100 Meters Anime Review That Shows the Dark Side of Competition
Rushabh Bhosale
There's a moment in 100 Meters where Togashi stands at the starting line, and the silence becomes unbearable. Not because the film needs noise, but because you can feel the weight of everything that led to this point pressing down on him. That's what 100 Meters does best—it makes you feel the heaviness of a race that's over in less than ten seconds.
Released in 2025 and now streaming on Netflix, 100 Meters (Hyakuemu.) is a Japanese anime film directed by Kenji Iwaisawa, adapted from Uoto's manga of the same name. It's not a typical sports anime. There are no tournament arcs, no training montages set to J-pop, and no team of quirky side characters cheering from the sidelines. Instead, it's a quiet, introspective film about two runners—Togashi and Komiya—whose rivalry spans childhood to professional careers, and the toll that obsession takes on both of them.
What makes 100 Meters stand out among anime films is its refusal to lean on spectacle. This is a story about identity breaking under pressure, similar to how Perfect Blue explores psychological collapse without spectacle.
What Kind of Sports Anime Is This?
100 Meters isn't trying to pump you up or make you believe in the power of friendship. It's closer to a psychological drama that happens to be about running. The film follows two sprinters whose rivalry defines them, and eventually breaks them. If you're expecting the emotional highs of traditional sports anime, you'll be thrown off by how subdued and introspective this feels.
It mirrors the real cost of improvement, where effort stops being inspiring and starts becoming destructive.
The anime streaming on Netflix has found an audience precisely because it's different. It's for viewers who want something that lingers rather than something that energizes.
The Pacing Problem That Isn't Really a Problem
For a film about sprinting, 100 Meters moves deliberately. The runtime allows the story to breathe without dragging, letting moments of silence carry as much weight as dialogue. Early scenes establish Togashi as a natural talent—someone who wins without trying, which sounds like a blessing until you realize it's his curse. He doesn't know how to struggle, so when Komiya arrives and starts catching up through sheer determination, Togashi doesn't know how to respond.
The film doesn't rush to the final race. It takes its time showing you how rivalry can become identity, how competition can hollow you out until there's nothing left but the need to win.
Why the Slow Burn Works
Scenes linger on faces, on breathing, on the moments before a race starts when doubt creeps in. The pacing mirrors the experience of standing on a starting block—time stretches, your heartbeat becomes deafening, and everything narrows to a single point.
This deliberate pacing won't work for everyone. If you're expecting the high-energy momentum of something like Haikyuu!! or Blue Lock, 100 Meters will feel slow. But that slowness is intentional. It's building something—dread, pressure, the creeping realization that no matter how fast you run, you're still racing against yourself.
The tension doesn't come from wondering who will win. It comes from watching two people destroy themselves in pursuit of ten seconds of validation.
Competition as Self Destruction
What makes the central conflict work is how personal it becomes. Togashi and Komiya aren't just rivals—they're mirrors reflecting each other's worst fears. Togashi is terrified of losing his natural gift, of becoming ordinary. Komiya is terrified that no matter how hard he works, he'll never be enough. Their rivalry pushes them both forward, but it also breaks them in ways the film doesn't shy away from showing.
The anime portrays competition as something that consumes. Not in a dramatic, explosive way, but in the quiet erosion of self. Togashi's obsession with staying ahead leads to isolation. Komiya's relentless training becomes self-punishment.
Why This Rivalry Feels Different
The film asks uncomfortable questions: What does it mean to win if you've destroyed yourself to get there? What do you do when the only thing that defines you is something you can only do for a few more years?
100 Meters gained popularity on Netflix not because it glorifies athletic dedication, but because it shows the cost. The film's reception seems rooted in how honest it is about pressure—something that resonates beyond sports. It's about anyone who's tied their identity to being the best at something, and what happens when that's no longer enough.
The Characters Feel Real Because They're Broken
The film doesn't waste time on elaborate backstories. You learn about Togashi and Komiya through what drives them, not through flashbacks explaining their childhood trauma. Togashi is defined by his need to prove he's still exceptional. Komiya is defined by his refusal to give up, even when his body screams at him to stop.
What's compelling about both characters is how they're trapped by what they want. Togashi can't enjoy running anymore because winning is expected, not celebrated. Komiya can't enjoy running because he's always chasing someone just out of reach.
Supporting Characters Exist in the Margins
The film doesn't present either approach as "correct." Both are destructive, and watching them spiral is what makes 100 Meters so uncomfortable to sit through.
