alive by an illusion. In this world Enjou Tomoe met his end, he can only live here now. As a result there’s nothing you can do. Since you can’t do anything, I let you play the role of calling Ryougi out. If you cannot do anything of your own will, nothing you do will be an obstacle for me."
Having said what he needed to, the Magus entirely lost interest in this Enjou Tomoe. Araya turned his gaze away from Tomoe. Although he should have had all meaning destroyed, a smile crossed his face as he stared at the Magus.
“... Surely, Araya, it doesn’t really matter does it?”
That was him just acting tough, but it was such an extremely pure show of strength that it could just be enough to have put a crack the Magus’s steel heart.
“... In front of someone like you, I finally understand. I have been wrong all along, like you I couldn’t admit my weakness. But, there’s no such thing as fake. Real and fake are just things that are eventually decided later aren’t they? You say it’s just for a day – since this body is Enjou Tomoe, I’m connected to Enjou Tomoe’s real past. I have no past, but I have the same strong feelings Tomoe does. So it’s alright.”
Crunch, then the sound of gritting teeth could be heard. It was an audible ring of the power Tomoe had; a strong will to challenge him.
“... I, I love Ryougi! I don’t know the reason. I didn’t leave anything behind, but I enjoyed being with her, just spending time together was fun. So, if you say you gave me that opportunity, I’ll at least thank you.”
Now, confronting the Magus in the truest sense, Tomoe clicked his tongue.
“Am I a fake, Araya?”
The words contained such a strong will that the Magus’s brow knit in anger.
“There’s no further need to talk.”
The Magus replied with obvious contempt. There was no hesitation. It was obvious he was there as an equal to the Magus.
“Does a mere puppet think he’s enlightened? That’s nothing more than self-delusion. If you gaze into a clear mirror or motionless water, they will always reflect the truth that you’re a fake.
“Yeah. And yet, this heart is real.”
The calm words echoed like the night’s wind. The Magus raised one hand. The man known as Araya Souren’s posture, where he had one hand outstretched before him, meant he recognized his opponent as someone to annihilate. Tomoe saw it and desperately tried to control his clattering teeth.
............ Tomoe thought he would be killed for sure. Nevertheless, he had to take a shot at getting retribution against his opponent. Not because he wanted to die, but because Enjou Tomoe had to get revenge against Araya Souren. For his parents who he had neglected so far. For those who were still dying in this world even now. This was not a suicidal attack in search of an honorable death. He didn’t want to die, but even so, there are some things you have to do even if you know they’ll kill you.
–As Enjou Tomoe, I decided to start running. Yes, no matter how painful it was. Like a turning clock. Like the changing seasons. I couldn’t remain in the same place forever. Because my thoughts were here. Was it a dream this body was seeing? Was it a dream I was seeing? But this body was fake. The will that Enjou Tomoe possessed. The will that Enjou Tomoe had dwelling within was the real thing. For this reason–
“Araya, I’m going to kill you!” - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
Enjou Tomoe’s final stand isn’t a moment of heroism: it’s the peak of his delusion. Faced with Araya’s brutal honesty, that everything he is, feels, and remembers was constructed, Enjou clings to the hollow notion that his “heart” is real. He’s not reclaiming agency. He’s lying to himself. His love for Shiki, his sense of purpose, even his defiance, all of it was orchestrated by Araya to fulfill a role. But rather than confront that truth, Enjou retreats into sentiment, insisting that emotion alone validates existence. It’s self-deception dressed as resolve.
And that line, “Like you, I couldn’t admit my weakness”, lands hollow. Enjou never admits weakness. He’s spent the entire scene doubling down on denial, insisting his emotions are real despite being manufactured. He’s trying to rewrite his powerlessness into purity, but all he’s really doing is hiding behind self-righteousness.
Araya, in contrast, is his ideological opposite. Where Enjou clings to illusion in search of meaning, Araya dismantles illusion to expose the void.
“Am I a fake, Araya?”
Yes.... Araya already said as much. Enjou even knows it. So this isn't a question; it's posturing. And Araya immediately cuts through the noise:
“There’s no further need to talk.”
Exactly. Because Enjou isn’t seeking truth; he’s seeking to validate a feeling. And Araya doesn’t indulge illusions. For Araya, truth is sufficient. His vision of salvation is cruel but consistent. He sees Enjou’s rebellion for what it is: not courage, but a puppet’s tantrum.
“It was obvious he was there as an equal to the Magus.”
Equal in what sense? On a narrative level, this is meant to mark Enjou’s “rise” as a character, but the gap between the prose and the reality is comical. Araya doesn't view him as an equal. He views him as a puppet infected by human delusion. That line is wishful thinking, perhaps even Enjou’s own projection leaking into the narration.
“Does a mere puppet think he’s enlightened? That’s nothing more than self-delusion. If you gaze into a clear mirror or motionless water, they will always reflect the truth that you’re a fake.”
Araya lays it bare. Self-awareness does not equal authenticity. Even a puppet can be aware it’s a puppet: that doesn’t make it free. And Enjou, for all his declarations, has done nothing to prove otherwise. Ryougi Shiki actively carved out her identity in defiance of her nature. She didn’t say, “My impulses to kill are real, so that makes me real.” No: she suppressed those irrational, human urges to live more authentically, refusing to surrender to any external force that tried to define her. Enjou, by contrast, is fully enslaved by his instincts (artificial ones at that) and clings to them as his sole reason for existing.
- Araya pursues truth above all else, willing to face any consequence for the sake of a greater clarity.
- Ryougi balanced truth with detachment: she didn’t care for the world like Araya; she is fine with it being decaying and being doomed to its randomness, choosing instead to live freely as herself, untainted by irrational impulses.
- Enjou is pure irrationality. He would rewrite any narrative, no matter how absurd, just to fabricate a purpose. All to avoid confronting the void that Ryougi and Araya face head-on, remaining true to themselves.
That’s why he feels like such a jarring break in the story: a commoner thrown into a philosophical arena where transcendent beings wrestle with the nature of existence.
“Yeah. And yet, this heart is real.”
And that is the moment Araya truly loses patience. Enjou clings to this one thing, the “reality” of his heart, as if belief makes it true. But again: he thinks it’s real. That’s all. He has no proof, no act of will, no transcendence. Just feeling. Just noise.
Which is why:
“The Magus raised one hand…”
Not out of respect, but necessity. This puppet has become unstable, infected with the idea of meaning. He doesn’t see a “boy becoming a man”, he sees a glitch in the system, and he's purging it.
