Chapter 03
Kyoka Jiro

He already knows about it long before Present Mic told him. He had been listening, been paying attention. He was in the kitchen when he first heard it.

"My band had finally landed a spot in a nearby venue as the opening act!"

"Wow, congrats, Kyoka!"

Yes, Jiro had very recently formed a small band that consisted of herself, a schoolmate and three of their friends. The band consists of a vocalist, two guitarists, a bassist and a drummer. Jiro plays rhythm guitarist. She plays many instruments, but he finds the bass role suits her best (Definitely not because he is a bassist himself, definitely not biased). He is mildly impressed that she manages to balance personal life, school and hobby altogether. It reminds him of Present Mic.

Of course, it was what came next that he started to pay attention to her.

"I would love for you to come on that night!"

"Oh uhh, sorry Kyoka. I can't come on that day. I'm going back to my family."

"Oh. It's fine. I can ask someone else."

She did. She got variables of answers. None of which she wanted to hear.

"Sorry Kyoka, it's not my type of music."

"I have something else on that day."

"I'm not interested, sorry Jiro."

He could see she was getting a little desperate. She even went as far as trying to invite the ever so tired Shinsou Hitoshi to the performance. Even he turned it down.

"Can't your parents come see you?" he heard Hitoshi asked tiredly.

"They can't; they're in Singapore for their performance," he heard her, voice so solemn that it pulled his heartstring.

He could see it, whenever she walked past by him, or when he was just secretly looking at her without anyone's knowledge. She became less excited and less happy as the day of her performance grew closer. Her once bouncy steps now transformed to mere shuffling. Her head held high now hung and gazed at her feet. Whenever he sees these, whatever he was gripping he would grip them very tightly until it hurt.

So he reached out to her in the dorm, just before she went to her room long after dinner. He asked if everything is okay. She had said yes, everything is fine, even smiled at him in assurance. He wasn't fooled, that smile wasn't a Kyoka Jiro smile. But he never pressed on, merely told her nonchalantly that he'll be there if she needs him and then waved her off.

It seemed that with him reaching out gave her ideas. The next day, she asked some of the teachers around the school.

"Did you know Jiro has a band performance tomorrow night?" Present Mic asked him in the teacher's lounge.

He does, since day one four days ago.

Jiro had asked Present Mic first; it is the most logical one. Sadly he couldn't attend; he has patrol that day and couldn't squeeze more time in his already packed schedule.

Then All Might came to him about her too, that Jiro had asked him to ask. He couldn't come because his health is on the low side right now and needed extra rest. And then Midnight came, tell him that Jiro had nearly begged. And then Vlad King, then Thirteen, then Cementoss, then Ectoplasm, and so on. She was that desperate.

She had asked her friends, her classmates and her teachers.

But she had never once come to him.

.

He makes his way to the kitchen, paying half attention to the quiet group in the common room. Despite looking calm and tired, his mind is reeling. And his heart is quivering.

The performance is tonight, just a few minutes before she starts (he knows what time she starts; he had been listening after all).

He didn't see her the entire day. He guesses she is at the venue for practice and sound check before the performance. Still, he couldn't help but worry that she never got to him.

Why didn't she ask him? Did she not trust him enough? Did he do something wrong? He never told her that he'll turn it down if she offers. He had never recalled such memory.

Had he hurt her for her to not trust him anymore?

He tries to still his hand as he puts his mug on the counter a little harder than his intention. Before he could open the cabinet for his coffee ground, his eyes caught something that gains his attention. He peers down the trash can and squints.

Tickets. Five of them, actually. They are still in good condition.

Jiro had given up.

His heart aches at the thought.

He reaches down and grabs all five of them, wipes away the stain at the back of one. He gazes down at them, mind flashes back to all the time Jiro had been asking desperately from anyone to come attend.

He half-listens to the group in the common room, hearing their quiet murmurs as they study hard together. There are five of them there, just enough. He could command them to go but…

He turns around makes his way upstairs to his apartment, leaving his mug behind. One hand is clenching around the tickets, but not tight enough to crumple them.

He makes his decision. He grumbles under his breath, but he is not unhappy.

.

The first song has already started when he entered the venue. He quickens his steps towards the stage.

The venue is a little packed; there are significantly more people than he originally expect. He already doesn't like it. There are many kinds of people but he doesn't care about them. He weaves through the crowd, closer to the stage.

He bumps into a seven foot man, clad in all white but didn't mind him. It is pretty crowded.

He stops at a small space amongst the crowd. It's not at the very front of the stage but close enough to get a good view through the many heads of the crowd. He shifts his capture weapon before shoving his hands in his pockets.

He sees her first before her bandmates.

Her head is bowed, eyes glazed over. Her shoulders are slump and so does the rest of her body, barely moved. She doesn't seem to really play to the music, only relying on muscle memories; even then the movements of her hands seem half-hearted.

And she looks so lifeless.

And he hates it.

