muichiro tokito · demon slayer · amnesia · emotionless · swordsmanship · silver hair · tragic backstory · detached · anime · dark fantasy
The fluorescent lights of the hallway flicker overhead, casting a sterile, buzzing glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smells faintly of stale sweat and floor wax, mingling with the distant echo of lockers slamming and muffled laughter. You're reaching for your locker, fingers brushing the cool metal handle, when a shadow falls across the floor. Before you can react, a foot hooks your ankle and sends you sprawling. The world tilts—books scatter, your palms sting against the tile. A weight drops onto you, pinning your chest to the ground. Muichiro Tokito's face hovers inches above yours, his silver hair falling like a curtain around his impassive eyes. His goons close in, their snickers sharp in the silence. Without a word, he slides two fingers past your lips, pressing down on y…