Top 15 Beloved Anime Series With Terrible Endings

1-15

Ignacio Weil

Entertainment - December 19th 2025, 19:00 GMT+1

Death note near and mello cropped processed by imagy — Death Note (2006)

The problem doesn’t start at the ending – it starts when the story decides it can survive without the dynamic that made it electric in the first place. Once the original duel of minds is gone, *Death Note* keeps moving forward as if nothing essential was lost, even though the tension never fully recovers. The final arc introduces replacements that feel conceptually clever but emotionally distant, turning what used to be gripping confrontations into procedural wrap-ups. When the conclusion finally arrives, it explains itself more than it earns itself, spelling out consequences instead of letting them hurt. Fans didn’t want a happy ending, but they did want one that felt personal. What they got was technically complete and emotionally undercooked. | © Madhouse

Sword art online cropped processed by imagy — Sword Art Online (2012)

What makes this ending frustrating isn’t confusion, it’s how quickly everything deflates after so much setup. The original arc of *Sword Art Online* spends episode after episode convincing viewers that death has consequences, only to undo that tension with a resolution that feels almost casual. Emotional arcs are resolved in bulk, villains collapse under minimal scrutiny, and character growth is summarized rather than shown. Instead of lingering on trauma, loss, or survival, the ending rushes forward as if eager to close the door and move on. That sense of narrative impatience becomes a recurring issue in later arcs as well. The series doesn’t stumble at the finish line so much as sprint past it, skipping the part where things are supposed to matter. | © A-1 Pictures

Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 cropped processed by imagy — Fullmetal Alchemist (2003)

There’s a quiet heaviness to this ending that feels more unresolved than intentional. Because the series charts its own path, *Fullmetal Alchemist* leans into separation, loss, and sacrifice without fully committing to the emotional consequences of those choices. Characters reach endpoints that feel suspended rather than complete, leaving viewers with lingering questions that don’t feel thematically purposeful. The finale seems more interested in atmosphere than closure, prioritizing mood over payoff. While some appreciate the somber tone, many felt emotionally stranded by it. For a story so deeply concerned with cause and effect, the ending stops just short of delivering the exchange it spent the entire series building toward. | © Bones

Tokyo Ghoul A cropped processed by imagy — Tokyo Ghoul √A (2015)

The ending suffers most from how much groundwork it skips. By diverging heavily from its source, *Tokyo Ghoul √A* reshapes character motivations without giving them time to breathe, making major decisions feel abrupt and underexplored. Emotional climaxes arrive without proper buildup, relying on dramatic imagery and music to fill in gaps the story itself leaves behind. Instead of clarity or catharsis, the finale delivers a fog of half-explained symbolism. Viewers aren’t left pondering themes – they’re left trying to reconstruct what they just watched. The ending doesn’t feel bold or ambiguous in a rewarding way; it feels unfinished, as though key chapters were quietly removed. | © Pierrot

The Promised Neverland cropped processed by imagy — The Promised Neverland (2019)

The whiplash is impossible to ignore. After a first season praised for tension, intelligence, and restraint, the ending abandons those strengths almost entirely. *The Promised Neverland* compresses massive story arcs into brief explanations, replacing suspense with narration and emotional payoff with still images. Characters who once survived through strategy now succeed because the plot demands it, not because their choices earned it. The finale feels less like a story being told and more like one being wrapped up out of obligation. What makes the ending so widely disliked isn’t just what was changed, but how much was skipped. It closes the door quickly, leaving viewers staring at everything that should have happened inside. | © CloverWorks

Wonder Egg Priority cropped processed by imagy — Wonder Egg Priority (2021)

What starts as something intimate, surreal, and emotionally raw slowly spirals into narrative chaos. *Wonder Egg Priority* builds its reputation on symbolism, trauma, and quiet character moments, asking the audience to trust that all the mystery will eventually connect. The ending breaks that trust. Instead of clarifying its themes, it drowns them in last-minute sci-fi concepts, rushed explanations, and an unresolved special episode that feels more like damage control than a conclusion. Emotional arcs are left hanging, metaphors collapse under literal explanations, and the core message becomes muddled. Viewers didn’t want easy answers, but they did want coherence. What they got feels like a story that lost sight of itself right before the finish line. | © CloverWorks

Future Diary cropped processed by imagy — Future Diary (2011)

By the time the ending arrives, escalation has completely overtaken logic. *Future Diary* spends its final stretch piling twist upon twist, universe upon universe, until emotional impact gives way to sheer narrative exhaustion. Characters shift motivations rapidly, rules are rewritten mid-scene, and the story seems determined to outdo itself instead of resolving anything cleanly. The finale technically answers questions, but it does so in a way that feels mechanically dense and emotionally hollow. What once thrived on shock and tension ends in overcomplication. For many viewers, the last episodes don’t feel like a payoff – they feel like a checklist of ideas thrown at the wall until time runs out. | © Asread

Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann cropped processed by imagy — Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann (2007)

