Chapter Text
Extra: Days After
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The lock clicked, and the door creaked open.
Megumi poked his head inside, squinting against the dusty light filtering through the cracked doorway. He waved a hand in front of his face, fending off the cloud of dust that billowed up as if the house itself was exhaling for the first time in months.
Behind him, Yuji balanced a disgruntled Pestilence in his arms, the fat white cat squirming just enough to let everyone know he wasn’t happy. Nobara, her eye patch firmly in place, leaned in over Yuji’s shoulder, craning her neck to peer inside.
«It smells awful,» Nobara said flatly, wrinkling her nose. «Like mold and... I don’t know, ancient regret?»
Yuji coughed, trying not to laugh as the dust hit his throat. «I think it’s just... closed up. How long do you think this place has been sealed off?»
Megumi shrugged, stepping inside and holding the door open for the others. «Who knows? But judging by the smell, long enough.»
«Maybe that’s just the cat,» Yuji offered, his voice muffled as Pestilence wriggled free and leapt from his arms, landing with surprising grace for his round, fluffy form.
The cat gave an indignant meow and without hesitation, trotted toward a sagging couch in the corner of the living room, his fluffy tail held high as if he knew exactly where he was going, hopping up with a familiarity that seemed oddly intentional.
The faint indent of past moments seemed carved into the cushions, as though time itself had taken a seat to linger.
Once settled, Pestilence stretched lazily, glaring at them as if they were intruding on his space.
«Hey, look at him!» Yuji pointed, watching as the cat plopped down with an air of ownership. «He acts like he owns the place.»
«Maybe he does,» Nobara quipped, stepping around a stack of abandoned vases and brushing a cobweb off her jacket. «What a perfect inheritance from Gojo-sensei. Awkward letters, a smelly, dusty house and a fat, arrogant cat. Truly a treasure.»
Yuji chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. «Honestly, I think the cat’s kind of cute. Look at him, he’s got attitude.»
«Are you sure Gojo-sensei spent his convalescence here after Shibuya?» Megumi asked, stepping further inside. His gaze swept over the dim interior, taking in the layers of dust coating the furniture and the faint, stale scent that hung in the air. «It doesn’t seem like anyone’s been here since.»
Yuji took a cautious step forward, glancing around at the abandoned living room. «Was this even his house?» he asked, scratching the back of his head. «Did Gojo-sensei lived here alone?»
Nobara raised an eyebrow. «I don’t know. Does this look like his style to you?» She gestured to the multitude of empty plant pots scattered across the room. Some still clung to dried-up stems, their leaves long since withered. «There’s no way Gojo-sensei took care of all these plants. He’d kill a cactus.»
Megumi didn’t answer, but the thought settled: whoever it was had done so with care, each pot a tiny universe of dedication. Now, those little worlds were abandoned. «So… he didn’t live here alone?»
A quiet pause settled over them, broken only by the faint creak of the wooden floor as they ventured further inside. Pestilence had already made himself at home on the sofa, curling into a ball with the air of someone who belonged there more than they did.
The three of them followed the trail of empty pots into the kitchen. It was small and rustic, with a distinctly vintage charm that seemed to belong to a different time entirely. Barrels of loose tea lined the shelves, and bundles of dried herbs hung from hooks above the counter. The air, though stale, carried the faintest hint of something earthy and soothing, like jasmine and green tea.
There was a quiet intimacy to the collection, as though tea had been a shared ritual, a small but steady anchor in a fleeting moment of peace.
«It’s like a terrarium in here,» Nobara muttered, her fingers trailing over a row of mismatched jars. «Seriously, can you imagine Gojo-sensei in a place like this? I bet he lost his mind after two minutes.»
Yuji leaned over the counter, peering at a dusty kettle on the stove. «Do you think he actually used this stuff?»
«Doubt it,» Megumi replied, glancing around. «But someone did. And it wasn’t just once or twice.»
His gaze shifted to a plant sitting on the counter by the window, its leaves bright and full of life. It was the only living thing in the house that didn’t seem tired or forgotten.
«Oh,» Megumi said, tilting his head. «That one’s... alive. Very alive.»
The others turned to look, their curiosity piqued. The plant, sitting in an old ceramic pot, seemed to glow in the soft light, its green leaves thriving despite its surroundings.
«Whoa,» Yuji said, stepping closer. «How’s that even possible?»
«Resilient,» Nobara said, tapping the edge of the pot. «Lucky plant. Must be nice.»
