Asuka Strikes Me In The Face!

Asuka Langley Soryu’s arrival in Episode 8 named "Asuka Strikes" of Neon Genesis Evangelion completely changes everything. And by “everything,” I mean the general tone and overall atmosphere of the series. In most anime, this kind of tonal shift happens within an episode or even in mere minutes—often right after the main character meets that one girl who turns their life upside down. But Evangelion did things differently.

Written by Hideaki Anno in 1995, Evangelion was born from his struggles with depression, serving as a coping mechanism to work through his own issues. From the very beginning, the series had a clear vision: an in-depth, complex, and somewhat deconstructive story about teenagers living in a post-apocalyptic world where their humanity is constantly tested, and their inner turmoil and sense of worth are placed at the forefront. The world is coming to an end, and middle schoolers who have barely grasped the concept of life and death are forced to pilot giant mecha robots (Evangelion) to fight against monstrous beings (Angels) to prevent total destruction. The synchronization rates on these robots are extremely high, meaning any pain the machine feels in battle is simultaneously felt by the pilot—who, again, are just 13 to 14-year-old kids. The tone was obvious to me from the start. When I first watched it, I knew I was in for an introspective, if not tragically depressing, ride.

We follow Shinji Ikari, a middle school boy and our main character, who is weighed down by the trauma of his mother’s death and his father’s abandonment. He frequently quits, refuses to fight, and retreats inward, making his struggles the central focus of the show. His female counterpart, Rei Ayanami, never smiles and remains eerily emotionless even when fighting. As I watched, I felt a growing sense of desolation and hopelessness, wondering what the point of all this suffering was supposed to convey. Then Episode 8 arrives, and suddenly, NERV—the organization handling the Evangelions—receives a message from a German team bringing a new Evangelion unit, and its pilot along with it.

Before diving into Episode 8, I have to talk about what the previous episode accomplished. While the first six episodes primarily focused on Shinji’s internal struggles, Episode 7 took a step back and slowed things down. It focused on more mundane aspects of Shinji’s daily life—his routine, his interactions with Misato (his caretaker), and his gradual adjustment to his surroundings.

Evangelion had firmly established Misato’s apartment as the home base of the series. Just as Shinji settled into it, so did I as a viewer. The familiarity of this setup made it feel like not much would change. Then, in Episode 8, Misato makes a comment while riding in a helicopter with Shinji, saying that he might get bored of seeing the same mountains he sees at school every day—almost like she’s speaking directly to me. The entire scenario is designed to pull us out of our comfort zone, and sure enough, that’s exactly what happens when Asuka arrives and shatters everything I had grown used to.

We meet Asuka—an explosion of colour and personality packed into one small, fiery girl. Up until now, the series had mainly focused on reserved, melancholic characters navigating a bleak, post-apocalyptic city. Then suddenly, Asuka, a red-haired firebrand in a yellow one-piece swimsuit, stands against a bright blue sky in the middle of the ocean. It couldn’t be further from what we’ve seen so far.

Asuka is a foreign object in the Evangelion universe—both figuratively and literally. She’s a foreigner to Japan, and the show makes sure we know it by having her pepper in English and German words while frequently complaining about Japanese culture. She is the polar opposite of both Shinji and—especially—Rei, bringing to the series everything that had been deliberately left out before her arrival. The disruption is almost poetic as if the show knew about the tropes it was playing into and decided to say, “Psyche!” to the audience as a late April Fool’s prank.

Another way Evangelion subverts expectations is through Asuka’s embodiment of the “tsundere” archetype, which doesn’t just exist for fanservice. Typically, tsundere characters are written as angry, standoffish girls who soften as their romance with the male lead grows. It’s a trope often crowbarred into stories without much thought, reducing characters to a checklist of predictable behaviours where their aggression seems to come out of nowhere, and love is only achieved once they change.

Asuka’s turmoil stems from her tragic past—her mother’s suicide and her father’s abandonment serve as major catalysts for her turbulent relationships and desperate need for validation. It was refreshing to see a complex character done right, and I came to understand her confrontations and seemingly problematic behaviours as deeply tragic yet human. Her relationship with Shinji is defined by aggressive confrontations, fueled by her pride, poor communication, and demanding attitude, which prevent them from ever truly being together. Because of her need to seem mature, I empathized with her infatuation towards the older researcher at the facility, who is completely disinterested, while she simultaneously tries to make Shinji understand he could fulfill that role for her. Unfortunately, Shinji is so lost in himself that he doesn’t even begin to comprehend it until the end of the second goddamn movie.

I admire what the creators did with Asuka—she’s one of the few genuine tsundere characters with depth. Unlike many others, her role isn’t about changing for a man. She’s not written as someone who needs to become soft-spoken and vulnerable for Shinji to love her. Her purpose is to ego-check Shinji—not to break him down, but to push him toward his true potential and force him to confront his shortcomings. Her presence makes him more opinionated and assertive with each passing episode. He begins to stabilize, coming out of his shell, and finding it easier to communicate with those around him.

Asuka even changes the tone of the battles, and in turn, the entire show. Shinji and Rei’s fights always felt like struggles—painful, weighty, and fraught with inner turmoil. Asuka’s battles, by contrast, are fun. She leaps around, strikes dramatic poses, and even smiles mid-fight. It’s no coincidence that her Evangelion, Unit 02, is introduced through one of the most stylish and exhilarating mecha battles in anime history—one that stretches the show’s logic and believability to its limit.

Suddenly, this slow-burning psychological drama about emotionally broken kids fighting for survival explodes into a wild, action-packed spectacle. The show morphs into something that, on paper, sounds downright ridiculous: a middle school romantic comedy where a pair of bickering teenagers have to master a DDR routine just to land a synchronized Kick on a giant monster—all set to classical music.

Before Asuka, it was easy to forget that Shinji and Rei were even middle schoolers. Evangelion, for all its psychological depth, is technically a middle-school anime, but Asuka is the one who truly brings that aspect to the forefront. Unlike previous characters who remained in the background, Asuka argues over test scores, obsesses over her reputation, and even somehow turns the class president into a recurring character because of the dynamic presence she has. Shinji, who previously engaged in one-sided, passive-aggressive conflicts, suddenly finds himself constantly arguing about everything.

I realized he had this passionate side to him that was never acknowledged. Growing up, always being told to act mature, made me admire Asuka all the more because of how consistent and genuine she is in her role as a middle schooler. Just seeing Shinji argue over petty, irrelevant quarrels with Asuka reminded me that these characters are just kids, forced to play roles much bigger than them—yet subtly holding onto the small, meaningful connections in their young lives in the best and most normal way they can.

Watching Neon Genesis Evangelion unfold this way is almost absurd, and yet, it works. Asuka’s arrival doesn’t just change the show—it redefines it.