Latest news with #Makaria
Time of India
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Kakuriyo Bed and Breakfast for Spirits Season 2: Official name, character visuals, and director revealed
It has been seven long years since Kakuriyo Bed and Breakfast for Spirits last aired. Fans of the calm and magical romance anime now finally have big reason to rejoice. The second season is officially titled Kakuriyo no Yadomeshi Ni and it will air in Fall 2025. The word "Ni" means two in Japanese, marking the second season of the show. The anime's official website confirmed the update and also shared new standing visuals for the main characters. These include fresh artwork of Aoi, Odanna, and others from the spirit realm. The new season brings both old charm and fresh creativity. New studio and director joining the project "Kakuriyo -Bed & Breakfast for Spirits" TV anime Season 2 announced for Fall 2025. GONZO, which made the first season, is returning but will now be joined by animation studio Makaria. This is the same studio that worked on Dropkick on My Devil Apocalypse Day. The writing will again be handled by Tomoko Konparu. However, the biggest change is in the director's chair. Joe Yoshizaki, known for his work on The Brilliant Healer's New Life in the Shadows, will take over as director. He replaces Yoshiko Okuda, who directed the first season. In a message to fans, Yoshizaki said, 'Seven years have passed. The team is new. The seasons have changed. I will try my best to create something that truly fits the hearts of these characters. I hope this new version of the hidden world feels like both a dream and reality.' Kakuriyo Bed and Breakfast for Spirits season 1 recap Kakuriyo: Bed and Breakfast for Spirits' first season aired in 2018 and ran for 26 episodes. It begins with Aoi Tsubaki, a kind-hearted college girl who can see spirits. After her grandfather passes away, Aoi learns that he left behind a massive debt to the spirit world. To her surprise, she is taken to the Hidden Realm as payment for that debt. There, she meets Odanna, a powerful ogre and the master of a traditional inn called Tenjin-ya. Odanna tells Aoi that her grandfather promised her hand in marriage to repay the debt. But Aoi refuses to marry anyone just like that. Instead, she offers to work at the inn and clear the debt on her own. As she takes up a job cooking for spirits, Aoi slowly wins over the guests and staff of Tenjin-ya with her food and kindness. Along the way, she discovers more about her grandfather's past, the spirit world's rules, and her own strength. Her bond with Odanna also starts to grow into something more. Season 1 blends food, magic, quiet romance, and a lot of heartwarming moments. It ends with Aoi earning the respect of the spirit world and finding a place for herself in a world she never knew existed. The anime is based on the light novel series written by Midori Yuma and illustrated by Laruha. It blends romance, fantasy, and food in a calm and magical setting. What to expect from Kakuriyo Bed and Breakfast for Spirits season 2? "Kakuriyo -Bed & Breakfast for Spirits-" Season 2 character art:Aoi Tsubaki (CV: Nao Toyama)Odanna (CV: Katsuyuki Konishi)Ginji (CV: Shunichi Toki) While full details of the story are still under wraps, fans can expect more of the same warm and gentle storytelling. The new visuals suggest a polished art style. With a different director and studio joining the project, there may be fresh energy in how the characters are shown and how the spirit world is explored. Fans are especially excited to see how the relationship between Aoi and Odanna continues to grow. There is also hope for new spirit characters and deeper stories from the inn and beyond.
