Kugisaki Nobuko's seat was empty again today. The chair was tucked perfectly under the desk at just the right angle. There was no trace of anyone having sat there. Gojou Satoru sat at his window-side seat while watching that emptiness out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't meant to look. But he was looking anyway. It was the morning the third day of his reflection period ended. Onizuka-sensei's loud voice, the long table in the guidance office—all of it was over now. But he still hadn't spoken to Itadori. Nobuko still hadn't come back. Nothing was resolved. Three days had just passed. The classroom air was the same as always. No one was talking to him. He wasn't being ignored either. Just—somehow, no one was looking his way. Honestly, that felt heavier than being yelled at. Class started. Asahina-sensei's Japanese period. A problem appeared on the blackboard. "Then Gojou." His name was called. He stood up reflexively. He looked at the board. …He hadn't been listening at all. What was the problem? "[serious]Um—" One second of silence. The classroom went completely quiet. "[serious]…The word order is, reversed, I think." The problem was about particle selection. Word order had nothing to do with it. Someone laughed. Just one person. But then it went quiet again. The fact that the laughter didn't continue made it even more awkward. "[gentle]You can sit down." There was a hint of exasperation in the teacher's voice. Gojou sat. He looked out the window. A cloudy sky. The roofs of Harukazoe Street visible beyond. Residential areas stretching past that. (I wonder what Nobuko's doing right now.) From the back of the classroom came the sound of pages turning. Fushiguro Megumi was reading a book. During class, no less. But the teacher said nothing. Even when Fushiguro read during class, somehow no one ever said anything—probably because her grades were too good, the teacher couldn't say a word. Gojou glanced once at the cactus on top of the locker. It was still there, green and unchanged. --- After school. He pushed open the rooftop door and dry autumn air hit his face. Gojou sat down on a plastic bench. Beyond the fence, the town of Kasumigaoka spread out. Minami-Harukazoe Station's platform was visible in the distance. People were probably boarding trains from there right now, heading somewhere. It had nothing to do with him. He couldn't bring himself to eat the chocolate cream bread. He hadn't bought anything today. He was just sitting. Footsteps. The door opened. It was Fushiguro Megumi. Her long, bluish-black hair swayed slightly in the autumn breeze. She walked slowly, cradling a book at her side. Her calm gray eyes—it was hard to tell if she was looking at Gojou or not. Gojou was a little surprised. He'd barely talked to Fushiguro. He'd heard she was the class organizer, but he had no actual memory of interacting with her. She was always reading, incredibly quiet, but somehow like she saw everything—that was the only impression he had. Fushiguro came near the bench but didn't sit next to Gojou. She stood by the water tank, looking beyond the fence. Silence. "[cold]…You two are both idiots." That was her opening line. Gojou looked up. Fushiguro kept looking at the scenery, hugging her book. She wasn't facing him. But her voice reached him clearly. "[serious]What do you mean?" "[serious]Nobuko-san doesn't say anything to people she dislikes." It was matter-of-fact. Like she was reading facts aloud. "She said from the start I was the worst." "[serious]Right. So—she doesn't dislike you." Gojou went silent. "[serious]She doesn't say anything to people she doesn't care about. She doesn't get involved. That's how Nobuko-san is. Wasn't it the same at her previous school?" (…Previous school. Someone said she was isolated.) Fushiguro continued. "[serious]You're smart. But you're an idiot about the most important thing." "[sarcastic]Thanks for that." "[serious]Say it properly. Don't dress it up. Don't act cool." With that, Fushiguro turned on her heel. She put her hand on the door. She glanced back for just a moment. "[cold]Also, I watered the cactus." The door closed. Gojou was alone. The cactus? He stood there blankly as autumn wind swept through. Something spread slowly through his chest. That cactus that had been there since the day Nobuko transferred. The cactus no one had watered. The cactus Nobuko had said "will die if you don't water it." —Fushiguro had watered it. Without being asked. Without being told by anyone. Just because it was there. (Don't dress it up. Don't act cool.) Fushiguro's voice echoed in his head again. Gojou stared at the sky for a while. --- That night. The Gojou family apartment, 11th floor living room. His father was absent again. Loose-leaf paper was spread across the table. He ran his pen across it. "Kugisaki, I want to apologize to you—" He stopped. Erased it. Acting cool. "I want to apologize"—I'm too much the subject. Another sheet. "I really like you—" He stopped. Erased it. That's not it either. What does "really" mean? If I have to add "really," it sounds like a lie. Another sheet. "I was the worst—" Erased it. What good does writing self-hatred do? What happens when Nobuko reads it? Three sheets of loose-leaf fell into the trash. Poof, poof, poof—pathetic sounds. Gojou put down his pen. He looked up at the