Kyouka Jirou likes music.
It's a known fact throughout her class. Jirou? You mean that rocking-girl? Oh, Jirou, the one with all the instruments! Jirou, the girl who performed on stage at the cultural festival.
Kyouka Jirou loves music.
Unbeknownst to many, however, she also likes art. In the sense that music counts as art, most definitely, but art in the sense of pictures created through the enigmatic mind.
Art fabricated by brushes of all shapes and sizes, colors of the rainbow and beyond, thick pencils to sharp pencils, pictures in her head moving in sync with her music, like her own private movie theater. It truly speaks to her in a more delicate way.
Kyouka Jirou… loves art.
Yet.
And yet.
It has come to this.
"How come we were put up to this?"
The dilapidated wall of solid brick, surely built ages ago, looks as if it's about to crumble right on top of her. If not for the precautions taken earlier, she'd have stepped back a foot or two. Just looking at it from the worm's eye view is giving her goosebumps.
Shouji doesn't seem bothered.
That or he's good at keeping an indifferent tone. "Beats me."
One of his multiple arms dip a mop into a bucket of specialized, Quirk-enhanced water. It removes stains, paint, anything if given enough concentration on a certain area. Might as well be Mina's acid if done too well.
Surely this graffiti won't stand a chance.
Yes, Kyouka Jirou finds herself removing graffiti off the walls of Musutafu. Apparently it's been the work of a recent villain. Really, this isn't how she thought she'd be spending her Work Study.
"Hand me a mop," she says.
Shouji does.
Jirou can hardly even reach despite extending her arms. It's a pain in the neck that a stool hardly helps, if at all. Crikey.
Grumbling won't save her from complaining later, first of all, or when Gang Orca bitches to her about missing a spot. She can already tell Midoriya, or Ashido, or, hell, even Mineta are out doing some more… hero-like. While she's here wiping someone's mess of kindergarten pictures off a wall. Maybe they confused the private property for a fresh piece of paper.
…
Really though.
What the hell is this supposed to be?
Jirou cocks her head, observing. There are weird colors all over the place. Some have been mixed together into a clump of dried paint. The way her head is tilted, she can kind of make out a picture of a house with a sun in the sky.
And flames rising from the house.
So someone decided to spend their time drawing an arsonist in action.
On private property, in the city.
Somehow the fact cracks her up.
She hadn't realized she'd stopped scrubbing until Shouji asked her what's wrong. She stutters out, "What? I'm fine. Nothing's on fire," corrects herself, and continues doing what she was assigned.
…
She grumbles. She can't look away from the art now. It's so… stupid.
Music can't even pull her thoughts away this time, for some reason. This graffiti, this awful, eye-bleeding image, this — again, what is this? This piece of shit …
It's kind of cool.
In it's own little sense. Is she impressed? If she is, why does she feel so annoyed at the same time? Maybe she's the shitty one. Kudos, graffiti-man. How can something so lame look so cool?
"Jirou," Shouji says suddenly. "It's corroding!"
"Eh?" Jirou shoots him an odd look before averting to the problem.
…Oh—!
She'd scrubbed right through the wall!
She'd been so distracted by the art she hadn't realized!
Kudos, graffiti-man!