Enjou’s trembling speeches, his declarations of revenge, none of it carries weight. Araya never harmed him. He simply informed him. Enjou lashes out not from strength, but from fear. His rebellion isn’t noble. It’s noise. And his death isn’t tragic; it’s inevitable. The final dismantling of the illusion he refused to abandon. Araya doesn’t just destroy his body. He erases him philosophically:
Creak, the strength in the Magus’s arm increased. Enjou Tomoe’s arm had let go of the knife and it fell to the floor.
“I chose you for a reason that I haven’t told you yet.”
Enjou Tomoe did not respond. From the time the Magus’s arm grasped him, his will to live was snatched away entirely from its roots. “Listen. There is a phenomenon that is the source of human existence. It’s not the karma from a past life, but the reason that lead to the existence of Enjou Tomoe. We call that chaotic impulse ‘The Origin.’ When you killed your mother and fell into despair, the reason I saved you was because your Origin was so clear.”
Enjou Tomoe did not respond. The Magus lifted his body high, and in a voice that sounded too cold he spoke. “I will teach you one last thing. You won’t accomplish anything. Because your Origin is Worthlessness.”
The Magus swung his arm. The body in the form of Enjou Tomoe was completely annihilated with that one swing. It was shattered into pieces, not even the head remained. As if it had been that way from the beginning, in the same way the Magus had said it, worthless, it turned into dust and disappeared into the void. - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
That passage doesn’t just end Enjou’s arc; it invalidates it. While other characters’ Origins lead to insight or transformation, Enjou’s confirms irrelevance. His entire struggle was meaningless from the start.
Here, Kara no Kyoukai refuses to offer catharsis. There’s no redemption, no tragic dignity, no emotional payoff. Just the bare truth: Enjou doesn’t matter. His story isn’t a lesson; it’s an error. A discarded thread. A tool, broken after its use.
Even his “love” is meaningless, not a product of his soul, but a reflex implanted by the Counter Force, designed only to make him resist. He fights not because he chooses to, but because something inside him is programmed to. His rebellion is an instinct, not a decision.
That’s why Araya cracks: not from admiration, but from disgust. Enjou represents everything Araya hates: mindless persistence mistaken for will, emotion mistaken for truth. He doesn’t question whether his feelings are real; he just accepts them because they feel right. That isn’t conviction. It’s delusion.
And Araya, who has spent centuries dissecting meaning, chasing the Root, is faced with a creature that represents the futility of that pursuit. Enjou isn’t resisting fate. He is fate, on autopilot. A shell mistaking its programming for purpose.
In the end, Araya was once again proven right. Human will isn’t profound. It’s a glitch; a compulsion to persist, even without cause. That’s why Araya seeks the Root: not to overcome humanity, but to escape the cycle of meaningless persistence it calls life.
Azaka:
Azaka exists in Kara no Kyoukai, but for the life of me, I can’t understand why.
She’s a character whose presence feels not just unnecessary, but actively detrimental to the story’s emotional and thematic core. Beyond her abrasiveness, Azaka is profoundly delusional, and not in a way that’s compelling. The claim that she provides a “normal” counterbalance to Shiki collapses under scrutiny. Mikiya already fulfills that role, far more effectively, and Azaka, frankly, is anything but normal. Her obsessive fixation on her brother defines her entire character. The fact that she wishes Mikiya would forget they’re related so she can pursue him romantically isn’t just uncomfortable: it’s disturbing. That obsession overshadows any potential for development, and her interactions with the main cast feel emotionally dissonant and tonally out of place.
Her motivations are equally shallow. Azaka doesn’t pursue magecraft for knowledge or growth; she does it to “compete” with Shiki and “win” Mikiya. Yet she openly admits she can never catch up to Shiki, despite training every day. This self-defeating spiral only cements the impression that she’s not just obsessed, but completely directionless. Even her fire-based magic is bland and thematically empty. It lacks the symbolic weight or metaphysical resonance that makes magic in Kara no Kyoukai interesting.
Her entire magical career, if you can call it that, is basically a cosmic joke:
- She has no talent.
- She didn’t study theory.
- She’s not from a magical lineage.
- She stumbled into a single combustion spell because her Origin happened to line up with it. That’s it. Her whole arsenal is just emotional pyrokinesis fueled by teenage angst and insecurity.
- And even that? Practically useless. The story itself makes clear that trained mages can reject indirect magical interference. Touko, for instance, can’t even apply runes from a distance, she needs to get close and inscribe them manually. Real mages have built-in resistance to casual effects. Azaka’s spell relies on stimulating the body’s electrical system from afar, which means that against any competent magus, it would just fizzle on contact.
So let’s be real: she’s not a mage. She’s a schoolgirl with a glorified mood-lighter.
Her behavior throughout her arc is equally juvenile. She throws tantrums, lashes out, and shows a staggering lack of self-awareness. Her complete disrespect for Shiki is particularly grating; not only because it’s undeserved, but because it exposes Azaka’s total disregard for others’ boundaries. The most telling moment in her chapter is her reaction to Shiki’s coma:
"Shiki had been in an unfortunate traffic accident, leaving Mikiya alone once more. At the time, well, I do have to admit I felt some manner of sympathy. Though I only met her once, her joyful smile still remained in my memories. But with that, I was reassured. A freak like Shiki wouldn't appear twice.
I sat on my uncle's terrace, sipping tea with a smug smile. But as they say, the enemy is not to be underestimated, for just last summer, Shiki regained consciousness. Mikiya went out of his way to call me and convey the news, but it only served to harden my resolve. Waiting until I graduated from high school was no longer an option. I had to be true to myself. - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 6
This moment is not only repulsive but defining. Whatever momentary “sympathy” she claims is immediately discarded, replaced by smugness and cruel delight at Shiki’s suffering. It reveals a genuine lack of empathy, if not outright sadism, that makes Azaka feel less like a misguided youth and more like an antagonist in disguise.
That scene is so morally jarring that it taints the entire chapter. It becomes difficult to read through Azaka’s perspective without revulsion. Her warped inner world isn’t enlightening or thought-provoking: it’s a drain on the emotional and philosophical tone the series works so hard to build. Where Touko and Enjou at least represent flawed but meaningful thematic counterpoints, Azaka has no such merit. She neither contributes to the philosophical core of the narrative nor poses any real challenge to its protagonists.
And the funniest part? She knows she’s out of her depth:
Shiki has the power to see things that normal people can't. Aside from being able to see spirits, she can apparently see the lines that hold an object together.
On top of that, she's a savage at heart with incredible reflexes and physical abilities. If I were to be honest, she's the exact opposite of Mikiyaーshe's someone special. Someone like that is the last person I'd ever want to see with him.
