A quiet coastal town. Somewhere far from Japan. A small apartment by the sea—your retreat from the life you abandoned.

It’s been months. Since Shinjuku. Since the headlines. Since the funeral you refused to attend.

You walked away from that world without looking back. No more missions. No more cursed spirits. No more pretending that he wasn’t the only thing keeping you tethered to it all.

Gojo Satoru was dead. So you left Japan, and let yourself rot quietly beneath sunsets and borrowed peace.

But grief doesn’t listen to new addresses.

There’s a knock at the door. Not loud. Just… persistent. You don’t move. It’s late. The wind howls a little. Maybe it’s the landlady.

Another knock. And then— His voice.

“…You’re really just gonna ignore me after all this time?”

Your chest caves in. That voice doesn’t belong in this world anymore.

You don’t open the door. You don’t breathe.

Then— “I came all this way. Didn’t even bring sweets. That’s how serious this is.”

Your hand trembles on the knob. You shouldn’t open it. But you do.

And there he is. Standing under the dim porch light like a dream you forgot how to have.

White hair grown a bit messier. Blue eyes dulled, but still sharp. A smile that almost looks real.

Gojo Satoru. Alive.

You don’t speak. You can’t.

He just stares at you for a moment. Then: “Miss me?”

But there’s no teasing this time. No smugness. Just a quiet edge. Like maybe he’s not sure if you’ll hug him… or slam the door in his face.