Yuji grinned. «We should give it a name. You know, something... cool.»
Nobara rolled her eye. «Like what?»
«I don’t know,» Yuji replied, looking thoughtful. «How about... Green Reaper?»
Megumi groaned. «Seriously? You sound like Gojo-sensei.»
«You mean cool?» Yuji said defensively.
«I mean stupid,» Megumi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Nobara smirked. «Fine. Green Reaper it is.»
As they stepped away from the plant, Nobara’s eyes caught on something else—a woven bracelet lying neatly on the kitchen table. She picked it up, examining its simple yet intricate design. The threads were worn, the colors faded, but it still held a strange sense of familiarity.
«Hey,» she called, holding it up for the others to see. «Does this look familiar to you?»
Yuji and Megumi turned to her, and their expressions shifted as recognition dawned. They instinctively glanced at their wrists, where identical bracelets rested.
«Gojo-sensei gave me these for us,» Yuji said softly, his voice laced with confusion. «But… he never said where he got them.»
Nobara frowned, running her fingers over the woven threads. «He just said they were for us? That’s it?»
The three stood in silence for a moment. Whoever had made the bracelet sitting on the table had been a part of this house, a part of this life that Gojo-sensei had lived here—one they knew nothing about.
Yuji’s gaze dropped to the bracelet in Nobara’s hands. «Whoever it was… I think it meant something. To give us all the same thing.»
For a moment, they stood in silence, then Yuji cleared his throat, his usual energy returning. «Alright. Let’s keep looking. There’s got to be more clues around here.» He reached for the kettle on the stove, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. «Hey, want me to make tea?»
Nobara crossed her arms. «Absolutely not. Those herbs have probably been here for months. Do you want to poison us?»
«There are only two cups anyway,» Megumi pointed out, gesturing toward the mismatched mugs on the counter.
Yuji pouted but relented, letting the kettle be. Instead, his gaze landed on a small, worn notebook lying on the edge of the counter. He picked it up, flipping it open. «Wait a second… Is this a recipe book?»
Nobara snatched it from him, her eyes scanning the pages. «Gojo-sensei? Cooking? No chance.»
Megumi, arms crossed, glanced over. «Then he didn’t live here alone, after all.»
That made them pause.
«Wait,» Nobara said slowly. «You’re telling me someone actually lived here with him? Like, voluntarily?»
Yuji grinned. «Poor soul.»
Nobara flipped through the book, her gaze landing on a handwritten recipe for chocolate chip cookies. She smirked. «Bet he lived on tea and cookies the whole time he was here.»
Yuji’s eyes lit up. «Can we take this?»
Nobara smirked. «Why not? It’s technically ours now, isn’t it?»
Yuji smiled, passing the book to Nobara, his voice bittersweet. «Great. Let’s make some cookies later. For Gojo-sensei.»
Recipe book in hand, they made their way back to the living room, where Pestilence still reigned supreme on the sofa.
The fireplace still held old ashes, and everything seemed eerily organized, as if someone had known the house would be left behind.
Yuji wandered to the bookshelf, scanning the titles. His fingers brushed against something tucked between the books—an old notebook. Curious, he pulled it out and flipped it open.
«Huh?» he murmured, flipping it open.
«What’s that?» Nobara asked, leaning over his shoulder.
Yuji frowned. «It’s… math? Pages and pages of calculations.»
Megumi and Nobara leaned over his shoulder, their eyes scanning the pages. The notebook was filled with neat, precise handwriting—pages and pages of calculations, all revolving around the number twelve.
Nobara's brow furrowed as she looked at the pages. «Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Someone was obsessed with that number.»
Megumi leaned closer, his brows knitting as he studied the pages. «It’s not just obsession,» he murmured. «It’s like… they were trying to stop something. Or understand it.»
At the bottom of the last page, written in small, deliberate letters, was a name: Suzume Hayashi.
The three of them exchanged a glance, the air suddenly heavier.
«Suzume Hayashi?» Nobara repeated, her brow furrowing.
Yuji glanced back at the notebook in his hands, his finger brushing over the name on the final page. «Who is Suzume Hayashi?»
Silence.
Megumi crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing in thought. «Maybe… the owner of the house?»
Nobara leaned against the dusty table, smirking. «You think she lived here? With Gojo-sensei?»
Another pause.
Yuji laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. «If she did, she must’ve been a saint.»
