Yoko Taro's New Evangelion: Following the Impossible Ending

Hideaki Anno spent 26 years trying to escape Evangelion. Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time (2021) finally let him. Shinji Ikari walked away from the Evas. Anno walked away from the franchise. The ending worked because it was final—Shinji rewrote reality so Evangelions never existed, choosing normal life over endless robot battles.

Now Evangelion is coming back. And Anno isn't.

Studio Khara announced a new Neon Genesis Evangelion series at the franchise's 30th anniversary event February 23. Yoko Taro—creator of Nier and Nier: Automata—writes the scripts. Directors Kazuya Tsurumaki (Rebuild of Evangelion, FLCL) and Toko Yatabe (Thrice Upon a Time assistant director) helm the project. Keiichi Okabe (Nier: Automata composer) handles music. CloverWorks and Studio Khara produce.

Anno's name appears nowhere in creative credits.

The setup raises a simple problem with no good answer: How do you continue a story that already ended perfectly?

Why Yoko Taro Makes Sense

Taro never hid his Evangelion obsession. In 2018, he told Famitsu that Nier was "a retelling of Evangelion. I wanted to explore similar ideas through different genres."

The similarities run deep. Evangelion asks: "Do I deserve to exist?" Shinji Ikari pilots Evas because adults tell him to, hating himself for wanting approval. Nier: Automata asks the same question through androids 2B and 9S, who discover humanity went extinct—their entire war was pointless.

Both explore depression, isolation, and cycles of violence. Both use experimental storytelling (Anno's abstract Episodes 25-26, Taro's multiple-ending game structure). Both break the fourth wall to critique their audiences. End of Evangelion included real hate mail from fans. Nier: Automata made players delete their save files to help strangers.

Taro's games mirror Evangelion's themes naturally because he built his career studying Anno's work. Nier: Automata sold over 10 million copies proving existential robot stories resonate beyond anime. Taro earned mainstream success doing exactly what Anno did first.

On paper, he's perfect.

But there's a problem Anno wanted out. Taro wants in.

The Problem With Perfect Endings

Thrice Upon a Time worked because Anno meant it. Shinji told his father Gendo, "You don't need to pilot Eva anymore." That line was Anno talking to himself after 26 years defined by one franchise. The final scene showed adult Shinji and Mari at Ube-Shinkawa Station—a real location near Anno's hometown. Not metaphor. Reality. The message: you can't live in fantasy forever. Eventually you grow up and return to the messy real world.

Anno closed every door deliberately. He gave Shinji—and himself—earned closure.

Now Taro has to reopen those doors.

What are his options?

Set the series before Thrice Upon a Time - Another timeline, another cycle. The Rebuild films established multiverse mechanics already. But this undermines Anno's ending. If infinite timelines exist, none matter. Shinji's choice to walk away becomes meaningless if a thousand other Shinjis stay trapped.

Set it after Thrice Upon a Time - Show Shinji and Mari's normal life. Maybe Evangelions return. But this betrays the ending's thesis. The whole point was Shinji leaving Eva behind. Bringing him back into robot battles undoes everything.

Abandon Shinji completely - New characters, new setting. Keep Evangelion's themes without touching Shinji's arc. But then is it still Evangelion? Fans will ask why call it that.

Every option has fatal flaws. Perfect endings don't need continuation.

Other franchises learned this the hard way. The Matrix Resurrections made a sequel that interrogated why sequels exist—critics appreciated the meta-commentary, audiences stayed home. Star Wars: The Force Awakens retreaded A New Hope's plot for nostalgia, eventually alienating fans by the trilogy's end. Blade Runner 2049 respected the original while telling new stories, flopped commercially but gained critical praise.

The one model that worked: The Mandalorian. New characters. Same universe. Don't touch the original hero's arc. Jon Favreau succeeded by leaving Luke Skywalker's ending alone while exploring what else existed in that galaxy.

Taro should follow that model—new pilots, same existential dread, leave Shinji at his train station.

Will he?

What Taro's Games Tell Us

Taro's creative philosophy offers clues.

His games use unreliable narration—characters lie, narrators omit details. Nier Replicant's protagonist thinks he's the hero until later playthroughs reveal he's been murdering sentient beings trying to survive.

His games offer multiple endings that contradict each other. All are canon.

His games explore meaningless conflict—wars fought over forgotten reasons. Nier: Automata ends with androids discovering the entire war was pointless.

His games make players complicit. You delete your save file. You choose who survives. You become part of the tragedy.

Now apply that to Evangelion:

What if we saw Shinji's story from Gendo's perspective? Or an Angel's? What if every Evangelion timeline exists simultaneously in different realities? What if SEELE's Human Instrumentality Project was never about saving humanity but powerful people avoiding death?

Taro could push Evangelion's fourth-wall breaks further than Anno ever did. What if the new series acknowledged it's entertainment and questioned why we watch traumatized teenagers fight impossible battles?