New Straits Times
04-05-2025
- Health
- New Straits Times
Near Ukraine front, Svitanok organisation a haven for outcasts
WHENEVER warm days come to Kramatorsk, near the eastern Ukrainian front, the Svitanok organisation leaves its door wide open, offering advice or a cup of tea to the city's social outcasts. People living with HIV, those recovering from drug addiction, sex workers – all are welcome to seek medical guidance and respite from stigma and solace as Russian troops advance toward Kramatorsk. The refuge they find at Svitanok is vital during the war, when marginalised communities often feel left behind and face heightened insecurity and stigma. "They support me here, they respect me. I just came to drink some tea. They'll treat me, I know they'll accept me," says Oleg Makaria, who is HIV-positive. Makaria, who comes to Svitanok most days, hardly reacts to the air raid sirens once again wailing in Kramatorsk, just 20 kilometres (12 miles) from the front. The 41-year-old jokes that he does not look his age. But he suddenly breaks down thinking about Donetsk, his home city now in Russian hands. "I understand I can't return to Donetsk anymore. Never in my life. Probably... I'm here alone," he mutters through tears. Moscow-backed separatists seized parts of the Donetsk region in 2014, a prelude to the Kremlin's full-scale 2022 invasion, which the UNHCR says has displaced nearly 11 million people. The conflict disrupted treatment – which needs to be taken daily to control HIV – to some of the 250,000 Ukrainians estimated by UNAIDS to be living with the infection in 2020. Advances from Russian troops have also threatened drug treatment programmes. Moscow and its proxies have banned opioid substitution, which replaces dangerous opioids with less harmful substances such as methadone. Approved by the United Nations and the World Health Organisation, the treatment also reduces HIV transmission as it lowers drug injections. No one would guess looking at Natalia Zelenina, but the bright social worker sporting a red bob and bright pink lipstick spent five years in Russian custody. She was carrying legally prescribed drugs for her replacement therapy when she was stopped by Moscow-backed separatists controlling parts of the Donetsk region in 2017. "I realised how strong I was," the 52-year-old said. While her colleagues campaigned to get her out, she fought to obtain treatment for her HIV. "I survived, I endured it all. I went through it all. I didn't break," she said. After being released to Kyiv-controlled territory in a prisoner exchange, Zelenina returned to Svitanok. "I knew that I could only recover in a familiar atmosphere," she says. But even in the protective bubble of Svitanok, where most workers have HIV and a drug dependency, the boom of explosions can be heard in the distance. One employee told AFP she started consuming "just a little bit" of drugs to alleviate her anxiety – until her colleagues helped her get clean again. Iryna Mamalakieva arrives holding her four-year-old son Maksym, who wobbled off at any opportunity to pick dandelions on a patch of grass. The unemployed 31-year-old former mine operator, diagnosed with HIV in 2019, relies on Svitanok for medical and legal help. "Some people give up, some hang themselves. I knew people like that: They found out about their diagnosis, and even if they had children, they drank themselves to death and quietly went to hang themselves," she said. The war has exacerbated stigma towards HIV-positive people and those suffering from drug addictions, counsellor Svitlana Andreieva told AFP. "The rest of the world that's outside our doors, it tells them that they are nobody, that they're not accepted, they're not respected," she said. Andreieva herself remembers being kicked out of hospitals and beaten up by the police because she was addicted to drugs and HIV-positive. Then she learned law, which she shares with visitors who went through similar experiences. "The next time they don't come with tears," she said. "They say: 'What do I need to do, which law article should I rely on?'" But Andreieva's patience is often tested. After an altercation with a regular, she finds a bouquet of lilacs in lieu of apologies in the office. Hard to win over, she initially shrugs it off. But Svitanok's workers and beneficiaries face yet another hurdle: cuts in US humanitarian aid. Svitanok has for now survived Washington's aid freeze, but is scrambling to find alternative sources of funding for some of its many programmes, which partly rely on US money. The uncertainty "really knocked me out of my stability", Zelenina says. "There's such a melancholy in my soul, you know? I love my job. I simply can't imagine what I will do tomorrow."