The supporting characters exist mostly on the periphery—coaches, family members, other runners—but they serve a purpose. They're the people Togashi and Komiya are leaving behind in their pursuit of speed. The film doesn't need to spell this out; you feel it in the distance that grows between them and everyone else.
The Animation Makes You Feel Every Breath
100 Meters uses rotoscoped animation—traced over live-action footage—to create a hyper-realistic sense of motion. When the characters run, you feel the strain in their muscles, the way their bodies move just slightly off-balance when fatigue sets in. It's not flashy animation, but it's visceral. Every breath, every stumble, every moment of hesitation is visible.
This technique is what sets 100 Meters (2025) apart visually from other sports anime. The physicality feels earned, not stylized.
Sound Design That Amplifies the Anxiety
The sound design does most of the heavy lifting. Races are loud—pounding footsteps, labored breathing, the roar of a crowd—but between races, the film goes quiet. Those silences are where the anxiety lives. You hear characters breathing too hard, or the faint hum of ambient noise that makes you realize how alone they are even when surrounded by people.
The music is minimal and used sparingly, which makes it hit harder when it does appear. The score doesn't try to manipulate your emotions; it underscores what's already there. The anime's soundtrack doesn't distract—it amplifies the mood, letting the weight of the story settle on you without interference.
Who Should Watch 100 Meters on Netflix
100 Meters is for people who want character-driven sports drama that's more The Wrestler than Rocky. If you're interested in stories about obsession, identity, and the cost of chasing excellence, this will stick with you. If you've ever felt defined by one thing you're good at and wondered what happens when that's taken away, this film will be uncomfortably relatable.
It's also worth watching if you're into anime films that prioritize atmosphere and mood over plot complexity. The story is simple, but the emotional layers are not.
Who Might Struggle With It
100 Meters is not for viewers looking for feel-good sports anime. There's no underdog triumph here, no moment where everything clicks and the protagonist learns to love the game again. This is a film about people who've already given too much, and it doesn't offer easy answers or redemptive arcs.
If you need your sports stories to end with catharsis, this might leave you frustrated. The limited anime release in theaters and its subsequent availability on Netflix in late 2025 has made 100 Meters accessible to a wider audience, but it's not an easy watch. It's the kind of film you need to be in the right headspace for.
Where to Watch 100 Meters Anime
If you're looking for where to watch 100 Meters anime, it's currently streaming on Netflix in multiple regions. The 100 Meters anime release date on Netflix was December 2025, following its theatrical run earlier in the year. For those who prefer the big screen experience, 100 Meters manga fans got to see the theatrical release first, though the Netflix release has made it far more accessible to international audiences.
What Stays With You After the Credits Roll
100 Meters doesn't end with resolution—it ends with exhaustion. Not the triumphant kind, but the hollow kind where you've crossed the finish line and realized it didn't fix anything. The final race is tense and beautifully animated, but what lingers isn't who wins. It's the look on their faces after. The realization that this is all there is—ten seconds of running, and then nothing.
The film leaves you thinking about what we sacrifice for the things we're good at, and whether it's worth it. It doesn't give you an answer because there isn't one. Some people will watch 100 Meters and see a cautionary tale. Others will see themselves.
The Quiet That Follows
What struck me most after watching 100 Meters (2025) was how quiet the ending felt. Not peaceful—just quiet, like the moment after you've been holding your breath for too long and finally exhale. The anime doesn't tell you how to feel about what you just watched, and that ambiguity is what makes it worth watching.
It trusts you to sit with the discomfort, to think about what it means to run toward something when you're not sure what you'll find at the finish line.
100 Meters isn't the kind of anime you recommend lightly. It's heavy, deliberate, and doesn't offer easy comfort. But if you're willing to sit with it, it'll leave you thinking long after the credits roll—about ambition, identity, and the cost of being exceptional at something that won't last forever.
Tags
Frequently Asked Questions
Where can I watch 100 Meters anime?
100 Meters is currently streaming on Netflix in select regions.
Is 100 Meters a feel-good anime?
No. It’s a heavy, introspective film that explores the emotional cost of competition rather than offering a triumphant sports story.
Is 100 Meters based on a manga?
Yes. The anime film is adapted from the manga Hyakuemu. by Uoto.
How long is the 100 Meters anime film?
The film has a short runtime, but it uses its time deliberately, focusing on atmosphere and character psychology.
Is 100 Meters worth watching?
If you enjoy character-driven anime and stories about obsession and ambition, it’s absolutely worth watching. If you prefer high-energy sports anime, it may feel slow.