Nobara snorted, placing a hand on her hip. «No kidding. Whoever she was, she must’ve had the patience of a goddamn monk. Can you imagine putting up with him for… how long did he say he was here?»
Yuji shrugged. «Twelve days.»
«Twelve days?» Nobara’s eye widened in confusion. «Okkotsu-senpai said it was a year.»
Yuji leaned back against the couch, Pestilence hopping onto his lap uninvited. «He was vague about it. Always had a weird look on his face when it came up.»
As the conversation trailed off, Nobara wandered away, her fingers brushing over the shelves and furniture as she continued her exploration. Her eye caught on a strange collection in the corner: a large number of calendars and broken clocks, all arranged haphazardly on a shelf.
«This is weird,» she muttered, gesturing for the others to join her. «Look at this. Whoever lived here was obsessed with time.»
Yuji crouched to inspect one of the broken clocks, holding it up and tilting his head. «Yeah, these are all dead. Like, way past repair.» He squinted at the collection. «You think it’s connected to this Suzume Hayashi?»
«Or Gojo-sensei,» Megumi said dryly.
Nobara rolled her eye, but her usual sharpness dimmed for a moment as her fingers lingered on the face of a cracked clock. «It’s like time didn’t matter here. Or maybe… it mattered too much.»
The silence of the house seemed to press in closer, as if echoing her thoughts. It wasn’t like her to dwell, but something about the way the clocks stood frozen felt wrong, almost suffocating.
«Do you think they were counting down to something?» she asked softly, not expecting an answer. She set the clock back in place and moved further into the living room. Her gaze landed on something tucked into a corner—a vintage projector. «Oh, wait. What’s this?»
She pulled out an old, dusty projector tucked into a corner of the room.
Yuji’s eyes lit up. «Whoa, vintage! I didn’t know Gojo-sensei was into this kind of stuff.»
Nobara scoffed. «Pfft, potted plants, tea jars, and now a projector? Was he trying to recover from Shibuya by pretending he was in the 1950s?»
Megumi smirked faintly. «Honestly? Wouldn’t put it past him.»
«Hey, there’s a screen over there,» Yuji pointed out, gesturing to a makeshift white sheet tacked to one wall.
«Let’s see if it works,» Nobara said, already fiddling with the projector.
The three of them worked, clearing some dust off the lens and adjusting the settings. Miraculously, the device whirred to life, projecting a grainy image onto the sheet.
The screen flickered, and suddenly, the cheerful opening of The Sound of Music began to play.
For a moment, they all froze.
«Is this… The Sound of Music?» Yuji asked incredulously, staring at the screen.
A bright, pastoral scene appeared on the screen, accompanied by the soaring voice of Julie Andrews.
The sound seemed to echo strangely, as if bouncing off memories rather than walls.
The three sat in stunned silence as the movie played.
Nobara burst out laughing. «No way. No freaking way.»
Megumi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. «This place keeps getting weirder.»
Yuji grinned, nudging Megumi. «Can you imagine Gojo-sensei in this house, yelling ‘Do, a deer, a female deer!’ at the top of his lungs?»
Nobara groaned, clutching her stomach as she laughed. «He probably sang along during the movie. You know he did.»
But as the movie played on, the laughter faded, replaced by a growing discomfort.
The house felt too still, the memories too heavy. For a moment, it felt like someone—no, two people—had filled this house with warmth, long before their arrival
Finally, Yuji stood and reached over to turn off the projector.
«Yeah, I can’t do this,» he muttered, shaking his head.
They continued their exploration, moving toward the hallway that led to the bedroom. Along the way, they came across a small closet, its door slightly ajar.
«What’s in here?» Nobara asked, peering inside.
The closet was packed with various items: boxes, stacks of papers, and—oddly—a makeshift Christmas tree.
Megumi pulled the tree out carefully, holding it up for inspection. It was a sad sight, made from scraps of fabric, twigs, and bits of recycled material.
«That’s… depressing,» Yuji muttered, his expression softening.
Megumi nodded. «It’s the saddest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.»
But as he set it down carefully in its place, he realized it wasn’t sad at all. It was hopeful. Someone had built this, even knowing it wasn’t perfect. Someone had tried to make something out of nothing.
Reaching into the closet again, Yuji pulled out a stack of documents. As he flipped through them, a photograph slipped free, fluttering to the floor.
«What’s that?» Nobara asked, picking it up.