NDTV
04-05-2025
- Health
- NDTV
Sex Workers, Drug Addicts, HIV Patients: An Outcast Haven On Ukraine Front
Svitanok: Whenever warm days come to Kramatorsk, near the eastern Ukrainian front, the Svitanok organisation leaves its door wide open, offering advice or a cup of tea to the city's social outcasts. People living with HIV, those recovering from drug addiction, sex workers -- all are welcome to seek medical guidance and respite from stigma and solace as Russian troops advance toward Kramatorsk. The refuge they find at Svitanok is vital during the war, when marginalised communities often feel left behind and face heightened insecurity and stigma. "They support me here, they respect me. I just came to drink some tea. They'll treat me, I know they'll accept me," says Oleg Makaria, who is HIV-positive. Makaria, who comes to Svitanok most days, hardly reacts to the air raid sirens once again wailing in Kramatorsk, just 20 kilometres (12 miles) from the front. The 41-year-old jokes that he does not look his age. But he suddenly breaks down thinking about Donetsk, his home city now in Russian hands. "I understand I can't return to Donetsk anymore. Never in my life. Probably... I'm here alone," he mutters through tears. Moscow-backed separatists seized parts of the Donetsk region in 2014, a prelude to the Kremlin's full-scale 2022 invasion, which the UNHCR says has displaced nearly 11 million people. The conflict disrupted treatment -- which needs to be taken daily to control HIV -- to some of the 250,000 Ukrainians estimated by UNAIDS to be living with the infection in 2020. 'I didn't break' Advances from Russian troops have also threatened drug treatment programmes. Moscow and its proxies have banned opioid substitution, which replaces dangerous opioids with less harmful substances such as methadone. Approved by the United Nations and the World Health Organisation, the treatment also reduces HIV transmission as it lowers drug injections. No one would guess looking at Natalia Zelenina, but the bright social worker sporting a red bob and bright pink lipstick spent five years in Russian custody. She was carrying legally prescribed drugs for her replacement therapy when she was stopped by Moscow-backed separatists controlling parts of the Donetsk region in 2017. "I realised how strong I was," the 52-year-old said. While her colleagues campaigned to get her out, she fought to obtain treatment for her HIV. "I survived, I endured it all. I went through it all. I didn't break," she said. After being released to Kyiv-controlled territory in a prisoner exchange, Zelenina returned to Svitanok. "I knew that I could only recover in a familiar atmosphere," she says. But even in the protective bubble of Svitanok, where most workers have HIV and a drug dependency, the boom of explosions can be heard in the distance. One employee told AFP she started consuming "just a little bit" of drugs to alleviate her anxiety -- until her colleagues helped her get clean again. Iryna Mamalakieva arrives holding her four-year-old son Maksym, who wobbled off at any opportunity to pick dandelions on a patch of grass. The unemployed 31-year-old former mine operator, diagnosed with HIV in 2019, relies on Svitanok for medical and legal help. "Some people give up, some hang themselves. I knew people like that: They found out about their diagnosis, and even if they had children, they drank themselves to death and quietly went to hang themselves," she said. 'Melancholy in my soul' The war has exacerbated stigma towards HIV-positive people and those suffering from drug addictions, counsellor Svitlana Andreieva told AFP. "The rest of the world that's outside our doors, it tells them that they are nobody, that they're not accepted, they're not respected," she said. Andreieva herself remembers being kicked out of hospitals and beaten up by the police because she was addicted to drugs and HIV-positive. Then she learned law, which she shares with visitors who went through similar experiences. "The next time they don't come with tears," she said. "They say: 'What do I need to do, which law article should I rely on?'" But Andreieva's patience is often tested. After an altercation with a regular, she finds a bouquet of lilacs in lieu of apologies in the office. Hard to win over, she initially shrugs it off. But Svitanok's workers and beneficiaries face yet another hurdle: cuts in US humanitarian aid. Svitanok has for now survived Washington's aid freeze, but is scrambling to find alternative sources of funding for some of its many programmes, which partly rely on US money. The uncertainty "really knocked me out of my stability", Zelenina says. "There's such a melancholy in my soul, you know? I love my job. I simply can't imagine what I will do tomorrow."