Next up
Why Made in Abyss Is Beautiful and Horrifying | Studio Ghibli Meets Body Horror
Made in Abyss (2017) weaponizes the contrast between its childlike Studio Ghibli-inspired art style and its brutal body horror to create uniquely unsettling storytelling. The series follows children Riko and Reg descending into a mysterious pit called the Abyss, where cute character designs collide with graphic violence, psychological trauma, and existential dread. The beauty—hand-painted backgrounds, whimsical creatures, wonder-filled exploration—makes the horror hit harder. When characters suffer horrific injuries or transformations, the contrast between what you see (adorable kids) and what happens to them (dismemberment, body horror, death) creates cognitive dissonance that haunts viewers long after watching. This isn't accidental—it's the core of what makes Made in Abyss both a masterpiece and deeply controversial. Since its 2017 release, Made in Abyss has maintained an 8.6+ rating on MyAnimeList and won the 2018 Anime of the Year award at Crunchyroll, proving its impact despite—or because of—its controversial content. The Deceptive First Impression Made in Abyss draws viewers in with delicate, storybook visuals and a childlike sense of wonder. The first episodes feel cozy—quirky interactions, whimsical creature designs, and soft character expressions that give off a sense of safety and innocence. The chibi-style animation reminds viewers of Studio Ghibli's warmest works. Hand-painted backgrounds rival theatrical productions. Sunlight hits the town of Orth beautifully, rivers weave through districts, and everything looks meticulously crafted. Then episode 10 happens. When the Mask Falls Off What appears at first to be a cutesy adventure story evolves into a claustrophobic, disturbing fable of single-minded determination and a desperate struggle against overwhelming odds that portrays both brutal violence and severe bodily mutilation involving children. The tonal shift doesn't arrive gradually. It lands with disturbing force—sudden violence, brutal injuries, psychological trauma, and body horror creep into the narrative, shattering any expectation of a fun adventure. Similar to how Evangelion uses mecha to explore depression, Made in Abyss uses its genre trappings (adventure anime) to smuggle in much darker themes about human cost and sacrifice. The Studio Ghibli Aesthetic Hiding Cosmic Horror The comparison to Studio Ghibli isn't superficial. Made in Abyss deliberately evokes that aesthetic—the organic, curvilinear art style, the fantasy environments, the attention to environmental detail that makes worlds feel lived-in. But where Ghibli uses that style to create comfort and wonder, Made in Abyss uses it as camouflage. Art Style as Weapon The art isn't just beautiful—it's strategically beautiful. The cuter the characters look, the more disturbing it becomes when terrible things happen to them. The Puni Plush aesthetic can be misleading. Made in Abyss is in fact a full-throated Cosmic Horror Story with a caliber of body horror and ultra-violence comparable to some of anime's most uncompromising dark fantasy. This creates cognitive dissonance. Your brain sees adorable children with big eyes and soft features. Then those same children suffer injuries depicted in agonizing, unflinching detail—bones breaking, flesh tearing, bodies transforming into something unrecognizable. The contrast makes both elements stronger. The beauty emphasizes the horror. The horror makes the beauty feel fragile, temporary, a thin veneer over something monstrous. The Abyss Itself: Beauty That Kills The Abyss is the series' central metaphor—a massive, mysterious pit filled with ancient relics, strange creatures, and otherworldly beauty that hides its grim nature. No one knows how deep it goes or how it came to be. It's an Eldritch Location that causes phenomena by sheer proximity. Time moves strangely in the depths. Trying to ascend causes life-threatening symptoms called "the Curse." The Descent as Metaphor Going into the Abyss is a one-way journey. Each layer down increases danger. The Curse ensures that returning becomes progressively impossible—mild nausea at shallow depths, intense pain deeper, hallucinations deeper still, and eventually death or transformation into something no longer human. This "no going back" motif solidifies the horror. You're stuck in your pursuit, trapped in Dante's Inferno's downward spiral with no escape route. This connects to how Mushishi shows problems that can't be fixed—some journeys don't have happy endings, some costs can't be undone. When Body Horror Happens to Children The series' most controversial aspect is its willingness to depict graphic violence and body horror involving child characters. The Poison Scene That Changes Everything Episode 10 features Riko being poisoned by an Orb Piercer. The poison works fast—her hand balloons grotesquely, blood pours from her eyes and ears. To save her life, Reg must break her arm with a rock, then amputate it while she screams in agony. The scene is brutal, extended, and unflinching. Smashing, screaming, and shredding fill the soundscape with disturbing vibes. It's rough and ugly in ways that would benefit from leaving elements implied rather than displayed. But that's the point. Made in Abyss refuses to look away. The series