About “Toilet-bound Hanako-kun” in a few words:

“Toilet-bound Hanako-kun” is a supernatural mystery anime that revolves around Kamome Academy’s Seven Wonders, mysterious beings tied to school legends. The story follows Nene Yashiro, who encounters Hanako, the seventh Wonder, when she seeks his help to resolve her love life. The anime mixes lighthearted moments with dark secrets, exploring various school myths and unique characters while Nene and Hanako navigate the perils of the supernatural world.

Meet the Seven Wonders from Hanako-kun

Hanako-san of the Toilet (The Seventh Wonder)

Okay, Hanako is basically the king of chaotic charm — equal parts prankster kid and surprisingly responsible guardian, which is a combo I adore. He’ll wink, eat pudding like it’s a religious ritual, and then solemnly remind you of your cursed fate, like, five minutes later. There’s this weird softness under all the theatrics; he cares fiercely but pretends not to, and sometimes he acts like a brat just to see if you’ll stick around (he probably will). Also he is both ancient and petulant, which makes no sense logically but fits him perfectly — stubborn, spooky, and impossible to stop smiling about.

Yako, the Spirit of the Dead Fox (The Second Wonder)

Yako is sleek, mysterious, and quietly terrifying in the best way — like a fox who knows everyone’s secrets and keeps the good ones for herself. She’s graceful, almost too composed, but then she’ll pounce with this deadpan, practical violence that makes you respect her boundaries (and maybe fear your choices). There’s tenderness there, oddly, especially toward those she protects, but she never announces it; it’s the kind of thing shown through a single stray ribbon left on a doorstep. Also sometimes she behaves like a cat who hates belly rubs but definitely asks for snacks, which I swear is canon in my head.

Hell of Mirrors (The Third Wonder)

This one is less a person and more a mood — shiny, dizzying, and a little cruel, like walking into a funhouse designed by someone’s terrible sense of aesthetics and existential dread. It reflects everything back at you, including the bits you try to hide, so it’s equal parts revelation and psychological slap, which I love and also hate. It can be beautiful — glittering corridors, echoey whispers — and then suddenly it’s oppressive, like the mirrors are watching you take a shower or something. There’s a weird intimacy to it, too, like a place that knows your favorite lie and keeps telling it back to you with a smirk.

Shijima-san of the Art Room (The Fifth Wonder)

Shijima is the quiet hurricane of the art room: still as a statue until you look away, then everything rearranges itself into something hauntingly beautiful. She embodies silence but in a tactile way — you feel it in the paint drying, the paper curling, the weight of a half-finished drawing left on a chair. People say she’s cold, but she also hoards tiny, sentimental things (eraser shavings? ticket stubs?) and has this ridiculous soft spot for badly drawn animals. She’s serious and formal but will absolutely judge your sketchbook with precise, devastating accuracy — and then maybe fix the shading while you’re not looking.

The Misaki Stairs (The Fourth Wonder)

The Misaki Stairs are this creeping little mythology of inevitability: ordinary steps that somehow collect stories and grudges like moss, and you feel the weight of everyone who ever hesitated on them. They’re nostalgic and uncanny at once — like a childhood memory that smells faintly of old paper and rain — and if you count wrong you get punished, which is partly superstition and partly poetic justice. People whisper that the stairs remember faces and replay tiny scenes from your past, which is either comforting or creepy depending on how many embarrassing moments you have. Also, they have a weirdly particular personality, like they prefer midsummer evenings and hate being rushed — I don’t know, they just do.