The Fragrant Flower Blooms With Dignityis one of those heart-warming romance manga where if you’re not grinning with delight by the end of the first volume, there’s probably something broken in your soul. Female lead Kaoruko is so cute, I might die of sweetness overload, and with misunderstood protagonist Rintaro, I wanted to reach into the pages and hug the poor boy. His whole thing is his “scary eyes.” He permanently sports a rather intense expression, characterized by his tiny irises compared to Kaoruko’s enormously globular sparkling orbs of puppy-like adorability. Think of him as the male version of The Girl With the Sanpaku Eyes‘ Amane Mizuno.
Author Saka Mikami‘s main theme with Fragrant Flower is the exploration of how uninformed judgments of others, especially when fuelled by humanity’s innate tribalism, lead to unfair treatment and social ostracization, ultimately damaging mental health and preventing people from reaching their true potential. The most obvious literary comparison is, of course, Romeo and Juliet – lovers who unite despite warring families and social pressure, though perhaps Fragrant Flower‘s class-based bigotry is a little closer in tone to Romeo and Juliet‘s famous derivative work West Side Story, with our two leads attending schools at opposite ends of the Japanese social spectrum. Thankfully, there have been no instances of all-out gang warfare or lovers’ suicides in these first three volumes, though Rintaro and his friends are drawn into a few fights with troublemaking undesirables.
Much like the aforementioned Amane Mizuno, Rintaro (subconsciously?) leans into his “mean” appearance by bleaching his hair blonde and wearing earrings, both actions normally beyond the pale in more prestigious educational establishments. (Though, adorably, he only chose this style “because it looked cool” on a person he respected.) Despite his punk-like presentation, as per this particular manga trope, it turns out that to those who bother to get to know him, Rintaro is the sweetest, most considerate guy, prone to over-apologizing for everything he does, whether he’s at fault or not. The way society treats him is desperately unfair – looked down on by the snooty Kikyo girls merely for attending a “bad” school, his face makes fellow passengers on the train cower in fear, and children run away. Poor boy.
Kaoruko’s sweet, friendly nature is exactly what Rintaro needs to drag him out of his shell. Their relationship develops hesitantly – at first, Rintaro can hardly believe a Kikyo student would glance in his direction, let alone be comfortable around him. We spend much time in his head as he second-guesses himself, attributing erroneous motivations to Kaoruko’s actions, as he tries desperately to maintain distance from her. He’s scared of scaring her and being hurt himself. Mikami’s writing here is spectacularly insightful, delving deep into the damaged psyche of a young man paralyzed by self-doubt and perceived social pressure. His spiraling, self-deprecating thoughts should be familiar to anyone who has suffered discrimination, bullying, or social ostracization. His persistent self-critical thoughts are on the one hand frustrating, but on the other completely understandable. His haunted look reminds me a little of A Silent Voice‘s Shoya Ishida (but without the problematic backstory), or BEASTARS‘ Legoshi.
No manic pixie dream girl, Kaoruko is far from mere unrealistic male wish fulfillment – she has motivations and complexities. Her love of stuffing her face with cake is utterly adorable, but she also has a fascinating, and extremely close, friendship with fellow Kikyo student Subaru Hoshina. Subaru initially presents as a bitchy, possessive best friend character who seems jealous or even fearful of Rintaro’s encroachment into Kaoruko’s life. Once again, author Mikami uses this behavior to explore another damaged character who acts out of love and concern for her friend, albeit selfish and unconstructive. I like how Fragrant Flower focuses not only on the central couple, but how their relationship changes the dynamic of each friendship group, with every character changing, growing, and learning more about one another. Almost every chapter features positive, affirming emotional growth. The whole cast is wonderfully fleshed out by the end of the third volume.
Mikami’s art is excellent throughout, with well-defined characters that are easy to tell apart, faces so expressive of myriad emotions from infectious joy to crippling anxiety. Kaoruko is just the sweetest little cinnamon roll (she is under five feet tall compared to Rintaro towering over her at over six feet), with her beaming smiles lighting up the page. Her rare moments of pensiveness reveal the thoughtful, studious girl beneath her upbeat exterior. She also expresses anxiety about her relationship with Rintaro – though generally in a more healthy way. I like that she’s often the one who pushes him ahead, recognizing that he lacks confidence – even going so far as to ask him out on a date, blushing all the while despite her bravery.
If it isn’t blindingly obvious by now, Fragrant Flower is a cut above the average manga rom-com. With complex, nuanced characters and emotionally intelligent writing that knows there’s not always a simple solution to interpersonal and societal problems, it’s extremely compelling and rewarding to read. No wonder this manga is popular in Japan, and I’m very much looking forward to CloverWorks‘ anime adaptation due next year. Fragrant Flower is the best manga romance I’ve read since Sweat and Soap (though it has a very different vibe), I highly recommend checking it out.