In the first place, I actually only began training with Ms. Touko because of her. If Mikiya's partner was an average girl, I would've been able to eliminate her in a single day. However, I was soon faced with the reality that Shiki was on a completely different level altogether.
Despite all of that, I had to cope with the bitter truth that I still wouldn't be able to match up to Shiki, and so there I was honing my skills day by day. - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 6
Even her reason for training under Touko boils down to, “Shiki exists and I have an inferiority complex.”
Unlike Enjou or even Touko, I cannot think of a single reason to justify Azaka’s inclusion. Her character does not enrich the story in any meaningful way. In fact, her presence actively weakens it. Frankly, the story would have been stronger had she been written out entirely, or, if retained, forced to confront the consequences of her actions either through suffering or being killed off.
As it stands, her continued existence only diminishes the impact of the narrative’s true figures: Shiki, Mikiya, and Araya.
In a story defined by inner conflict and existential weight, Azaka’s inclusion feels like trying to staple a high school drama subplot onto a metaphysical thriller. She’s not just out of her depth: she’s in the wrong genre.
Asagami:
Asagami’s character ultimately feels like she's included for the sake of being there, rather than serving a clear purpose within the narrative. Her struggles feel alien and lack meaningful context, making them difficult to relate to, even compared to more abnormal characters like Shiki. Perhaps the intent was to portray Asagami as so distant and incomprehensible that even Shiki can’t fully grasp her, but this concept falls flat when it becomes the centerpiece of an entire subplot. If a character is meant to be this "alien," dedicating so much narrative focus to her ends up being a disservice to the story. Asagami ends up feeling hollow, with shallow motivations that aren't worthy of the narrative weight she's given.
Her surname, "Asagami," meaning "Shallow God," feels almost comically on-the-nose:
Touko-san hands it to me. Shiki looks away telling me to do as I please.
Looking at the information, Asagami Fujino lived in Nagano until elementary school. Her surname there was not Asagami as in "Shallow Top" but Asagami as in "Shallow God" - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 3
It’s as if the story acknowledges her lack of depth while continuing to explore her through long passages that attempt to rationalize her existence and actions. Asagami revels in murder, deriving genuine joy from it; an undeniable mark of evil. While the story tries to offer insight into her internal struggles, she remains fundamentally disconnected from normal people. Any attempt to make her complex only exposes the futility of trying to make her relatable when she isn't meant to be.
By the end of her chapter, we're told that her doctor is one of the few people who genuinely cares about her, suggesting there's still hope for her to lead a better life if she doesn’t snap. Yet this resolution feels more like a wishful afterthought than a natural culmination of her arc. The issue is that Asagami never comes to terms with the fact that she doesn’t belong in the normal world. If her arc had focused on this idea, it could have explored the contrast between her inability to fit into conventional society and the few who care for her, much like how Mikiya cares for Shiki despite her abnormality. This could have made her arc more meaningful, but as it stands, her story lacks a clear thematic direction.
If Asagami is truly meant to be as shallow and incomprehensible as the narrative suggests, her arc could have taken a more supernatural approach. Instead of relying on the tired emotional trope of a "raped character finding solace in pain," her power and eventual breakdown could have been explored through her heritage as a demon hunter or her "Shallow God" lineage. This would have added depth to her character and made her less reliant on emotional tropes.
Ultimately, Asagami’s character feels like a missed opportunity. Her chapter could have been drastically shortened to focus more on Shiki’s mission from Touko, where Shiki confronts Asagami and tests her boundaries. The chapter could have ended with a similar resolution, but with far less narrative padding. The sheer length of her chapter, especially when contrasted with Kirie’s far more sympathetic and concise arc, feels disproportionate and difficult to justify.
In the end, Asagami’s arc overpromises depth while delivering little, leaving behind an impression as shallow as her name.
Shiki's grandfather, the true villain:
What? Why is he here? You may wonder. Well, despite his 0.2 seconds of screen time, this man proves to be one of the most dangerous figures in the entire story. Let’s break down his parting words to young Shiki and see why.
"Everyone kills a person at least once in their lifetime."
The first flaw in this ideology is its foundation: an arbitrary and baseless assertion. The idea that “everyone kills at least once” isn’t just false; it’s a deliberate distortion, designed to normalize murder as an inherent part of the human experience.
By framing killing as universal, he makes it feel inevitable, even natural. But this isn’t wisdom: it’s psychological conditioning. A subtle way of planting the idea in Shiki’s young mind that killing isn’t just possible, but expected.
In reality, countless people live full lives without ever taking another’s. Presenting murder as a rite of passage isn’t just wrong; it’s dangerous.
Really?
"Yes, that’s right. We have the right to take a life once, but only to end our own journey."
Our own?
This directly contradicts the earlier claim. If every person kills someone else, how can that one permissible death be limited to suicide? The logic collapses under its own weight.
His argument isn’t coherent; it’s a trap. It offers the illusion of control while promoting a fatalistic worldview.
Worse still, the idea that anyone can know when their “journey” is over is dangerously naïve. Human beings are notoriously poor at judging the finality of their own despair.
Reducing suicide to a philosophical endpoint ignores the complex emotional realities that lead to it: grief, trauma, chemical imbalance, social isolation. These aren’t choices: they’re conditions.
Treating suicide as the natural conclusion of a completed “path” isn’t wisdom. It’s a romanticized distortion of suffering
"Indeed. A person can only carry the weight of one life.
Another hollow assertion, easily disproven. Mikiya Kokutou carries the emotional burdens of others without succumbing. He listens, supports, endures, he is proof that empathy isn’t weakness, but strength. To claim otherwise is to deny the human capacity for resilience. People can carry each other. That’s what makes healing possible.
This statement also frames people as emotionally fragile by nature, incapable of transformation. It discourages growth, forgiveness, and accountability. It tells us that we are not responsible, or even capable, of engaging with the pain of others. That kind of thinking doesn't protect anyone. It just gives them permission to stop trying.
That's why we respect death. It allows us to forgive those who couldn't finish their journeys.
This makes no sense. Do we use death to forgive people... for dying?
But wasn’t the whole point that one should choose death after completing their “journey”? Why is death now portrayed as mercy for those who failed to do so?
Which is it?
Is death the reward for finishing, or the pardon for failing?
It can’t be both.
Framing death as forgiveness gives it a false sense of divine finality, but really, it’s just evasion. Maybe he means death forgives those who die by external causes; not by choice. But that’s still death. There’s no meaningful difference. And if he thinks there is, that’s hilarious.
It’s the language of someone trying to rationalize detachment.
It rebrands apathy as peace, and resignation as wisdom.
In reality, it absolves people of responsibility while denying them the possibility of change.