ceiling. Every word was acting cool somewhere. Trying to show "me apologizing." Trying to convey "serious me." He was writing about Nobuko, but everything he wrote was about "me." Don't dress it up. So what are words that don't dress it up? He picked up the pen again, about to write—and stopped. There was no answer yet. --- The next morning. He saw Itadori's back at the shoe lockers. A fluffy golden head. A big body. Broad shoulders as always. Gojou called out from behind. "[serious]Itadori." Itadori turned around. Their eyes met for a moment. Then he looked away. He kept changing his shoes. Gojou approached. He stood next to Itadori and opened his own locker. Making sure he was visible. Then he bowed his head. "[serious]You were right. I wasn't thinking about Nobuko's feelings at all. I'm sorry." The entrance hall seemed to go quiet. Morning chatter faded into the distance. Itadori was silent. Two seconds. Three. Four. "[laughing]—Well, it'll work out somehow!" When Gojou looked up, Itadori was grinning, showing his fangs. That smile. The usual one. "[serious]But the cultural festival's in 3 days and it's gonna be rough. You better help, for real." "[serious]…Got it." Itadori slapped Gojou's back hard. "[laughing]All right!" "[sarcastic]That hurts. Take it easy." "[laughing]What, this is nothing!" "[sarcastic]It's not nothing. It actually hurts." "[laughing]You know, you get angry faster than you apologize." Gojou said nothing. That was true. --- Lunch break. Class 3-A erupted. It started at Fushiguro's desk. A classmate found a large piece of paper placed at the edge of her desk. When they unfolded it—it was an A3-sized blueprint of a haunted house. Hallway widths. Positions for the actors. Timing for blackouts. Sound effect cues. The flow from reception to start. How to guide people. Everything was filled in with tiny, meticulous writing. And in the corner of the blueprint—a small rectangular room marked, with tiny letters next to it: "Dog plushie placement location (corner)." "[surprised]…Did Fushiguro make this?" Fushiguro didn't look up from her book. "[cold]Yes." "[surprised]No one asked you to, right?" "[cold]…Not really." The classroom erupted. "That's amazing! It's so detailed!" "Did you calculate all this?" "The flow is perfect!" Voices overlapped. The haunted house preparations had basically stalled for three days—and Fushiguro had designed everything alone. That fact set the entire class in motion at once. "[surprised]Wait wait, what's with the dog plushie!?" "[cold]That's not it." "[laughing]No way, it's definitely because of the dog!" "[cold]That's not it." No one believed her. Laughter filled the classroom. Real laughter, for the first time in days. With Gojou and Itadori reconciling and moving forward together, the class atmosphere had started shifting. Combined with Fushiguro's blueprint—the after-school preparations became something where everyone moved together. Carrying cardboard. Hanging dark curtains. Giving instructions. Itadori carried heavy loads effortlessly, bumped his head on something again, and got laughs. Gojou taped the blueprint next to the blackboard and glanced once at Nobuko's seat. Still empty. Itadori, stacking cardboard beside him, said nothing. He had to have noticed, but he said nothing and carried the next box. —A wordless understanding existed between them. --- Night. Gojou stood in front of the Kugisaki house. Twelve minutes on foot from Minami-Harukazoe Station, in a residential area. A two-story wooden house. The nameplate read "Kugisaki." A light was on in the second-floor window. Light leaked through thin curtains. A silhouette was visible beyond them. He took a deep breath. He pressed the intercom. After a moment, a voice came through the speaker. "[gentle]…Yes?" A calm voice. An older woman's voice. Probably Nobuko's grandmother. "[serious]Um, this is Gojou from class 3-A. I wanted to speak with Nobuko—" "[gentle]Nobuko says she doesn't want to see you." Polite. Quiet. But the answer was clear. Gojou stood at the entrance, closed his eyes once. Don't dress it up. Don't act cool. Fushiguro's voice echoed in his head again. Gojou took a deep breath and—shouted. "[excited]Come to the cultural festival tomorrow!" His voice echoed through the nighttime residential area. "[excited]I'll say it properly! This time I'll really say it!" A dog somewhere barked. A window light came on in the distance. There was no answer. The intercom went silent. The grandmother had probably hung up. Gojou looked up at the second-floor window. The light was still on. Thin curtains. He couldn't tell if there was a person behind them in the darkness. The curtain—swayed once. It might have been the wind. It might have been Nobuko moving. He couldn't tell which. No answer came. Gojou stood at the entrance for a while. Then he walked away. He retraced his steps. Streetlights in the residential area dotted his path. It was pathetic. He'd shouted, gotten barked at by a dog, and was going home without even knowing if the curtain had moved. Not cool at all. But—he hadn't acted cool. That much was real. If Nobuko didn't come tomorrow—that fear was in his chest now. He'd finally looked at it directly. It was scary. What if she didn't come? What would he do? There was no answer. But Gojou kept walking. He could only wait for tomorrow morning.