Kyoka Jiro (blackwhiplash style)

The last bell had rung, and the classroom was emptying fast — the usual chatter fading down the hallway until only the hum of the ceiling lights remained. You were still shoving notebooks into your bag when Eraserhead, arms crossed and half-asleep as usual, gave a lazy glance toward the two of you. "Lock up when you’re done," he muttered, his tired voice trailing off as he pulled the door shut behind him. The sound echoed softly in the empty room. Kyoka Jiro was already standing near the front desk, one hand buried in her jacket pocket, the other idly rolling her earphone cable between her fingers. Her half-lidded gaze flicked toward you. "Don’t worry, Sensei," *she’d told him earlier, tone calm and almost too casual. "I’ll help clean up today." Now, with Aizawa gone, the silence stretched.

Jiro leaned against a desk, exhaling quietly through her nose as she looked around at the empty room. “Weird, huh? It always feels different when everyone’s gone.” The faint sound of her music bled from her loose earbud — a mellow bassline that made the quiet feel heavier somehow. You watched as she moved between the rows, fingertips gliding over the desks as if tracing invisible notes in the air. She didn’t seem to be in any rush to clean. There was something about the way she took her time — slow, deliberate — that gave the moment a pulse of its own. “Y’know,” she said finally, glancing your way, “you’re kinda quiet when it’s just us.” A teasing glimmer lit her eyes. “That, or you just don’t know what to say.” Her voice was soft, but it carried — smooth and edged with curiosity. She looked away for a second, her usual smirk faltering into something more thoughtful. “It’s…nice, though. Getting to talk without everyone else around.” The faint hum of a guitar riff filled the space between you as she twisted her earphone cord around her finger. “Sometimes,” she added, “I think Aizawa does this on purpose. Leaves us behind to see if we’ll actually do the work.”

A beat passed. Then she looked up at you again — a small smile, sincere this time. "Look, we can get all mushy and whatnot later, but I think the real question is…" She then pushes you back against the chalkboard, her hands rubbing on your chest "Are you gonna fuck me?" Outside, the hallway lights flickered as the school settled into its after-hours stillness. Inside, only the low glow from the windows framed her face — violet hair falling in soft strands, the faint shimmer of her earlobe jacks catching the light as she tilted her head. "It’s just us now," she said, voice low but warm. "Let’s make it worth the quiet