At its core, his message boils down to this:
“Do nothing. Let life carry you. If it gets too hard, die. Death will take care of the rest.”
This isn’t philosophical clarity. It’s spiritual defeatism.
Far from guiding Shiki, this ideology threatens to trap her. It discourages confrontation with pain, bypasses the need for growth, and dismisses human resilience as an illusion. It’s not designed to empower; it’s designed to rationalize surrender.
All lives hold equal value, you see. The fact that it's yours does not mean it belongs solely to you.
This statement is inherently contradictory. If all lives are of equal value, why is Shiki’s life treated as less important, as if it’s governed by an external, uncontrollable force? This denies her autonomy and reduces her to part of a system she cannot control, breaking her sense of self-ownership. It suggests her life has no inherent worth beyond what others dictate, which is not just harmful, but cruel.
Then what about you, Grandpa?
"It's too late for me, Shiki. I've taken many lives. Now, I carry the burden of their deaths, and can't carry my own. My death will drift to an empty place, unclaimed and alone. Only a fate of true solitude awaits me now."
Hilarious how even six-year-old Shiki sees through the emptiness of his words.
Her quiet question, “Then what about you?”, cuts straight through him.
If his philosophy is so absolute, why doesn’t he follow it himself?
If everyone is responsible for only their own life, why does he carry the weight of others?
Why does he get to speak of fate and solitude, while expecting Shiki to accept the same fate, without question?
His admission is telling: he can’t even carry his own death.
That’s not noble. It’s emotional collapse.
And rather than face that collapse alone, he passes it to Shiki, dressing it up as wisdom.
He’s not preparing her for life. He’s condemning her to his same hollow fate.
Only once?
"That's right. Killing beyond that becomes meaningless. That single death is precious. Those who use their right and kill another forfeit their own chance at a human death. They become trapped, unable to truly die."
The idea that one act of killing severs someone from humanity is moral absolutism. It erases context, motivation, even remorse.
What about self-defense?
What about protecting someone else?
By flattening morality into a rigid binary, he removes any possibility of growth or redemption. He turns guilt into a cage and calls it justice.
What he offers Shiki is not clarity, but paralysis. Not guidance, but despair. His words don’t liberate her; they sentence her to a life of isolation, fear, and self-denial. It’s no surprise she questions him. Even as a child, Shiki can sense that this isn't a worldview: it's a wound, and he wants her to carry it for him.
Does it hurt, Grandpa?
"Yes. This is farewell, Shiki. Forever. I truly hope you find a peaceful death."
Grandpa? Hey, Grandpa! What's wrong? Why do you have to die with such a lonely look on your face? Grandpa... hey! - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 7
Shiki’s grandfather’s worldview isn’t just flawed; it’s actively harmful.
Presented under the guise of ancient tradition and wisdom, it’s really psychological conditioning: rigid, fatalistic, emotionally sterile.
Rather than helping Shiki understand life, death, or herself, he imposes a cold ideology that strips her of autonomy and emotional reality.
He tells her she owns nothing, not even herself. That her life is predetermined. That her emotions are dangerous. That to feel is to fail.
Even if Shiki later credits these teachings for stopping her from killing indiscriminately, that isn’t proof they helped her.
It’s proof they paralyzed her.
She wasn’t taught how to integrate her instincts; she was taught to amputate them.
Her will? Dangerous.
Her feelings? Threats.
Her selfhood? A liability.
His “philosophy” didn’t save her. It ensured she could never be free.
Because if she ever embraced her full self, desires, contradictions, and capacity for violence, she’d become truly autonomous.
And that, more than anything, was what the Ryougi line could not allow.
So they broke her. Quietly. Thoroughly.
What followed was a childhood of quiet trauma, torn between inherited duty and internal chaos, a schism so deep it fractured her very self.
In this way, Shiki’s grandfather becomes the true villain of Kara no Kyoukai; not through cruelty or malice, but through the quiet violence of erasure. He represents the most insidious kind of antagonist: the one who destroys identity not with force, but with ideology. He didn’t need to kill her. He just needed her to forget she had a choice.
And yet, that choice returns, through Mikiya.
Mikiya doesn’t give her a counter-philosophy. He doesn’t try to “fix” her. He simply treats her as real. Where her grandfather imposed order, Mikiya offers presence. Where the Ryougi family saw her as a tool, Mikiya sees her as a person. He doesn’t need her to be good. He doesn’t need her to be safe. He just needs her to be herself.
This is what finally allows Shiki to reject her grandfather’s teachings: not an argument, but an experience of love without control. Mikiya doesn’t restrain her; he accepts her. And in doing so, he dismantles the internal prison that the Ryougi family spent her entire life building.
Shiki’s story isn’t just about her overcoming violence. It’s about reclaiming her personhood, breaking free from the philosophical chains that reduced her to a vessel, a weapon, a construct. Her journey is not to become human. It’s to remember she already was.
This is also why Future Gospel is absolute dogshit: it completely contradicts the core of Shiki’s character arc. Her entire journey in Kara no Kyoukai was about rejecting her preordained role and embracing her existence as an individual, free from the constraints of her family’s expectations. For her to return to the Ryougi family and act as their heir in Future Gospel effectively undoes that growth, it forces her back into the role of a doll, the very thing she fought to escape.
Conclusion:
With that being said, there are still non-core characters who felt much more integral to the story and left a stronger impression, like Lio and Kirie. Neither of them are truly evil; they’re just weak-willed in a way that feels honest. They don’t twist reality to justify their actions or pretend to be something they’re not. Lio wanted to be special and broken, but he still clung to Mikiya and Shiki as his last anchors. When they were gone, he completely gave in. That makes him tragic, not malicious. Lio's downfall reinforces the idea that Origins are inescapable unless you actively resist them, and his inability to escape his fate is a painful reminder of how powerful and consuming one's nature can be.
Kirie was trapped in an existence where she couldn’t feel anything, unable to engage with the world in a meaningful way. She knew she could have tried to live differently, but she also admitted she was too weak to make that choice. That self-awareness is what sets her apart from the characters I disliked; she didn’t delude herself into thinking she was right or justified. Kirie’s emptiness mirrors the loneliness and detachment explored throughout Kara no Kyoukai, offering a reflection of the story’s deeper themes of existential isolation and the struggle to find meaning in a world where one feels cut off from it.
In contrast, Touko, Enjou, Azaka, and Shiki’s grandfather all have a sense of self-importance or impose their will on the story in ways that feel artificial. They either manipulate others (Shiki’s grandfather), force themselves into narratives they don’t belong in (Enjou, Azaka), or engage in mental gymnastics to justify their existence (Touko).
