About “Death Parade” in a few words:

“Death Parade” is a Japanese anime series that follows the story of two mysterious bartenders who preside over a bar located in the afterlife. The bar serves as a place for people who have died to play a game, which ultimately decides whether they will be reincarnated or sent to the void. Through the games, the bartenders uncover the true natures of their patrons and the series explores complex themes such as morality, judgment, and the meaning of life.

Meet the characters from Death Parade

Clavis

Okay, Clavis is that quietly terrifying fixer who seems to know everyone’s schedule and also where they hide their spoons — in other words, he runs things with a velvet glove and a suspiciously sharp pen. He’s calm, very composed, sort of the person you think you can trust until you realize he already arranged three outcomes for you (maybe four, depending on his mood). He gives off librarian vibes but also like someone who collects tiny, useless keys for reasons he’ll never explain. Oh, and he smiles like he’s saving the world or plotting to rearrange the furniture forever — both feel equally possible.

Decim

Decim is the stoic bartender/arbitrator type who measures souls like he’s counting coffee beans — precise, polite, and somehow heartbreaking. He’s all quiet efficiency on the surface but sneaks in these tiny awkward, honest moments that make you want to hug him, or at least hand him a blanket. Somewhere between strict rule-follower and confused softie, he keeps learning about people and it’s painfully adorable; also he probably doodles on napkins when nobody’s watching. He’s both a judge and a student of humanity, which is a messy combo and the best kind of tragic.

Chiyuki

Chiyuki is gentle and a little bewildered, like someone waking up in an unfamiliar library and deciding to rearrange every spine by color because why not. She’s full of warmth and memory-lost poignancy — you can see how she unravels awkwardly into empathy and then turns right back into stubborn courage for no good reason. She likes small, ordinary comforts (cake? a train ride? a hoodie?) and has this surprisingly sharp instinct that kicks in at the weirdest moments. Also sometimes she’s inexplicably blasé about cosmic rules, which makes her way more relatable and dangerous than she looks.

Nona

Nona is chaos in a tailored suit — witty, exasperated, utterly brilliant, and fiercely fond of calling people “cute” while simultaneously firing them with a smile. She’s the ultimate boss energy: super-clear-eyed, a little cruel in the most efficient way, and deeply, weirdly maternal (snaps her fingers and also hands you a bandaid). She loves bureaucracy in a way that would make you cry and will also lie down on a table to prove a point if you ask her to. Every time she appears you can almost hear an orchestra swell, but then she eats a sandwich and makes a joke about paperwork, which is exactly why she’s brilliant.

Mayu Arita

Mayu Arita is the small, stubborn human thread in this whole strange tapestry — earnest, vulnerable, and surprising stubborn like gum under a shoe. She’s the type who remembers names and bad puns and keeps trying to be brave even when her knees disagree, which is wildly endearing. There’s this soft, fumbling resilience about her, like she’s learning how to be loud in the places that matter but also still cries at commercials sometimes. Also, she probably owns too many scarves and uses them as emotional armor; that might be a metaphor or it might be literal, who knows.

Quin

Quin is the eerie, composed watcher who floats around with a bowl of snacks and an unreadable expression — inscrutable and chic and low-key terrifying. She’s detached in the best possible way, like someone who sees the whole chessboard and is mildly amused by your panicked pawn moves. Bits of her are maternal, bits are robotic, and bits are “I have a folder labeled ‘experimental empathy studies’” which is both creepy and fascinating. She’s the person you’d trust to babysit a spaceship or a broken heart, and possibly both at once.

Oculus

Oculus is literal omnipresence with a taste for theater — all-seeing, elegantly uncaring until it suddenly isn’t, and then whoa, feelings. It’s like a calm night sky that occasionally flicks on a neon sign reading “CONSEQUENCES” and everyone panics for good reason. There’s something poetic about how it adjudicates: clinical but somehow with a flair, like a judge who also performs interpretive dance on the weekends. Also it probably keeps a pet cloud or a jar of stars; totally plausible, maybe.

Ginti

Ginti is the loud, obnoxious competitor who treats judgement like a high-stakes game show and also, somehow, a personal hobby. He’s flashy, brutal, and has this weirdly childish glee about testing people — like someone who plays with puzzle boxes and is sad when they don’t scream. Underneath the bluster there’s a streak of insecurity (shh) and an oddly specific love for dramatic entrances — confetti optional but recommended. He’s equal parts menace and theater kid, which is a combo that will absolutely ruin your day and also be kind of entertaining.