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When Kurahashi first sees her, she immediately dismisses her.
Messy black waves and clumpy mascara on a pale pale face, telltale signs of an introvert and an edge lord, and Kurahashi promptly dismisses her to focus on the other girls of the E class. Someone with a tangible aura of gloom does not have any business in her world, and she gets the sense that Hazama would not have any interest in talking to her anyways. It doesn’t matter how pretty she is, the kind of harsh beauty that softens with the addition of a book, or a spider, or the shadows. They are different people, with different personalities, and different social circles, and different interests.
So it is unspoken agreement, then, Kurahashi thinks, that she and Hazama are opposites, and they will not interact unless absolutely necessary.
This state of neutrality cannot last forever, however.
In Kurahashi’s mind, the first boundary between the two of them crumbles the instant Yukimura-sensei vanishes and is replaced with a yellow octopus. Along with the changes in the teacher comes the changes in objectives for the class: assassination.
Suddenly, Kurahashi thinks, she has to fully accept everyone in her class. No more neat boundaries: she is a prep, she is a goth, he is a jock, he is a nerd...such classifications have to melt away. The twenty-six of them have to overlook their status, whatever that might be, and focus on the binding fact that they are the only twenty-six people who are aware of the real reason that the moon is crescent shaped. So she removes those categories from her vocabulary, focuses instead on assassination. How are they supposed to kill their teacher if they let arbitrary labels define them? No, they are all assassins, and it is through teamwork that they will be able to kill their teacher.
And overthrow the A Class while they're at it. Those stuck up intellectuals really need to be knocked down a peg...or two...or three, if possible.
The next boundary is broken by the arrival of Ritsu. It really isn’t because of Ritsu, but rather how the AI decides that she would like to create a group chat containing the whole class. She doesn’t even ask for permission, just downloads herself onto everyone’s phones and creates a group chat, introduces herself, and explains the purpose.
In Ritsu’s defense, the group chat is, admittedly, a splendid idea, and the class uses it a lot.
But because of this, Kurahashi ends up with Hazama’s number saved on her phone.
And Hazama, presumably, has her number saved on her phone.
The gaping chasm between their lives has shrunk to a crack in the earth, and Kurahashi isn’t sure how she feels about it.
The final imaginary boundaries that Kurahashi has mentally been envisioning are neatly destroyed when Hazama invites her to her house.
I need help, she had said, and Kurahashi had been all too willing when she heard the situation. Her tarantula had given birth unexpectedly, and Hazama found herself at a loss on how to care for these baby spiders. She could not resist rushing over to see the new baby spiders, stopping only to buy some snacks for her and Hazama, along with some crickets for the new family.
Kurahashi hops awkwardly in front of Hazama’s apartment, then rings the doorbell.
“Be careful,” Hazama greets her as soon as the door is open. Her hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she looks like a smear of black ink against the airy lightness of the rest of the house.
“I brought snacks! If that’s okay with you,” she says cheerfully, holding up her bag. “I also grabbed some food for your tarantula.”
“Thanks.” Hazama tucks an unruly piece of hair behind her ear. “I had no idea she was pregnant.”
Kurahashi smiles. “That’s okay! Can I see her?”
Hazama nods. “Of course. This way.”
They enter Hazama’s bedroom, which is significantly different from the rest of the house. Where the walls had been pastel with open windows, Hazama’s room is lit with numerous fairy lights. Gauzy black curtains cover the window and her bed. This suits her much better, Kurahashi thinks. She doesn’t think that she could live in a dark room like this, but it definitely has “Hazama” written all over it.
Then she sees the tarantula.
“Awww, they’re so cute! Can I hold her?” Kurahashi asks, dropping the snacks to the floor and striding over to the cage. “Hi little guys! You are so adorable!”
“Aren’t they?” Hazama asks, joining her. “You can hold her. Be careful.”
Kurahashi beams and offers her hand up to the new mother. “You did so well,” she tells her, delighting in the gentle way the tarantula crawls along her palm. “Hazama must be so pleased.”
“I’m more surprised,” Hazama mumbles.
“You are a sweetheart,” Kurahashi coos, ignoring Hazama. “Look at you. You’re so gentle and kind. Hang on, I brought crickets for you! Let me grab them.”
“...I got the box already,” Hazama mutters, opening up the container. “Here. Give her one.”
Kurahashi picks up the dead cricket in her fingertips and offers up it to the tarantula crawling on her palm. “See? Told you I brought snacks. Enjoy!”
The tarantula accepts the cricket.
“What’s her name?” Kurahashi asks.
“Despair,” Hazama says.
“Despair?!”
“Yeah. It seemed fitting for her.”
“You’re so emo,” Kurahashi says with a little laugh.
“And?”
Kurahashi looks down at Despair, who is crawling up her arm now. Then she looks back at Hazama.
“Nothing wrong with that,” she reassures her. “I just...I used to think we were total opposites. But maybe we’re not.”
Hazama looks away. “Maybe we’re not,” she echoes. “Maybe we’re just two sides of the same coin.”
Kurahashi smiles, and with that, the boundaries that she had randomly created fall to pieces. The walls are gone, the chasm that separates them has a bridge connected the two sides. What had possessed her to drive them apart in the first place? Was it fear? A snap decision based on the fact that they moved in opposite directions?
It feels like she had misjudged the pale girl who had seemed to be her opposite in every way.
“I’d be okay with that,” she says to Hazama, and it feels like a win when the other girl finally smiles back at her.