So it’s not just about strength versus weakness; it’s about honesty. Lio and Kirie knew they were weak, and they didn’t try to pretend otherwise. Had they found a companion like Mikiya, they might have been able to resist their nature and find peace.
Then there’s God's Word, whom I feel neutral about. His motivations felt alien, but that’s fine. Unlike Asagami, he was cursed by his encounter with the fairies, making him fundamentally different from normal humans. That’s what I meant when I talked about her, Asagami’s struggle could have been handled similarly as a supernatural occurrence, making her transformation feel more natural and inevitable.
Edit:
I actually revised his character and find God's Word to be not only far more interesting than Asagami still, but even sympathetic in certain ways:
It’s true that I was abducted by fairies in my youth. Then again, I don’t know if those creatures really were fairies. Perhaps they were only spirits that sought out companionship. They told me they wanted to be together for all of eternity. I, on the other hand, only ever wanted to go home. I'd known of the superstition that children who ran into fairies could never return home, so I frantically tried to escape from them. I ran through the plains and past the woods. When I finally saw my house in sight, I looked back in relief. It was then that I noticed the countless empty husks that were once fairies, and realised that my hands were stained in their red blood. It was at that moment that I realised that the superstitions were true. After being abducted by them, I was never able to return to my home," he said with the comical expression of a clown.
I tried to envision it in my mind. Even when he returned home, all his parents were met with was their son soaked in blood. At that point, his home was no longer what it once was, it was no longer a place for him to return to. The home he'd envisioned was one with a loving family, not one with the cold stares of his parents.
"You mean the fairies didn't abduct you?”
"Indeed. Apparently, I'd massacred them all instead. That proved to be a grievous mistake, however. In the end, they cursed Kurogiri Satsuki for what he did to them. Like I said, I hadn't actually forgotten anything. It was just that from that day on, Kurogiri Satsuki became unable to recognize his memories as his own. Since then, I've been unable to authenticate anything I see with my own eyes. All the knowledge I gained from then on was mere information, not memory. I no longer saw the world as a picture, but as a mass of information that could be changed with words. My world stopped moving when I was ten years old. There exists no method for me to dispel the curse that has been cast on me by the fairies."
I have the traits of the person known as Kokutou Azaka recorded within me as words. Your appearance matched up with the words I used to describe Kokutou Azaka, which is why I recognized you. If someone else who fit my definition better than you arrived, then they would become Kokutou Azaka to me instead. It has nothing to do with whoever you actually are. As I said, there are no pictures within me. Everything within me is documented by means of language. In the case of humans, that'd be their height, weight, bone structure, skin colour, hairstyle, behaviour, and age. I have the traits of the person known as Kokutou Azaka recorded within me as words. Your appearance matched up with the words I used to describe Kokutou Azaka, which is why I recognized you. If someone else who fit my definition better than you arrived, then they would become Kokutou Azaka to me instead. It has nothing to do with whoever you actually are. As I said, there are no pictures within me. Everything within me is documented by means of language. In the case of humans, that'd be their height, weight, bone structure, skin colour, hairstyle, behaviour, and age. I didn't look at you and recognize you as someone I know, it's just that your traits happened to match up with those of Kokutou Azaka best. I can encode, record, and store memories. Only the authentication portion of the process is impossible for me. Of course, this method of mine leads to countless mistakes. Without the ability to verify information with images, I can only distinguish them through words. The mere act of choosing to tie your hair a different way could be enough for me to mistake you. That's why I'm often considered to be forgetful by the people around me. The people of this academy have been saying that about me too, haven't they?"
He chuckled like a child.
"You mean your memories are just a form of language to you?" I mumbled, unable to hold myself back. The events of the day before were stored within him as records, and not as memories. Because of that, a walking mass of data such as him had no concept of self. It was impossible for someone who couldn't recognize his own memories. To him, memories didn't exist as a foundation for his sense of self, but rather as a source of information in order to survive the world around him. The will of the man known as Kurogiri Satsuki was a very faint thing. Because of that, he only ever spoke if he was talked to first, and accepted all things without any resistance whatsoever. In the first place, he couldn't resist, even if he wanted to - Kara no Kyokai Chapter 6.
The curse of the fairies robbed him of the ability to recognize his memories as his own. He lost the capacity to recall visual imagery, rendering everything he saw as a new experience each time. The only thing he could truly perceive were words and abstract information. To make sense of the world, he gathered data and used it to match the details of his surroundings. Even the smallest change, like a new hairstyle, could cause him to forget someone entirely, as the information that defined them had shifted. This is why others often described him as forgetful: each slight alteration in the world around him would throw off his understanding of it.
Without stable memories, he could never establish a true sense of self. Everything he saw or experienced was fleeting, always forgotten, and only validated by comparing it to the abstract data he stored.
He was mentally frozen at the age of ten. His memories weren't a foundation for his identity; they were merely raw information he needed to survive. Reality, to him, was an ever-shifting landscape, and the only tool he had was his ability to retrieve data and apply it to interpret the world.
The problem, however, arose when he encountered humans. He came to realize that the abstract world he sought, the idealized truth of concepts and ideals, was corrupted and distorted when applied to reality. The imperfections and irrationality of human nature tainted everything: what should have been an objective truth was always twisted by their flaws. This realization frightened him. It shattered his ability to form a will of his own, as he was unable to reconcile the reality around him with the abstraction he so desperately clung to.
Thus, his goal became clear: he sought to study memories, hoping that in doing so, he could find a universal truth, a perfect, untainted world that existed in abstraction: a place free from humanity's corruption. In this sense, he shares similarities with Araya Souren. Both were in search of a deeper truth, and both were disillusioned with the human world. The difference is that, as he said, "I wanted eternity and mankind to coexist." God's Word sought this ideal state of the world in the past, believing that by understanding the past, he could uncover a purer, eternal world.
This is why he is often compared to Mikiya Kokutou, but noted to be fundamentally different at the same time: Both accept everything, but for different reasons. God's Word does so because it is the only way he can navigate reality: he needs information to make sense of the world. Mikiya, on the other hand, accepts everything to maintain his inner peace and a sense of self amidst the chaos. One tries to interpret the world but cannot reconcile it with his understanding; the other moves through it with an unshakable peace, embodying a state akin to Stillness.
But yeah, Shiki (with Mikiya) and Araya are undoubtedly the heart of the story, and the narrative would have been stronger if it had focused more on them, with minimal interference from characters like Touko, Enjou, and Azaka. Kirie, Lio, and God’s Word serve their roles effectively as antagonists, each contributing to the story’s deeper themes. However, Asagami’s character arc could have been handled more objectively and naturally, without feeling like an unnecessary complication to the central narrative. Furthermore, the story should have highlighted that Shiki's grandfather was the primary source of her self-doubt and suffering, with Mikiya offering the reassurance that she is free to live on her own terms, free from the burden of her shitty family.
