Flirting With Flavor | A GenMui Fanfic

Prologue

MUICHIRO TOKITO

A collective groan echoed through the classroom as our teacher delivered the big news. As quiet as I was compared to my peers, I assure you, I felt a surge of anxiety unlike any other at that very instant. In a seemingly perpetual cycle, the announcement marked the fifth occasion we were bestowed with yet another group project. The words, laden with a sense of monotony, slipped from his lips, serving as a stark reminder of how slow the school year truly was.

Without a single blink, my vigilant pupils meticulously traced every figure in the room. As always, grouping with others posed a challenge for me, and I found myself grappling to recall the distinctive features of those around me. This particular moment demanded my full attention, one of those instances where it was imperative to do so. Surprisingly, I must admit, my familiarity with the individuals in my English class is not as robust as one might expect.

Of course, I could distinguish a jock or two, and maybe a cheerleader every now and then in the crowd, but other than those prominent figures, the social landscape seemed barren. This was just one of the many factors reinforcing my sense of friendlessness. It was embarrassing enough that I came to accept it.

The only individuals I could truly consider as coming close to being my friends were Tanjiro Kamado and Mitsuri Kanroji. Nevertheless, initiating meaningful conversations with either of them posed a considerable challenge for me. In fact, I questioned whether typical conversations were inherently relevant to begin with. Despite this uncertainty, I knew that wasn't a valid excuse to shy away from the effort.

"Muichiro,"

My attention jolted back to the present at the sudden mention of my name. A girl I couldn't quite remember, as did I ever, directed a concerned gaze in my direction, her eyebrows furrowed. It dawned on me that she was likely the most recent subject of my absent-minded observations, a fact that had slipped my mind during my profound daydreaming.

I awkwardly looked away, focusing on my teacher, who had called on me first.

"Mhm," I hummed.

"Have you been listening?" He asked, crossing his arms. "Your group is still waiting for you,"

I found myself subtly shaking my head, a slow gesture that betrayed my confusion as I scanned the room for any semblance of a clue. In every corner, distinct clusters of individuals congregated, avoiding any meaningful eye contact with me. It was as if my teacher's words had woven a tapestry of deception, or perhaps nobody truly recognized me. Ironically, it was the same instructor who, on numerous occasions, orchestrated these group formations. I pondered whether he had relayed my name to the four others I was supposed to group up with, only for them to assume I was absent—as per usual.

The mounting frustration weighed heavily on me, pushing me to the brink of surrender. I was on the verge of dropping my head onto the desk in defeat when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed multiple hands raised in unison, waving in a familiar motion.

With a swift turn, I inclined my head towards that corner of the room, eager for a closer inspection. Each of the four individuals stationed there wore benevolent smiles, their inviting gestures prompting me to join them. My eyebrows arched upward in alarm, a gentle warmth caressing my cheeks as I embraced the embarrassment.

"Oh..." That's when the realization dawned on me. "Oh!"

I rose from my desk, observing with mild amusement as one of the taller individuals playfully thwarted a girl's attempt to reach his hand in height. It was really corny. Disregarding the theatrics, I embarked on the task of deciphering each person in the group, gradually weaving their identities with their respective names as I moved closer. Almost as though my dementia had never been a hindrance, their life stories unfolded vividly in my memory, revealing every detail that had ever made them relevant.