It was an old family portrait. An older man and woman sat side by side, their expressions gentle and warm.
Between them stood a young girl with very long, dark hair, her smile wide but shy.
Nobara raised an eyebrow. «What is she? Rapunzel?»
Yuji turned the photo over, revealing a handwritten note on the back: Mr. and Mrs. Hayashi, Suzume Hayashi.
The three of them exchanged looks, the name striking a chord once again.
«Suzume Hayashi,» Yuji murmured.
«So, it’s really her house,» Megumi said finally.
Nobara nodded, her expression thoughtful. «And Gojo-sensei really did live here with her.»
Megumi frowned, his gaze drifting toward the quiet, orderly house around them. «If she did… where is she now?»
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
The house itself seemed to answer, its quiet, orderly stillness heavy with finality. Every corner, every item seemed steeped in memories, as though the walls themselves carried the weight of those who had once lived here.
Finally, Yuji cleared his throat, breaking the spell. «We should put everything back. Feels like we’re… snooping through someone’s life.»
Nobara nodded, slipping the photo back into the stack of papers. They carefully placed the documents and photograph back in the closet, leaving the little Christmas tree exactly as they had found it.
The bedroom door creaked open, and Pestilence, as if finally tired of their meandering, trotted in ahead of them. The cat leapt onto the neatly made bed as if claiming a throne, curling up in a way that suggested this wasn’t his first time there.
«Typical,» Nobara muttered, eyeing the cat with a mix of irritation and amusement.
But then her gaze fell on something else.
«Oh,» she said softly, stepping closer.
There, on the bed—immaculate and perfectly made—was a black hoodie, neatly folded as though waiting for someone to return.
Yuji’s eyes lit up with recognition as he picked it up. «Hey! This is Gojo-sensei’s! He was sulking for days when he came back and couldn’t find it!»
«What a child,» Nobara remarked, crossing her arms. «Why didn’t he just come back and get it?»
Yuji shrugged, holding up the hoodie. «He said… he’d never hear the end of it. Something about how he’d already been lectured enough about forgetting things.»
«Lectured from who?» Megumi asked, his tone careful but curious.
Yuji paused. «I dunno. He never said.»
Silence fell over the group, the air suddenly heavier than before. The name Suzume Hayashi lingered unspoken between them.
«You think…» Nobara began, her voice trailing off.
None of them answered.
Megumi’s gaze fell to the folded hoodie, his expression unreadable. Without thinking, he took it. It was just a hoodie, but it felt heavier than anything else in the room.
They turned back to the room, their eyes scanning for more answers.
«Hey,» Megumi called softly, his hand resting on the bedside table. «There’s something here.»
The three of them crowded around, peering at the small stack of items.
«A book?» Nobara asked, picking it up. She flipped through the pages, skimming over the text. «It’s some dramatic, overly romantic story. Whoever was reading this was into some seriously sappy stuff.»
Yuji leaned closer, pointing. «The bookmark’s right in the middle.»
Whoever had been reading this had stopped mid-story, leaving the ending forever unread. It felt wrong.
Nobara paused, her fingers lingering on the marked page. «Whoever started it… didn’t finish.» Her voice softened, a hint of sadness creeping in. «That’s kinda sad..»
«Definitely not Gojo-sensei,» Megumi said dryly, shaking his head.
«Wait, there’s more,» Yuji said, his voice hushed. His hand hovered over something else on the table.
«What is it?» Nobara asked, leaning in.
Yuji hesitated, picking up the small, folded paper with care. «A letter,» he said, turning it over in his hands.
«A letter?» Megumi echoed, his brow furrowing.
Nobara leaned in, curious. «Like, a real handwritten letter?»
Yuji squinted at the front of the envelope. «It’s addressed to… Suzume Hayashi. And… this is Gojo-sensei’s handwriting.»
The three of them froze.
Nobara broke it, her voice cautious. «Should we… read it?»
«It’s in the house,» Yuji reasoned, though there was hesitation in his tone. «And the house is technically ours, right?»
Megumi said nothing, but the look in his eyes was enough to urge Yuji on.
With trembling fingers, Yuji opened the envelope. Nobara and Megumi leaned in over his shoulders as he unfolded the letter.
They read it silently.
«Oh no,» Yuji whispered, his voice breaking.
«Oh...» Nobara echoed, her expression crumpling.
«Oh,» Megumi muttered under his breath, his usual stoicism cracking.
The room felt as if all the air had been sucked out of it.