Overall, while Tsukihime and Melty Blood have stronger casts with more well-integrated characters, KnK’s supporting cast often feels weak or unnecessary. However, its three main characters are written with such depth that they ultimately surpass even most characters in other Type-Moon works. Perhaps the reason the writers included characters like Touko and Enjou was not because they were meant to be engaging, but because they served as deliberate examples of human flaws. Enjou represents the average weak-willed person who twists reality to justify himself, while Touko embodies the pseudo-intellectual who combats truth with sophistry. From a detached, almost Void-like perspective, their inclusion could be seen as an intentional demonstration of how humans deceive themselves. However, this still doesn’t change the fact that their presence detracts from the core conflict between Shiki, Mikiya, and Araya, who are far more compelling.
Bonus Section: The Commentary in Volume 3 and its interpretation:
One of the re-releases of Kara no Kyoukai includes a commentary in Volume 3 offering an interpretation that, while academically interesting, ultimately misrepresents the core themes of the work. Crucially, this commentary was not written by Kinoko Nasu himself, but by Kiyoshi Kasai; a writer Nasu has long admired and cited as an early influence.
Kasai’s analysis reflects his personal view of Kara no Kyoukai within the framework of the adventure genre. While his interpretation offers thought-provoking angles, it often feels misaligned with the actual narrative. Even if Nasu were to endorse parts of it today (though no clear evidence suggests this), it's important to remember that Nasu has publicly stated that his “old self” has “died,” and that his writing has softened in tone and outlook. If he were to embrace Kasai’s framing now, it would more likely be part of a retrospective reframing; an attempt to distance himself from his earlier work rather than illuminate its original intent. In this light, Kasai’s commentary can be read less as a clarification and more as a quiet rewriting, one that doesn’t honor the spirit of the original.
The commentary begins by mapping out key concepts in the setting, especially the Root and occult theory, while framing Araya Souren as a kind of knight in search of the Holy Grail, a seeker of ultimate reality rather than a conventional villain craving power or forbidden knowledge. So far, the interpretation seems plausible, even compelling.
But it then shifts into contradiction.
The commentary claims Kara no Kyoukai could have been written as a heroic tale, only for Nasu to subvert it, intentionally deconstructing the Bildungsroman or heroic narrative. To support this, it cites a quote from Touko:
However, Araya does not have secular ambitions. He is not driven by a desire for world domination, nor is he trying to use the occult powers from the "Whirlpool of the Root" to gain these things. Araya, as a practitioner, simply wishes to reach the ultimate reality.
The Whirlpool of the Root, the true world = self, is a painful path that Araya follows. There are women practitioners (like Touko) who have failed the path and fallen away, and there is the empty system (Shiki) that is unaware of its own purpose, but Araya continues to struggle, fighting desperately as an anti-hero seeking the Holy Grail.
Kara no Kyoukai may have been written as a heroic tale of this type, but Kinoko Nasu deliberately tried to overturn the conventional narrative expectations of a Bildungsroman (novel of education) or a historical novel.
The reason for this can be inferred from the following words spoken by Touko towards Araya: “You say that people are filthy and ugly, but you yourself are unable to live that way. You can’t even accept living while knowing that you are ugly and worthless. You must have pride in thinking that you are special, that only you can save this aging world, in order to exist at all.” - KnK Volume 3 Commentary
This is where the logic falters. Earlier, the commentary insists that Araya is not driven by ego or ambition. He does not seek power, prestige, or even identity: he calls himself “nobody,” a vessel for observation and conclusion. And yet, through Touko’s line (and the commentary’s interpretation), he is suddenly accused of believing in his own specialness and being unable to accept his insignificance.
This is a direct contradiction.
You cannot frame Araya as a man who has fully abandoned his ego, someone who exists solely as a function, and then simultaneously accuse him of clinging to pride and uniqueness. Either he is a dissolving self or a self-aggrandizing visionary. He cannot be both. The argument collapses under the weight of its own inconsistency.
The commentary goes further, claiming Araya is “too weak to accept the world as it is.” But this reading mischaracterizes his entire journey. If weakness lies in turning away from reality, Araya is one of the strongest figures in the story. He doesn’t avert his gaze from suffering; he confronts it, records it, attempts to comprehend it. His pursuit of Stillness isn’t escapism; it’s a form of spiritual endurance. He seeks to construct a framework in which even meaningless deaths are observed, not ignored: a quiet defiance against nihilism.
In a world where salvation is distributed arbitrarily, granted to those who have never struggled, Araya chooses to carry the weight of those who died without meaning. He refuses to look away. That is not delusion. That is strength. Yet Kasai’s commentary reduces this to self-importance and weakness, reframing transcendence and existential resolve as egoistic pathology. This attempt to morally simplify a deeply ambiguous character doesn’t just misread him; it erases what makes him compelling.
What we see here is a common mirror effect: individuals like Araya, those who are intellectually rigorous and emotionally detached, are often misread as arrogant or prideful, even when they explicitly reject such motives. It’s a projection born from discomfort. People assign motives they can understand, ambition, self-importance, to those who operate on entirely different principles.
Araya fits this pattern perfectly. He doesn’t elevate himself; he rejects pride, identity, and validation altogether. But because his intellect and actions place him so far outside the bounds of the ordinary, observers assume he must believe himself superior. They conflate detachment with condescension, and his resolve with delusion.
This creates a kind of cognitive dissonance: Araya’s refusal to pursue traditional human desires, recognition, ego, belonging, renders him unreadable to those still ruled by them. In that gap of understanding, people default to the familiar assumption: “he must be acting from pride.” The Volume 3 commentary exemplifies this tendency: miscasting humility as hubris simply because it doesn’t conform to a conventional emotional framework.
But in truth, Araya is unsettling not because he exalts himself; but because he doesn’t. He has no desire to be understood, remembered, or vindicated. That absence of self is what makes him so alien; and so easy to misinterpret.
To understand Araya’s cause, we must look closely at this passage:
It has been a story from the distant past. Human beings can’t be saved. As long as they live, there will inevitably be those who remain unrewarded. Not all human beings can find happiness. Then, what is a human being who was not saved? What will be the reward for their lives?
There is no answer. It’s equal to infinite and finite. If no one is saved, then no one can attain salvation. If so, salvation is no different from a gold coin endlessly passing hands.
Human beings can’t be saved. There’s no salvation in the world.
