Naota's brain is a literal construction site, and the show treats your brain the same way. Every frame is designed to hit you somewhere between your eyes and your spine, daring you to make sense of what you're seeing while the soundtrack rewires your nervous system. Six episodes that move so fast you'll rewatch them three times before understanding what actually happened, which is precisely the point.
Naota's sixth-grade existence is pleasantly monotonous until Haruko crashes into his life on a motor scooter. She's loud, reckless, and claims to be hunting an alien fugitive hiding in his hometown. Before he can process any of this, giant robots begin erupting from his head during moments of emotional intensity. Haruko insists on living with his family while she investigates, turning his already confusing adolescence into complete chaos. What unfolds is a rapid-fire blend of slapstick comedy, surreal action sequences, and genuine weirdness. Naota finds himself tangled in Haruko's schemes, corporate conspiracies, and his own messy feelings about growing up. The show never stops moving long enough to explain itself, instead throwing bizarre visuals and energetic rock music at you until the line between what's real and what's metaphorical blurs entirely. This is peak early-2000s weirdness: anarchic, funny, and utterly committed to its own logic. The six episodes burn through ideas like they're going out of style, creating something that feels less like a traditional story and more like a fever dream about puberty and identity.