argues that if you're going to show children in danger, you have to show the actual consequences—not sanitized action-hero injuries that heal by next episode. This parallels the dark side of competition shown in 100 Meters anime—both series refuse to prettify suffering. Bondrewd: The Monster Who Loves The character who embodies Made in Abyss's thematic horror is Bondrewd, a White Whistle explorer who conducts human experimentation in the Abyss's depths. He's polite, articulate, even gentle in manner. He seems like a stand-up character. But he's responsible for atrocities carried out under the guise of progress and paternal care. The Mitty and Nanachi Tragedy Bondrewd tells two children—Mitty and Nanachi—that he'll send them deep into the Abyss then bring them back up to study the Curse's effects. When they ascend, Mitty takes the full force of the Curse. Her body transforms into a blob-like creature in constant pain, unable to die, screaming as Nanachi is forced to watch helplessly. Bondrewd then experiments on Mitty's immortal body, destroying and regenerating her organs repeatedly. The horror isn't just the body horror—it's that Bondrewd genuinely believes his work is righteous. He's the most memorable villain in recent memory, in the worst way. Despite the horror of his actions, he genuinely believes that his work is for progress, even as it destroys countless lives. The series questions whether intent matters when the outcome is monstrous. The Curse of the Abyss: Consequences That Matter Unlike most adventure anime where injuries heal conveniently, Made in Abyss enforces permanent consequences through the Curse system. How the Curse Works Each layer of the Abyss has a "Curse"—symptoms that occur when ascending: Layer 1: Mild dizziness and nausea Layer 2: Heavy nausea, headache, numbness Layer 3: Vertigo, hallucinations, balance loss Layer 4: Intense pain throughout body, bleeding from every orifice Layer 5: Complete sensory deprivation, self-harm, loss of humanity Layer 6: Death or loss of humanity/transformation into something monstrous This creates constant dread. Every step deeper makes returning more impossible. Characters can't just decide to leave—physics itself prevents escape. The Curse turns adventure into trap. Similar to why Monster feels more terrifying than horror anime, the horror comes from inevitability, not jump scares. Why the Beauty Makes the Horror Worse The series maintains visual beauty throughout its darkest moments. Even in the deepest, most dangerous layers, the Abyss remains stunning. Bioluminescent creatures glow softly. Underground ecosystems burst with color. Ancient ruins inspire awe. When Reg and Riko share quiet moments discovering new creatures, when they laugh together despite everything, when they create temporary safety in hostile territory—these moments make the horror that follows unbearable. You care about these characters. You want them to be okay. The series gives you reasons to hope, then systematically destroys that hope in ways that feel earned, not exploitative. For viewers seeking similar tonal whiplash, 10 underrated anime you probably missed includes other series that balance beauty with darkness. The Music That Shouldn't Work But Does Composer Kevin Penkin created a soundtrack that matches the visual contrast—beautiful, sometimes playful orchestration accompanying horrific scenes. The song "Underground River" begins slow and quiet, builds to sharp and blaring intensity, then mellows out. It contains meaningful lyrics highlighting themes of descent and discovery. "Hanezeve Caradhina" plays during tragic moments with haunting vocals that sound both ancient and alien. The music treats the Abyss as sacred, not evil—a place of wonder that happens to kill people. This creates emotional whiplash that reinforces the series' core tension: beauty and horror aren't opposites here. They're the same thing. Who Should (and Shouldn't) Watch This Watch If You: Appreciate anime that takes creative risks Can handle graphic content if it serves thematic purpose Enjoyed other "cute exterior, dark interior" series like Madoka Magica Want fantasy adventure that respects consequences Can separate art style from content maturity Skip If You: Can't handle body horror or child endangerment Prefer sanitized adventure stories Need happy resolutions to justify dark content Are sensitive to graphic depictions of suffering Expect art style to indicate content rating This connects to how Chainsaw Man feels wrong on purpose—discomfort can be intentional artistic choice. What Made in Abyss Actually Achieves The series succeeds at something rare: making beauty and horror inseparable. Most anime separate them—beautiful moments provide relief, horrific moments create contrast. Made in Abyss refuses this separation. Despite its heavy themes, the series maintains delicate balance through pacing that alternates between wonder, tension, and horror—preventing darker elements from becoming overwhelming while never sanitizing consequences. Nearly a decade after its 2017 premiere, Made in Abyss remains both celebrated and controversial. Its refusal to look away from the costs of adventure created something that haunts viewers in ways typical horror anime can't achieve. Because when horror wears the face of wonder, you can never look at wonder the same way again.