Yahoo
04-05-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
'Accept me': Near Ukraine front, a haven for outcasts
Whenever warm days come to Kramatorsk, near the eastern Ukrainian front, the Svitanok organisation leaves its door wide open, offering advice or a cup of tea to the city's social outcasts. People living with HIV, those recovering from drug addiction, sex workers -- all are welcome to seek medical guidance and respite from stigma and solace as Russian troops advance toward Kramatorsk. The refuge they find at Svitanok is vital during the war, when marginalised communities often feel left behind and face heightened insecurity and stigma. "They support me here, they respect me. I just came to drink some tea. They'll treat me, I know they'll accept me," says Oleg Makaria, who is HIV-positive. Makaria, who comes to Svitanok most days, hardly reacts to the air raid sirens once again wailing in Kramatorsk, just 20 kilometres (12 miles) from the front. The 41-year-old jokes that he does not look his age. But he suddenly breaks down thinking about Donetsk, his home city now in Russian hands. "I understand I can't return to Donetsk anymore. Never in my life. Probably... I'm here alone," he mutters through tears. Moscow-backed separatists seized parts of the Donetsk region in 2014, a prelude to the Kremlin's full-scale 2022 invasion, which the UNHCR says has displaced nearly 11 million people. The conflict disrupted treatment -- which needs to be taken daily to control HIV -- to some of the 250,000 Ukrainians estimated by UNAIDS to be living with the infection in 2020. - 'I didn't break' - Advances from Russian troops have also threatened drug treatment programmes. Moscow and its proxies have banned opioid substitution, which replaces dangerous opioids with less harmful substances such as methadone. Approved by the United Nations and the World Health Organisation, the treatment also reduces HIV transmission as it lowers drug injections. No one would guess looking at Natalia Zelenina, but the bright social worker sporting a red bob and bright pink lipstick spent five years in Russian custody. She was carrying legally prescribed drugs for her replacement therapy when she was stopped by Moscow-backed separatists controlling parts of the Donetsk region in 2017. "I realised how strong I was," the 52-year-old said. While her colleagues campaigned to get her out, she fought to obtain treatment for her HIV. "I survived, I endured it all. I went through it all. I didn't break," she said. After being released to Kyiv-controlled territory in a prisoner exchange, Zelenina returned to Svitanok. "I knew that I could only recover in a familiar atmosphere," she says. But even in the protective bubble of Svitanok, where most workers have HIV and a drug dependency, the boom of explosions can be heard in the distance. One employee told AFP she started consuming "just a little bit" of drugs to alleviate her anxiety –- until her colleagues helped her get clean again. Iryna Mamalakieva arrives holding her four-year-old son Maksym, who wobbled off at any opportunity to pick dandelions on a patch of grass. The unemployed 31-year-old former mine operator, diagnosed with HIV in 2019, relies on Svitanok for medical and legal help. "Some people give up, some hang themselves. I knew people like that: They found out about their diagnosis, and even if they had children, they drank themselves to death and quietly went to hang themselves," she said. - 'Melancholy in my soul' - The war has exacerbated stigma towards HIV-positive people and those suffering from drug addictions, counsellor Svitlana Andreieva told AFP. "The rest of the world that's outside our doors, it tells them that they are nobody, that they're not accepted, they're not respected," she said. Andreieva herself remembers being kicked out of hospitals and beaten up by the police because she was addicted to drugs and HIV-positive. Then she learned law, which she shares with visitors who went through similar experiences. "The next time they don't come with tears," she said. "They say: 'What do I need to do, which law article should I rely on?'" But Andreieva's patience is often tested. After an altercation with a regular, she finds a bouquet of lilacs in lieu of apologies in the office. Hard to win over, she initially shrugs it off. But Svitanok's workers and beneficiaries face yet another hurdle: cuts in US humanitarian aid. Svitanok has for now survived Washington's aid freeze, but is scrambling to find alternative sources of funding for some of its many programmes, which partly rely on US money. The uncertainty "really knocked me out of my stability", Zelenina says. "There's such a melancholy in my soul, you know? I love my job. I simply can't imagine what I will do tomorrow." brw/cad/dt/cw/js