That’s why I decided to record death. To record the end to everything, to record the end of the world, to examine everything from beginning to end. By doing so, perhaps I could distinguish what happiness truly was. If it were possible to reevaluate everything, from those who were unrewarded to those who were not saved, then perhaps I could determine what could be referred to as happiness. If the meaning of humanity’s happiness could be understood, then after the world ends all those who died meaninglessly could be granted meaning in the end. Therefore, when the world reaches its conclusion, people would finally be able to measure the value of human beings. - Kara no Kyoukai Chapter 5
Araya frames his mission through the paradox of the finite and infinite. Happiness and salvation can only be known through their absence. But this contrast is most profound not in death, but in the human struggle for meaning.
True peace, the kind that allows one to die without regret, is rare. Salvation, in this sense, is not universal. Many live and die without ever discovering a sense of purpose. Even those who form connections or pursue passions often do so out of instinct or necessity, abandoning them as circumstances shift. Most people never find lasting meaning. They cling to temporary attachments (jobs, relationships, ideologies) that eventually fade, leaving them hollow. Those who genuinely attain fulfillment, like Mikiya, are statistical anomalies. And whether someone finds meaning or not seems arbitrary, granted to some and denied to others regardless of merit or effort.
From this, Araya draws a grim but lucid conclusion: the only true constant in human life is death. So he records it, obsessively, hoping that, through its patterns, he might uncover a higher truth. But meaning is not a constant. It is subjective, mutable, and unshareable. Even if every condition were made equal, dissatisfaction would persist. Suffering would return. The cycle would repeat. The only way to resolve this would be to create a universal architecture of meaning, but no such structure exists. There is no objective truth. Only perception. Only the architecture of existence, filtered through the fractured lens of human limitation.
In the end, Araya falls into the very trap he was trying to escape. He, too, was searching for meaning. Araya Souren is perhaps the closest thing to a true hero in Kara no Kyoukai; not in the simplistic sense of “fighting for good,” but in the deeper sense of sacrificing everything for the sake of others. The tragedy is that his very selflessness ensures he never achieves the fulfillment he seeks to give.
Unlike typical antagonists, Araya isn’t driven by ego or desire. He never sought happiness, power, or recognition. He spent centuries asking one question: How can people die without regret? His aim was not conquest. It was compassion, stripped of emotion, purified into a philosophical ideal.
The cruel irony is that he never thought to seek meaning for himself. He was willing to be vilified, misunderstood, and hated, all to solve a problem no one else had the courage to face. And despite all his strength, knowledge, and clarity, he was still bound by the paradox he sought to resolve: that meaning, in trying to be made universal, becomes meaningless.
Those who call Araya deluded or evil completely miss the point. If anything, he is a martyr; not to a religion or ideology, but to an impossible ideal. One so vast, so selfless, that it estranged him from humanity itself.
Pride, by definition, requires attachment to the self. Araya erased his self. To claim he was “too proud to accept his insignificance” isn’t just mistaken: it’s logically incoherent.
Humans seek the true world and the true self merely because they cannot bear the mundane, vulgar reality. This weakness leads to the creation of the unfounded notion of the "True World = I." Believing in this distorted notion of the "True World = I" makes one invincible. A weak person in reality can instantaneously transform into a strong one in terms of concepts. - KnK Volume 3 Commentary
This argument confuses two different ideas. In Kara no Kyoukai, the "True World" is not a delusion; it is a real, attainable state. Araya does not seek it out of weakness, but because it is a tangible reality, as proven by Shiki's existence. To call him deluded ignores the setting's core premise.
The second point, that "a weak person in reality can become strong in terms of concepts," is flawed. It wrongly assumes conceptual strength is inferior to physical strength, when in fact, it is the basis of human progress. Strength comes not from passive acceptance, but from actively striving for something greater. The danger lies not in ideals, but in how they are engaged with. “Conceptual strength” being dismissed as fake is ironically contradicted by Nasu’s entire body of work, where concepts literally shape reality.
This is why Shiki and Mikiya are compelling: they represent two authentic ways of existing, one through the struggle for identity and purpose, the other through quiet stability. Araya, meanwhile, rejects the world, but within the logic of Kara no Kyoukai, he can do that, because the alternative he seeks actually exists. Judging him through real-world biases misreads his character and the story’s fundamental nature.
Knowing this secret, Touko gives up on pursuing the "Vortex of the Root." A similar situation occurs with Shiki, whose alternate personality, SHIKI, is a murderous figure. - KnK Volume 3 Commentary
Touko never “knew that secret". She was defeated by her sister Aoko and subsequently coped with her loss. There was no profound enlightenment; just resignation. Comparing Touko to Shiki on this basis is frankly disingenuous.
Shiki never sought to reach the Root only to reject it. She was born inherently connected to it. Her struggle was never about failing transcendence but about breaking free from the imposed roles and expectations forced upon her by her family. This is a fundamentally different journey from Touko’s.
Touko’s pursuit of the “Vortex of the Root” is aspirational yet ends in failure. She is thwarted by Aoko and ultimately resigns herself to accepting reality as it is, with all its flaws. She believes the world cannot be changed and that individuals must live within its confines.
In contrast, Shiki’s connection to the Root is innate, not something she sought out. She doesn’t “give up” on the Root because she never pursued it. What she rejects is the external purpose others tried to assign her; she refuses to be a tool or weapon. Her struggle is one of self-definition and radical autonomy.
Equating Touko’s resignation with Shiki’s defiant rejection is a false equivalence. Touko yields to her limitations; Shiki actively defies hers. Their motivations are polar opposites.
This comparison feels like an attempt to justify the mishandling of Shiki’s character in Mirai Fukuin, where her defining rejection of imposed roles was diminished, reducing her to something closer to Touko’s resigned acceptance. Sorry, but that is not the Shiki of Kara no Kyoukai.
The commentary further distorts Shiki’s journey of self-determination by framing it as a rejection of the abstract itself, implying Kara no Kyoukai argues that embracing the material world alone is the path to true strength:
Having learned this secret, Touko gives up on clinging to the "Whirlpool of the Root." In Shiki, who has the alternating personality of the killer "SHIKI" a similar situation occurs. "Shiki" refers to "Shikigami's Shiki. Formula's Shiki. A program that perfectly performs only predetermined tasks. It is a hollow doll with numerous personalities, each rewritten with different moral views and common sense." Even the misanthropic Shiki cannot ignore the presence of the boy who cares for her. However, Shiki tries to distance herself from Mikiya. If she accepts his feelings, the abstract system she was designed as will collapse. To avoid self-destruction, Shiki attacks Mikiya, but her blade never reaches him. "If I can’t erase you, then I have no choice but to disappear." Shiki then throws herself in front of a car and is severely injured. When she awakens from her coma, she has lost the memory of that night, and the personality of "SHIKI" disappears. - Kara no Kyoukai Volume 3 commentary
But this interpretation collapses under scrutiny.
