Jack And Her Green Muse

The Lyricist's Block

Kyoka Jirou scratched her head, growling in frustration as she tore a page out of her notepad, crumpled it up, and tossed it over her shoulder into the pile of another dozen or so pages. Having gotten through the majority of assignments for tomorrow's classes, she decided to write a song in her spare time, a slow rock ballad. Everything was going perfectly. At least writing on the music sheet was. Aside from several minor changes here and there after only half a dozen tests, her pencil was flying across the pages.

However, her excitement died faster than Kaminari playing a console game online in PvP mode as she began writing the crucial part of a song to complement the music: lyrics. Every other sentence just crashed and burned.

"Come on, Kyoka. Cooooome ooooooon....You've been playing music since your damn hands can reach around the entire neck of a guitar." Jirou wracked her brains for another half an hour or so to no avail. Collecting the littered pieces of paper on the floor of her room, she stepped outside of her room in Heights Alliance to empty her trashcan in the dumpster out back on the ground floor. Plus, the night air should do some good and hopefully would let some fresh idea flow into the brain.

This sudden and severe case of lyricist's block weighed heavily on her mind as she sighed, twirling her earphone jacks with her fingers. Leaving the Heights Alliance compound with the trashcan of combustible waste, she jogged over to the dumpster behind the building when she heard a noise. Grunting, followed by a dull sound like a ball hitting a wall, hard.

Having an acute sense of hearing as a part of her Quirk, she stopped in her tracks, listening hard in order to assess the situation. It definitely was not an animal, which left her classmates and now dorm mates of 1-A. But who the hell would be out and about this late at night? She knew she could rule out Iida and Yaoyorozu (or Yaomomo as some of her classmates now call her with affection), being the sticklers they were born to be. Uraraka is usually tuckered out by this time of the day getting through assignments after being put through the wringer called Hero course training exercises.

Jirou shook her head. Process of elimination was not going to work. Steadying her breathing, she slowed her pace, inching towards the dumpster just around the corner. Peeking from there, she saw a figure in short pants and a hoodie, breathing hard. Judging by the grunts, it definitely was a boy.

Bobbing and weaving, he unleashed a flurry of punches, followed up by a push kick, flying knee strikes and a right roundhouse, all aimed at a thick wooden post about six feet tall with a length of rope wrapped around it before he stepped back again, only to lunge forward with his left elbow held out. His right leg then snaked out, striking low, middle and high in rapid succession.

Jirou winced, imagining what would happen if someone with a strength-enhancing Quirk dished that out to someone. A concussion and bruised ribs were going to be the least of their worries.

Then it hit her. It was so obvious who it was. The sneakers. They were high-tops. Red high-tops. The only person she knew with that kind of footwear was a classmate, the resident hero-nerd who declared his hero name to be Deku, the green-haired Izuku Midoriya.

Relaxing a bit upon finding out it wasn't some random prowler, Jirou stepped out from behind the corner. "Hey, Midoriya."

The hooded figure jerked his head around. "Oh, uh, h-hi Jirou." His breathing was heavy.

"Dude, how are you not tired from today's training exercises?"

"I'm just, uh.....it's a good sign, right? More stamina? What brings you back here?"

"Emptying my trash out." Jirou answered, holding up the trashcan. "I suppose. How long have you been doing this?"

"I took about half an hour to warm up, so...r-roughly an hour and a half now, I think?"