This aligns with Evangelion's DNA. Taro understands the material. Understanding might not be enough, but it's more than most creators bring to franchise revivals.

The Real Reason This Might Work

Anno's absence is both risk and opportunity.

For 26 years, Anno's personal struggles shaped Evangelion. Shinji was Anno. His depression, creative burnout, and relationship with the animation industry bled into every frame. That intimacy made Evangelion resonate—it felt real because it was.

Taro doesn't have that connection. He's a fan. A brilliant fan who studied Evangelion obsessively and built a career echoing its themes. But he's outside the original vision.

That distance could free him. Anno was trapped by Evangelion. Taro isn't. He can explore the franchise's themes without Anno's baggage. He can ask new questions with old tools.

The optimistic view: Anno told his story. That doesn't mean Evangelion's themes are exhausted. Depression, isolation, the search for meaning—these are universal. Every generation grapples with them differently.

Nier: Automata proved Taro can articulate existential dread for contemporary audiences. He didn't lecture—he asked questions. Why do we fight? What gives life meaning? Can we choose our purpose?

Evangelion asked those questions in 1995. Taro can ask them again for 2026. He doesn't need Shinji to do it. New characters facing similar struggles—pilots forced into roles they don't want, governments weaponizing teenagers—fit Evangelion's framework without retreading Anno's arc.

If anyone can pull off an impossible sequel, it's the director who built his career on impossible narratives.

What We Actually Know

Almost nothing.

Studio Khara announced a "completely new series." No plot details. No cast. No release date. No trailer. Just the creative team.

"Completely new" suggests fresh characters or setting. Not a Rebuild sequel. Not another retelling.

Tsurumaki and Yatabe provide continuity—both understand Evangelion's visual language and emotional beats. Okabe's music signals tonal shift. Shiro Sagisu composed every Evangelion score since 1995. Okabe stepping in means the new series will sound different. Nier: Automata's soundtrack was haunting and melancholic—tonally right for Evangelion but distinct from Sagisu's bombastic orchestration.

Studio Khara will maintain quality control. They've protected Evangelion's legacy carefully.

Best guess? Side stories. Alternate settings. Thematic explorations that honor Anno's work without touching Shinji's ending.

Safest bet.

The Skeptical View

This could be a disaster.

Even brilliant execution risks tainting the legacy. Thrice Upon a Time worked because it was final. Adding more content—no matter how good—undermines Anno's farewell by existing.

Franchise fatigue is real. Star Wars oversaturated Disney+. Marvel burned audiences with constant content. Evangelion survived 26 years through selectivity. Three series, a few films. Quality over quantity. A new series risks diluting the brand.

And there's the cynical explanation: Evangelion turns 30, Studio Khara wants revenue, hiring a popular game director attracts new audiences. Smart business doesn't guarantee good art.

Taro's strengths might not translate to serialized anime. His games work because players control pacing and discovery. Anime is passive. Viewers can't replay episodes from different perspectives (unless Taro structures the show that way, which would be insane but very Taro).

Following a perfect ending is narrative suicide. The safest choice is leaving it alone.

Why It Might Work Anyway

Evangelion asked uncomfortable questions about escapism, responsibility, and whether you deserve happiness. Those questions don't expire. They echo across generations with different contexts.

Taro's already made Evangelion once—unofficially, through Nier. Now he gets to do it officially with the tools and legacy Anno built.

The Rebuild films proved you can reinterpret Evangelion successfully. Thrice Upon a Time was radically different from End of Evangelion—same characters, same world, opposite message. One ended in nihilism. The other ended in hope.

Taro has freedom to explore another angle entirely.

If the new series is terrible, Thrice Upon a Time still exists. Anno's ending doesn't disappear. But if Taro succeeds—if he finds new questions worth asking in Evangelion's framework—the franchise grows instead of stagnates.

Art doesn't belong to creators forever. Eventually it becomes cultural property, reinterpreted by new generations. Shakespeare didn't write West Side Story. Taro didn't create Evangelion. But both exist because someone asked, "What if we told this story differently?"

Now Taro gets to ask that about the franchise that shaped his career.

Can Anyone Follow Perfection?

There's no safe path forward. Touch Shinji's story and you undermine Anno's farewell. Ignore Shinji and you lose what made Evangelion resonate. Play it safe and you make something forgettable. Take risks and you might crash.

Yoko Taro knows this. He's spent his career courting disaster. Nier: Automata shouldn't have worked—an action game about philosophy starring androids nobody asked for. It worked anyway.

Maybe this will too. Or maybe some stories are meant to end, and forcing continuation only highlights what's missing.

Time will tell.

For now: Evangelion is coming back.

Congratulations.

TAGGED: Evangelion, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Yoko Taro, Nier Automata, Hideaki Anno, Studio Khara, CloverWorks