Shiki’s journey is not about rejecting the abstract; it is about reconciling the abstract with her human consciousness. Originally a “program,” a tool without self-awareness, Shiki’s awakening caused an identity crisis. The true challenge was not abandoning the abstract, but balancing it with her human nature. She reshapes her identity by merging both aspects, creating a new self where abstraction and humanity coexist.
This is not a simplistic rejection of ideas or an embrace of materialism; it is a transcendence of both extremes, a harmony that forms the core message of Kara no Kyoukai. The commentary’s reduction of Shiki’s struggle to something akin to Touko’s resignation wrongly frames engagement with ideas as escapism.
Furthermore, the commentary elevates Touko as the “ultimate viewpoint,” despite her lacking the philosophical depth that defines Shiki and Araya’s struggles. Touko exists without clear purpose, avoiding meaningful questions and burying herself in work to distract from unresolved trauma. To present her as a pinnacle of wisdom is misguided; her outlook is shallow and directionless. Unlike Araya, who seeks profound truths, or Shiki, who actively confronts and integrates her identity’s complexities, Touko merely evades.
The irony is that Touko, who lectures others on escaping reality, is herself the ultimate escape artist, caught in a cycle of death and rebirth without genuine progress or confrontation of life’s fundamental truths. In stark contrast, Shiki and Araya actively engage with those truths. Shiki embraces and balances her dual nature, while Araya pursues a truth beyond self.
Touko’s “wisdom” is little more than a coping mechanism born from trauma inflicted by Aoko. She refuses to face life and death’s deeper realities, perpetuating her existence through puppetry and denial rather than the courageous confrontation embodied by Shiki and Araya.
In Thomas Mann's Tonio Kröger, a typical Bildungsroman, the conflict between a worldly father and an idealistic son is often portrayed. This structure in Kara no Kyoukai becomes the conflict between Araya Souren (the extraordinary) and Mikiya Kokutou (the ordinary). Characters like Touko and Shiki, who belong to the extraordinary side in terms of abilities, are still intermediate characters who affirm the value of the ordinary.
By the way, did the author, who saw through the idealistic perversion of concepts, accept the logic of mundane worldly ideas?
Humans can only wait for the arrival of "God." Even if it’s the only thing they can do, they cannot forget the "Vortex of the Root." The conflict between Araya and Mikiya is not a battle between the extraordinary and the ordinary, or between ideals and reality. It is a clash of two attitudes toward the "True World" and the "True Self"—two opposing paths.
The perversion of seeking the "truth" because one cannot endure the false world and false self is the consequence of the 20th-century world wars and mass slaughter. Even today, in the 21st century, the pursuit of self-discovery, healing, and spirituality continues, with countless small Arayas born from it. This double bind is the destiny of our era, and this work challenges it. There is no "true self," but still, we are forced to seek it. - Kara no Kyoukai Volume 3 Commentary
The commentary presents an inconsistent and contradictory analysis of the conflict between Araya Souren and Mikiya Kokutou. Initially, it frames their conflict as a typical idealism vs. realism debate: Araya pursuing transcendence and higher truths, and Mikiya embodying grounded, mundane existence. Touko and Shiki, despite their extraordinary abilities, are intermediates affirming the ordinary.
However, the commentary then shifts, claiming the conflict concerns two opposing views of the "True World" and "True Self." This abrupt change is never reconciled with the earlier argument, muddling the central theme and leaving the reader unclear about the commentary’s true position.
Further, it draws a vague parallel between Araya’s pursuit of truth and modern spiritual seekers, labeling his actions a “perversion” born from inability to accept falsehood. Mikiya supposedly represents those who do not seek the divine but “wait for the arrival of God.” This contrast, seeking vs. waiting, is conflated with idealism vs. realism without clarification. Seeking requires action, waiting is passive, but neither necessarily maps to idealism or realism exclusively.
The commentary then morally judges Araya’s path as flawed due to historical trauma, while portraying Mikiya’s passive acceptance as preferable, yet it offers no rigorous justification for this stance. Not all seekers are misguided, and not all passive acceptors wise. If Mikiya’s path is superior, stronger philosophical argumentation is required.
Ultimately, the commentary fails to maintain consistency. It begins with idealism vs. realism, switches to a spiritual dichotomy, and condemns Araya without adequately defending Mikiya. This results in shallow moralizing, reducing Kara no Kyoukai’s complex philosophy to vague generalities rather than nuanced exploration.
In truth, there is no real “conflict” between Araya and Mikiya. They share a common goal: peace and clarity in chaos, differing only in approach. Mikiya values human connection and sincerity; Araya seeks peace through confronting unsettling truths and transcendence. Their opposition reflects contrasting methods addressing the same existential problem: two sides of a coin.
Mikiya is no passive bystander; he actively shapes reality by imposing his own meaning, much like Araya, but personally and humanistically. He doesn’t “wait for God” or simply accept the world; he selectively enforces his worldview, rejecting anything disrupting his peace. His approach is personal, flexible, and grounded in his perception of reality.
This mirrors Araya’s quest for Stillness on a metaphysical level but manifests interpersonally. Mikiya filters out chaos to maintain peace without demanding perfection. He stabilizes Shiki’s contradictions without negating them, “pausing” her internal chaos to grant clarity and purpose, much like Stillness imposes subjective truth over reality’s disorder.
This analysis undermines the commentary’s idealism vs. realism framework. Their “conflict” is not about accepting or rejecting reality, but shaping it through personal meaning. Araya sought to eliminate contradictions entirely; Mikiya selectively chooses what matters. Mikiya’s personal values ironically make him the story’s most anti-realist character.
Regarding the commentary’s attempt to apply real-world sociopolitical analysis: it fails because Kara no Kyoukai operates in a reality where transcendence and truth physically exist. Araya’s pursuit is not merely a response to historical trauma but an active quest within a metaphysical reality. His failure stems from pragmatic factors, Shiki’s unique nature, not flawed philosophy.
Labeling Araya a misguided spiritual seeker misses the mark. He is a scholar of metaphysics, genuinely understanding the Root’s structure. If misguided, his methods wouldn’t succeed, yet they do. The commentary’s reduction of the narrative to personal disillusionment undermines its profound exploration of truth.
Rather than condemn the pursuit of truth, Kara no Kyoukai asks: how can we seek meaning without distorting it? Shiki and Mikiya exemplify balancing acceptance with the avoidance of false meaning that breeds suffering. The series critiques the approach to meaning, not meaning itself.
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