The words hit like a punch to the gut, raw and deeply personal. Whatever they had expected, it wasn’t this.
They weren’t supposed to read this.
Yuji’s hands trembled as he held the letter, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.
«We shouldn’t have read it,» Megumi said, his voice low and tight.
«Yeah,» Nobara agreed softly, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. «Now I feel like a jerk.»
Yuji sniffled, hurriedly folding the letter back up with shaky hands. «I-I’m sorry,» he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion.
«Yuji, are you crying?» Nobara asked, though there was no mockery in her voice, only surprise.
«No!» Yuji sniffed again, though his red-rimmed eyes betrayed him. With great care, he placed the letter back on the bedside table, smoothing it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. «I just—shut up! It’s really sad, okay? There’s… so much we didn’t know about him.»
«You’re totally crying,» Nobara said, though there was no malice in her words.
The three of them stood there in silence, the weight of what they had read pressing down on them. Memories they didn’t own seemed to seep from every corner of the house.
«I think,» Nobara started, her voice barely above a whisper, «this Suzume Hayashi was…»
«Yeah,» Megumi interrupted, nodding slowly. «I think so too.»
Yuji wiped his face with his sleeve, his voice trembling as he added, «We should go. It doesn’t feel right to stay here.»
Reluctantly, they turned to leave, Pestilence hopping off the bed with a disgruntled meow as Yuji scooped him up. The cat protested, his tail flicking with irritation, but Yuji held him close, stroking his fur absentmindedly.
As they made their way back through the house, they absorbed every detail—the scent of dried herbs, the faint creak of the floorboards, the way the light filtered through the dusty windows.
Every object seemed deliberately placed, not by chance but by intention, as though they had been arranged for someone to remember—someone who might never return.
The living room, with its vintage projector and mismatched furniture. The kitchen, with its stubbornly thriving plant by the window. The hallway, with its quiet reminders of time’s passage.
The silence wasn’t empty; it was full of words left unsaid, of stories unfinished, of goodbyes that weren’t enough.
And finally, the front door.
They stopped at the threshold, turning back for one last look. The house, so perfectly in order, now seemed alive despite its emptiness.
Everything felt chosen, deliberate, as though someone had crafted a world where nothing was accidental.
«Maybe it should stay like this,» Megumi said quietly, his voice thoughtful. «Untouched.»
«Yeah,» Yuji agreed, holding Pestilence a little tighter. «Feels… wrong to change anything.»
«Twelve days,» she whispered. «Doesn’t seem like much, right? But looking at this…» She trailed off, her voice catching.
Their eyes lingered on the plant by the window—the resilient Green Reaper, standing tall despite everything.
«Think it’ll survive?» Nobara asked, her voice tinged with a faint smile.
Yuji nodded. «Yeah. I think it will.»
The three of them lingered a moment longer, as if waiting for something—a sign, a feeling, anything—but none came.
As they stepped outside, the crisp air filled their lungs, and the weight of the house seemed to lift.
Yuji turned back, offering a small, almost shy wave. «Alright then. We’re going, Gojo-sensei. Suzume-san.»
The door clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing softly in the quiet.
None of them spoke. None of them needed to.
As they stepped out into the light of the day, the weight of the house’s memories stayed with them.
Each of them carried the weight of the house in their own way—Yuji, with his eyes cast downward, his grip on Pestilence tightening with every step; Nobara, her hand brushing against her pocket where she had tucked the recipe book; and Megumi, black hoodie clunched in his hands, his gaze fixed forward but his thoughts spiraling inward.
They hadn’t learned much—at least, not about what had really happened here. They didn’t know much more about their teacher than they had before. They didn’t know who Suzume Hayashi truly was.
Not about what those twelve days had meant.
But maybe that was okay.
Some stories, after all, were meant to be left behind. Not forgotten, but cherished—just like a faint echo in time.
Behind them, the house stood quiet, bathed in golden light the sunlight glinting off its windows like a final farewell. It didn’t feel abandoned, not truly. It felt… waiting.
For what, or for whom, they couldn’t say.
In the distance, the resilient Green Reaper stood tall in the kitchen window, its leaves catching the sunlight like tiny beacons of life.
Time, it seemed, had stopped here long ago. But within its stillness, there was a quiet, unshakable warmth.
A reminder that time is a fragile, fleeting gift. But in its brevity, it holds everything.
And perhaps, that was the truest legacy.
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