France 24
04-05-2025
- Health
- France 24
'Accept me': Near Ukraine front, a haven for outcasts
People living with HIV, those recovering from drug addiction, sex workers -- all are welcome to seek medical guidance and respite from stigma and solace as Russian troops advance toward Kramatorsk. The refuge they find at Svitanok is vital during the war, when marginalised communities often feel left behind and face heightened insecurity and stigma. "They support me here, they respect me. I just came to drink some tea. They'll treat me, I know they'll accept me," says Oleg Makaria, who is HIV-positive. Makaria, who comes to Svitanok most days, hardly reacts to the air raid sirens once again wailing in Kramatorsk, just 20 kilometres (12 miles) from the front. The 41-year-old jokes that he does not look his age. But he suddenly breaks down thinking about Donetsk, his home city now in Russian hands. "I understand I can't return to Donetsk anymore. Never in my life. Probably... I'm here alone," he mutters through tears. Moscow-backed separatists seized parts of the Donetsk region in 2014, a prelude to the Kremlin's full-scale 2022 invasion, which the UNHCR says has displaced nearly 11 million people. The conflict disrupted treatment -- which needs to be taken daily to control HIV -- to some of the 250,000 Ukrainians estimated by UNAIDS to be living with the infection in 2020. 'I didn't break' Advances from Russian troops have also threatened drug treatment programmes. Moscow and its proxies have banned opioid substitution, which replaces dangerous opioids with less harmful substances such as methadone. Approved by the United Nations and the World Health Organisation, the treatment also reduces HIV transmission as it lowers drug injections. No one would guess looking at Natalia Zelenina, but the bright social worker sporting a red bob and bright pink lipstick spent five years in Russian custody. She was carrying legally prescribed drugs for her replacement therapy when she was stopped by Moscow-backed separatists controlling parts of the Donetsk region in 2017. "I realised how strong I was," the 52-year-old said. While her colleagues campaigned to get her out, she fought to obtain treatment for her HIV. "I survived, I endured it all. I went through it all. I didn't break," she said. After being released to Kyiv-controlled territory in a prisoner exchange, Zelenina returned to Svitanok. "I knew that I could only recover in a familiar atmosphere," she says. But even in the protective bubble of Svitanok, where most workers have HIV and a drug dependency, the boom of explosions can be heard in the distance. One employee told AFP she started consuming "just a little bit" of drugs to alleviate her anxiety –- until her colleagues helped her get clean again. Iryna Mamalakieva arrives holding her four-year-old son Maksym, who wobbled off at any opportunity to pick dandelions on a patch of grass. The unemployed 31-year-old former mine operator, diagnosed with HIV in 2019, relies on Svitanok for medical and legal help. "Some people give up, some hang themselves. I knew people like that: They found out about their diagnosis, and even if they had children, they drank themselves to death and quietly went to hang themselves," she said. 'Melancholy in my soul' The war has exacerbated stigma towards HIV-positive people and those suffering from drug addictions, counsellor Svitlana Andreieva told AFP. "The rest of the world that's outside our doors, it tells them that they are nobody, that they're not accepted, they're not respected," she said. Andreieva herself remembers being kicked out of hospitals and beaten up by the police because she was addicted to drugs and HIV-positive. Then she learned law, which she shares with visitors who went through similar experiences. "The next time they don't come with tears," she said. "They say: 'What do I need to do, which law article should I rely on?'" But Andreieva's patience is often tested. After an altercation with a regular, she finds a bouquet of lilacs in lieu of apologies in the office. Hard to win over, she initially shrugs it off. But Svitanok's workers and beneficiaries face yet another hurdle: cuts in US humanitarian aid. Svitanok has for now survived Washington's aid freeze, but is scrambling to find alternative sources of funding for some of its many programmes, which partly rely on US money. The uncertainty "really knocked me out of my stability", Zelenina says. © 2025 AFP
