ITSY BITSY SPIDER. ― ( Jujutsu Kaisen )

CHAPTER FOUR. all the things we couldn't leave behind

Why was the thing that made Kento a coward in her eyes acceptable for him?

He didn't know when exactly their relationship ended or why as Kusakabe was always intent on acting professional in the headquarters; they switched between family names and first names, leaning more towards the latter as time passed. Then one day each other's family names began to awkwardly roll out of their tongues. Yet after a short adjusting period, she was back to teasing the man as if nothing had happened between them, making Kento think they reconciled, but they remained as friends.

She could forgive everyone. Everyone but him.

But he deserved it after abandoning her.

Kusakabe pinched his nose bridge. "Don't tell her I told you about this," he said. "You two were classmates, right? You must know how she is when she gets angry."

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The soft fabric slipped off her legs as she stretched her back, fingers intertwined and palms reached up to the ceiling. She caught it before it touched the floor while the back of her other hand wiped the drool in the corner of her mouth. In her drowsy state, she looked around to see where she was: the lounge room. The sun had already set, and her contacts had dried in her eyes.

The scent of the owner's cologne had permeated the beige jacket. She brought its collar to her nose. Such a pleasant journey it was from the harsh leather to the mellow jasmines. He had a good taste.

Arisu wasn't fully awake enough to realize she was still holding the jacket close to her chest while picking up her belongings. She grabbed her purse and her cursed tool, threw away her cold coffee and unwrapped but untouched sandwich that had gone stale. But the parking lot wasn't where her feet carried her to in the mostly isolated campus.

After a long day of work, most sorcerers couldn't wait to get back to the safety of their homes, and she was usually one of them, but some days Arisu found Ryosuke cleaning his sword in his old classroom. On those days, she realized again and again how little she knew her cousin.

She always thought that Ryosuke hated Tokyo. He looked miserable throughout high school, like he counted the days to leave them all behind, and she was sure that he was going to move to Kyoto to get away from them after he graduated — he visited the jujutsu capital often. He never spent time with them unless it was for training Nanami or a mandatory visit to Shoko, nor did he have any classmates of his own. There was always an arm's distance between him and the rest of the world.

Behind the window, there again was Ryosuke sitting on the teacher's chair. A large white towel was laid on the desk, his katana and several sandpapers were neatly placed on it. His black saya rested against the wall behind him. The golden dragon flying on the painted magnolia wood, covering the entire side of the saya, shone under the fluorescent lights. The beautiful piece of handcrafted art was a gift from Shiori for his eighteenth birthday.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. She noticed the bandages wrapped around his right hand, reaching up to his elbow. There was a pained frown engraved on his sharp features as he rubbed the rust off the blade.

Arisu glanced at the three-piece staff sticking out of her purse. No matter how many years passed, she couldn't shake off the guilt that came with having possession of what should have belonged to him by nature. Perhaps that was why she could never get used to the weight of the cursed tool. So many times she had stopped herself from apologizing as if she had a say in his suffering.

Any hints of his pain were erased from his face when Arisu opened the door, but the focused frown remained. He didn't take his eyes off the katana while she pulled a chair to the other side of the desk.