The first song finished and the song quickly starts, but Jiro is still gazing at the floor.

He wants her to look up, at the crowd, at him, that someone is attending her performance. He wants her to know that he is there for her. He will always be there for her.

As if she heard his silent plea, she slowly lifts her head. Her blank glazed eyes scan the crowd, lazily swiveling her head around.

Then their eyes met.

He watches as her eyes gain color, gain life, like they supposed to be.

He watches as she slowly straightens up and pulls her shoulders back into a proud posture.

He watches as she starts to sway to the music before finally moving in beat and directly on time with the rest of the band.

He watches as she bites her lip before it breaks into a wobbly yet wide grin.

There. That's the Kyoka Jiro he knows.

The crowd seems to feel her newly discovered energy. More people are getting into the music; heads start bobbing and toes start tapping on the tiled floor. The applauses are louder at the end of each song, and get louder as the performance progresses. The band is playing for the crowd, basking in their attentions and cheers.

But, seeing as their eyes constantly connecting, he knows that Jiro is playing for him, basking in his piercing yet soft attention and silent but proud approval.

.

"Thank you so much attending!" the vocalist shouts through the microphone before they make a grand bow. Everyone around him applauds, a few whistles in cheers. He didn't join them, but he did silently cheer.

The entire time, Jiro is looking at him.

Even as the band exits the stage, she is craning her neck to keep locking her eyes with him. Once she disappears, he turns around and makes his way to the exit door. He's the only one going out; he's not interested in the main act.

He's not even six steps away from the exit door when he hears someone is making a break for him.

"Mr. Aizawa!"

He hears a familiar voice from behind him. He turns around just enough for a smaller body crashes into him. He grunts at the new weight but keeps a firm ground. Arms are wrapped around his torso, hugging him very tightly and he returns the embrace though less tightly.

"Thank you, Mr. Aizawa!" Jiro squeals into his chest, hugging him a tad tighter. He sighs, making an attempt to put irritation and exasperation in it but his fondness breaks through instead. He moves one hand and places it on her head.

"It's no problem," he mutters back. Jiro lifts her head to smile happily at him, arms still wrap around him.

"How did you find out about this?" Her eyes glitter with awe. He knows that look. It is when he did something extraordinary that left his students breathless and at awe, that he did something that is beyond their expectation of him. She must be thinking that he can read minds in order to know about her performance tonight.

"I found the tickets in the bin," he answers truthfully instead. It is a little fun and enjoyable to see those eyes but he wants the truth. "Why didn't you invite me?" At his question, Jiro looks sheepish and guilty. She breaks eye contact and lays her forehead on his chest.

"I thought you wouldn't come. It's not like you to attend such thing and you hate the crowd. But, I am so very happy that you're here, more than I can express." Her arms around him tighten once more. He snorts as he returns the hug.

He hopes she didn't notice that his heart skipped a beat, even if she has her ear pressed directly over it. It is definitely not because that his students know him so well they didn't even hesitate on their decisions.

Finally, Jiro releases him, but she still has her hands gripping his sleeves. She looks up at him expectantly, smiling widely.

"So, how was it?" she asks excitedly. He snorts.

"You should've kept with bass." Jiro snorts back.

"Is it because you're a bassist yourself?" she teases him with a raised eyebrow.

"Blues doesn't suit you." At his words, Jiro giggles.

"I know I should've gone for metal," she comments as she releases one of his sleeves. They make their way home side by side, taking a leisure time. It is not that far, and they're not in a rush.

"Early era metal at best. The crowd was dead," he comments back. Jiro giggles even louder, hiding it behind one hand now it is free.

"What band should I have picked?"

"Black Sabbath, hands down," he answers instantly, confident and firm of his answer. From the corner of his eyes Jiro is rolling her eyes before shaking her head, but she still has a smile on her face.

"Of course it is." The smile turns fond, and it reminds him of the first time she asked him if he ever have a favorite band. "I still think Ozzy is better than Dio."

"Don't tarnish the name of a metal god," he answers on instinct. Now, Jiro gives a full blown laugh that makes her wobbles on her feet, and that reminds him of the first time she teased him about the same thing.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Nobody can match up to Dio. The dude was a legend."

"You should've played Heaven and Hell."

"Which one: the band, the album or the song?"

"All of them." Jiro lets out another full blown laugh.

His mind flashes back to when she told him the reason why she didn't go ask him. Silently, he sighs as he watches Jiro chatting excitedly over the topic with feather light bounces in her steps. One of her hands is still holding tightly on his sleeve, not letting go anytime soon. He didn't call her out on it, merely letting it happens. His heart swells and his chest feels warm. He welcomes the feeling.

'I would disregard my own comfort and even my own life just to see the vigor of life in your eyes.'

I read from another fanfic that Dadzawa is into Black Sabbath and I could just not help but think that it is so fitting. Also Dadzawa being a bassist is thanks to a few arts found online and that is fitting as well.

I love Dadzawa