OUTSiDER (Assassination Classroom Fanfic)

+EXTRA. Old Building. (Youkai AU)

"I like 'Nao'. It's a cute name if you write it in hiragana. I hate kanji."

"I like the kanji here, though. It's super simple."

"I don't like it, it's blocky and uninteresting."

"Ehhh, no it isn't!"

The words written on the ground in the sand, penned down by just a branch from a loose oak tree— they were the culmination of the children's hard work, smiling in the sunset each day.

"So, something like this?"

The spirit of the house had roamed the perimeters for years before then— but it was the first time he had ever received such affections. And thus, even long after the children had left, their belongings in the wind and the building burning behind them, he remembered it.

'Nao' continued to live in the burned remnants of the former school, until a kind soul found solace in it on a rainy day, and another home began to foster.

Life repeats.

Spirits endure.

(Nao is the manifestation of this location— he will live, as long as the school persists. He will fade, once its purpose is gone and the world begins to forget him. It's been centuries, perhaps, so all those who lived in his walls have now passed on, as humans do.)

(He struggles each day, lethargically hanging on. He would be sad if his life ended like this, but there was nothing he could do. Just as humans only live for a single stretch of life, spirits die of loneliness and nothing can quite stop nature from happening.)

It wasn't until the twentieth century came by and Asano Gakuho chanced upon the building as a wanderer— that he invested millions of yen to bring this building back up to its former glory.

Nao lived on, miraculously.

Spirits are commonly perceived as immortal, but in truth, they only live long if they are fortunate enough to be prominent in the world. Most spirits fade after a number of years, to be replaced by others that may do their job better.

Some spirits live much shorter than humans, too.

-

"You're making a school?"

Asano Gakuho is surprised to be addressed. He just dismissed the construction workers after a job well done, and behind him—

—honestly, he couldn't tell if the man was old or young, or about the same age as himself.

His clothes are baggy and worn out, speckled in mud in some spots and peppered with tears near the sleeves that ate into his palms. He wears no shoes, his hair isn't done, and his collar that hangs out over the loose top is covered in scars that look akin to burns or bolts.

Asano doesn't stare for long.

"Yes," he says, simply. "Would that be a problem?"

Not that Asano would accept any criticism. He checked the ownership of the land and secured the deed legally.

The man shakes his head.

"It's best," he says. "Best as a school. This has always been a place for learning."

When he looks around, it's with an air of melancholy. His eyes are green— green as the shine of the hills, emerald as the deepest ends of this jungle. His brown hair was overgrown, but Asano knew this was a man that would look decent if he only cleaned up.