Review of Reborn as a Space Mercenary Volumes 1–2: An Action-Packed Story Blended with Romance!
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ASTON OTN - Reborn as a Space Mercenary is the story of an ordinary man who finds himself living an extraordinary life. In practice, however, it is the tale of a characterless protagonist whose grandest, most extravagant fantasies are presented so poorly that they end up feeling bland and mundane.
The first volume is largely devoid of character, drama, or personality. The second volume adds a bit more flavor through its cast, but in reality, these characters are mostly repulsive.
The rare, intriguing, or captivating moments only serve to highlight the persistent emptiness that permeates the novel. It is a dull, meaningless waste of time—one that lacks even the courage to acknowledge the depravity contained within its own pages.
Satoru Takahiro’s life before he awoke as Captain Hiro is almost entirely a blank slate. The most concrete details Space Mercenary establishes about him are that he enjoys soda and is a talented gamer. His passion for Stella Online has no foundation or backstory.
His proficiency in first-person shooters is never explained, beyond his own vague sense of satisfaction with his skills.
Why he was drawn to these specific games or that particular genre is never explored. Although Hiro occasionally alludes to feelings of loneliness or dissatisfaction with his life as Satoru, he is portrayed with such shallowness that his past ceases to be a question worth answering; instead, it remains nothing more than a dull, static, and inconsequential void.
Hiro’s flat characterization hinders Space Mercenary in two significant ways. First, as he begins to show signs of a distinct identity—starting late in the first volume and continuing into the second—the prior absence of any personality makes these emerging traits stand out starkly.
Unfortunately, the impression they leave is one of revulsion—and that is clearly not the author’s intent. Hiro is not a charismatic villain whose wickedness is meant to be both entertaining and chilling; he is (supposedly) a "good guy."
He’s a "good guy" who brushes aside his own concerns—that his girlfriend, Mimi, might be too young for him, or that he’s a monster for sleeping with her—by rationalizing that since the age of consent in this galaxy is 15, everything is perfectly fine. He’s also a "good guy" who keeps his other girlfriend, Elma—an extraterrestrial elf—as his slave, simply because it’s convenient. He is insufferable, and it’s equally grating that his story is one of effortless triumphs and endless rewards.
The unequal power dynamics between Hiro, Elma, and Mimi receive enough attention to suggest they are intended to be part of the fantasy; yet, when these relationships reach a climax, the novels shy away from any real attempt at eroticism.
Several paragraphs are devoted to the grim fate Elma would have faced—a future filled with sexual violence at the hands of space pirates—had Hiro not "rescued" her from captivity by paying off her debts, effectively enslaving her himself.
When Elma later offers herself to Hiro, the transition to the subsequent scene feels abrupt and almost sanctimonious—complete with an illustration of a naked Elma beneath the bedsheets (the artwork by Tetsuhiro Nabeshima is, in fact, the best part of Space Mercenary; the illustrations are excellent).
The fact that Hiro insists on alluding to their sexual relationship with heavy-handed, repetitive innuendo—"if you catch my drift," used ad nauseam—only highlights the strange reluctance of the novels to fully lean into the exploitative nature of the premise, especially when compared to other aspects of the material.
If Space Mercenary were truly committed to its own trashy fantasy—one that relies on the erotic appeal of unequal power dynamics—it would at least be consistent, and perhaps possess something resembling genuine passion.
Their hesitation in this regard is just one example of how Space Mercenary operates under the assumption that simply ticking off boxes on a generic power-fantasy checklist—without any real skill or care—is enough to produce something worth enjoying.
Space Mercenary’s commitment to doing the bare minimum extends to its world-building and supporting cast. Elma, the "space elf," is a textbook tsundere. Mimi is so devoid of personality that Hiro has to explicitly tell her what interests she might want to develop.
The other characters Hiro and his crew encounter are even more archetypal than the female leads. The galaxy itself—with all its powerful players and complex dynamics—is utterly standard; it’s more like The Ehhhxpanse than The Expanse.
Potentially interesting details and complications are treated as nothing more than background dressing. Whenever a spark of life does appear in the world of Space Mercenary, it’s invariably an explicit lift from better works of science fiction.
When Elma suggests eating something that looks like a vacuum-sealed facehugger, or when Hiro paraphrases Char Aznable, it isn’t a sincere homage—rather, it serves as an unintentional reminder that watching Alien or Gundam would be a far more rewarding experience than reading Reborn as a Space Mercenary.
There are so many better options out there when it comes to science fiction, power fantasies, and exploitation media than Reborn as a Space Mercenary. Although the story is ostensibly about a rebirth, there is hardly any life to be found within it. It is shallow, bland, and hollow.