This ending isn’t hated because it’s poorly made, it’s hated because of the choice it makes. After delivering one of anime’s most explosive, inspirational climaxes, *Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann* closes on a surprisingly restrained and bittersweet note. For some, that contrast feels meaningful; for others, it feels like emotional sabotage. The decision to deny certain characters a traditionally happy resolution clashes with the series’ constant insistence on limitless possibility. Thematically consistent or not, the ending leaves a lingering sense of loss that many viewers weren’t prepared for. It doesn’t fail technically – it divides emotionally, and that division has never really healed. | © Gainax

Yu Gi Oh GX cropped processed by imagy — Yu-Gi-Oh! GX (2004)

The shift in tone during the final arc is so drastic it feels like a different series took over. *Yu-Gi-Oh! GX* begins as a lighthearted school-based spin-off, then slowly drifts into darker territory without fully adjusting its storytelling rhythm. By the ending, the plot is weighed down by existential themes that arrive faster than the characters can process them. The finale resolves the story, but in a muted, oddly distant way that clashes with the show’s earlier energy. Fans didn’t reject the darker direction, they rejected how abruptly it closed. What should have felt reflective instead feels emotionally disconnected. | © Gallop

Soul Eater cropped processed by imagy — Soul Eater (2008)

Everything about the ending feels like a shortcut. After building a world obsessed with fear, madness, and power, *Soul Eater* resolves its central conflict with a conclusion that sidesteps its own rules. The final battle abandons established mechanics in favor of a thematic gesture that many viewers found overly simplistic. Characters stop evolving right when their arcs should peak, and long-running tensions dissolve far too easily. The tone shifts from dark fantasy to moral fable almost overnight. It’s not that the ending lacks intent, it lacks weight. For a series so stylish and bold, the finale feels surprisingly timid. | © Bones

ERASED cropped processed by imagy — ERASED (2016)

The early episodes set expectations dangerously high. *ERASED* hooks viewers with a tight mystery, emotional stakes, and a time-travel premise that feels grounded rather than flashy. The ending struggles to live up to that promise. Instead of letting its central conflict unravel organically, the final arc simplifies motivations and resolves the mystery in a way that feels overly neat. The antagonist loses complexity just when nuance matters most, and emotional consequences are rushed toward closure. What once felt intimate and tense ends on a note that feels safe, almost sanitized. The disappointment comes from contrast: the journey feels smarter than its destination. | © A-1 Pictures

Digimon Adventure 02 cropped processed by imagy — Digimon Adventure 02 (2000)

Nostalgia does a lot of heavy lifting here, but it can’t completely hide the cracks. *Digimon Adventure 02* expands a beloved world while struggling to define its own identity, and that uncertainty bleeds directly into the ending. Plot threads are wrapped up hastily, character arcs receive uneven attention, and the finale leans on symbolism without giving it enough narrative support. The epilogue aims for emotional closure but raises more questions than it answers. For many fans, it feels less like a natural continuation and more like an obligation to finish the story. The ending isn’t disastrous, it’s unsatisfying in a quiet, lingering way. | © Toei Animation

Osomatsu san cropped processed by imagy — Osomatsu-san (2015)

Comedy makes endings tricky, and this series leans hard into that risk. *Osomatsu-san* thrives on chaos, meta humor, and total disregard for continuity, which works brilliantly – until it doesn’t. The ending gestures toward emotional sincerity, then undercuts itself before committing fully. Long-running jokes collide with attempts at character growth, creating a finale that feels unsure of what it wants to be. Fans expecting either full parody or genuine resolution are left in the middle. The result isn’t offensive, just strangely hollow. For a show so confident in its absurdity, the ending feels oddly hesitant. | © Pierrot

Platinum End cropped processed by imagy — Platinum End (2021)

The ambition is obvious, but ambition alone doesn’t carry an ending. *Platinum End* spends its runtime juggling philosophy, morality, and spectacle, building toward a conclusion that promises something profound. What arrives instead is a finale that explains itself endlessly while draining its own emotional impact. Characters become mouthpieces for ideas rather than people making choices. The final resolution feels detached, almost clinical, stripping away the tension that once fueled the series. Viewers weren’t confused, they were underwhelmed. The ending feels less like a statement and more like a lecture that goes on too long. | © Signal.MD

KADO The Right Answer cropped processed by imagy — KADO: The Right Answer (2017)

The first half feels like a daring experiment, and that’s exactly why the ending frustrates so many people. *KADO: The Right Answer* starts as a thoughtful political and philosophical debate wrapped in science fiction, asking difficult questions without rushing answers. Then the finale pivots hard, abandoning nuance for a conventional conflict that clashes with everything established before. Ideological tension is replaced with spectacle, and carefully built conversations collapse into a standard showdown. The shift feels abrupt, almost defensive, as if the series lost confidence in its own ideas. What lingers isn’t anger but the sense of a smarter ending that never arrived. | © Toei Animation

1-15

Getting emotionally attached to an anime is a risky business. You follow the characters for years, defend questionable arcs online, and convince yourself that this time the ending will stick the landing. Then the final episode drops – and suddenly you’re staring at the screen, wondering if everyone involved collectively forgot how stories work.

This list isn’t about bad anime. Quite the opposite. These are series people genuinely love, recommend, rewatch, and argue about. The problem comes right at the finish line, where rushed conclusions, baffling twists, or painfully safe choices turn lasting affection into mild resentment. If you’ve ever said “everything was great until the ending,” you’re exactly where you need to be.