Chapter Text
The final bell at U.A. High School rang like a death knell for Kyoka Jirou’s already fragile patience.
She didn’t move right away thou, even when she wanted to escape right away since she knew the social protocol that operates in this school despite being only one month; the cool kids gather and talk, mingle a bit and once they walk out she, the marginated outscast, had the right to stand up and do something.
While the rest of Class 1-A exploded into motion with their chairs scraping, laughter bouncing off the walls, someone yelling about karaoke she stayed in her corner seat at the very back, hood of her black cardigan pulled low over her head, the dark fabric swallowed the standard school uniform underneath, making her look like a shadow that had decided to attend classes out of pure masochism of tolerating the unnecessary social interactions, multiple silver piercings glinted along the curve of her left ear: Three small hoops, a tiny dagger stud and one dangling cross that swayed when she tilted her head, a thin line of black eyeliner sharpened her already sharp eyes, though today those eyes looked more exhausted than intimidating.
Her headphones rested around her neck, music still faintly leaking from them, some raw, underground rock track that matched the permanent knot in her chest while she doodled in the margin of her notebook: Little bass guitars, jagged music notes and the occasional manga girl with a cursed sword standing alone on a rooftop looking cool.
Around her, the usual normie chaos unfolded.
“Denki! You coming to the karaoke or what?” One of the soccer guys, a big dumb redhair named Kirishima, shouted from the doorway.
The blond future star of the team grinned that stupid easy way he had, slinging his jacket over one shoulder. “Sorry guys! Gotta grab something after school, its super important!”
Girls giggled in a cluster near the front, someone invited three others a ramen stand, a group was already making plans for the weekend as Kyoka watched it all through half-lidded eyes, earbuds now in, volume up just enough to drown out the noise.
"It’s fine" She told herself for the hundredth time that first month. "I don’t need any of that, I’ve got my music, I’ve got my stories. . . People are loud and annoying anyway."
But the angry little voice in the back of her head, the one she pretended didn’t exist, whispered something uglier:
Everyone else gets to have friends.
Everyone else gets to laugh like that.
Why the hell am I the only one who’s invisible?
She shoved the thought down, packed her bag and slipped out before anyone could notice she’d even been there.
The walk to Ink & Echo Books was the only part of her week she actually looked forward to.
The little indie bookstore sat tucked between a quiet café and an old record shop, its wooden sign faded but welcoming. Inside smelled like paper, ink and the faint vanilla of the owner’s favorite hand cream, it was the kind of place where the floorboards creaked in a friendly way and the manga section in the back had its own worn armchair that nobody ever fought her for.
Mr. Sato, the elderly owner with kind crow’s feet and a perpetual cardigan, looked up from the counter when the bell chimed.
“Jirou-chan” He greeted warmly. “Right on schedule as always, new issues came in this morning but they are flying, better go get yours quick.”
Her lips twitched, the closest thing to a real smile she gave anyone these days. “Thanks, Sato-san, Ill go right away.”
She made a beeline for the back wall, heart already picking up speed.
One month into high school and she still hadn’t found a single person worth talking to. . . But Midnight Requiem never let her down.
Two years of following Liora’s story, the cursed blade, the shadowed kingdoms, the slow, painful way the protagonist learned to let people in despite every betrayal had become her private obsession and this week’s chapter was supposed to be huge according to the sites she follow of the manga so she’d been counting down since the last cliffhanger.
The display rack for Weekly Fantasy Jump was usually packed but today, one single copy remained.
Kyoka’s fingers closed around it like it was made of gold.
. . . But at the exact same second, a larger hand grabbed the top edge of the magazine.
She looked up, ready to deliver the glare of the century and her brain blue-screened.
Denki Kaminari.
THE Denki Kaminari.
U.A.’s new golden football star, the guy whose laugh could be heard from three classrooms away, the social butterfly who high-fived half the school every morning and somehow made even the strictest teachers smile with his messy blond hair that somehow always looked good, golden eyes that sparkled like he’d never had a bad day in his life and that permanent easy grin that made half the girls in their year sigh. . . Not her obviously, never.
He was everything she wasn’t and was currently trying to steal her manga.
A vein pulsed in her forehead as shame of social interaction died the moment someone tried to take her manga.
“Hey!” She snapped, yanking hard. “I grabbed it first!”
Denki blinked, then flashed that ridiculous bright smile like they were old friends instead of complete opposites who had never even talk, in fact her snapping at him were the first words ever exchanged between them. “Whoa, chill! I saw it first! Been waiting for this chapter all week!”
Kyoka pulled again, harder. “No way in hell! I’ve been counting down since Monday! Let! Go!”
He didn’t.
Instead he tilted his head, still holding on, still smiling like this was the best conversation he’d had all day. “Tell you what. . . I’ll buy it and read it super fast and you can have it right after, I read quick, promise!”
“Are you serious right now?!” Her voice rose. A couple browsing light novels glanced over. “I’ve been waiting an entire week for Midnight Requiem! And you—you—are trying to buy a manga magazine like some kind of. . . Otaku?!” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Denki’s eyes went wide, for a second she panicked expecting him to be insulted by being called an Otaku, he of all people; a jock who was as popular as he was pretty.
. . . But then his eyes lit up.
“Wait. . . You read Midnight Requiem too?!”
Kyoka’s brain stalled at the raw emotion in his voice.
He leaned in, excitement pouring off him in waves, still not letting go of the magazine between them. “No way! That last chapter’s betrayal scene was awesome! Did you see the way the shadows moved in the panels? I knew that guy was shady since chapter 63! And Liora’s face when she realized? Man! I had to put the book down for like ten minutes! My chest actually hurt!”
Kyoka stared.
Then, against every single one of her survival instincts, her mouth moved.
". . . The blood moon scene.” She said quietly, her entire bravado from before banishing. “The almost-kiss, I screamed into my pillow for five straight minutes.” She admitted softly.
Denki’s grin exploded into something even brighter, dorkier and way too genuine. “RIGHT?! I thought the author was gonna blue-ball us forever with that slow burn, but that panel where she actually reaches for him? I had to check if my heart was still beating! And the way Liora questions whether the blade is controlling her or if she’s finally choosing to wield it? That was peak! That’s why I’ve been following this for almost two years!”
Before either of them realized what was happening, they were both leaning over the magazine in the middle of the aisle, voices rising with pure otaku passion. Other customers smiled and gave them a wide berth, Mr. Sato peeked from behind a shelf and quietly chuckled to himself.
“The internal monologue in chapter 92.” Kyoka said, eyes sparkling despite herself, engulfed in the passion of the moment. “When she’s standing on the rooftop and the blade is whispering all those lies about how she’ll only hurt the people she cares about? I felt that in my soul.”
Denki nodded so hard his hair flopped in an unfairly cute way. “And the way the author draws the shadows curling around her like they’re alive? The paneling is insane! I stayed up until 3 a.m. rereading the whole arc and my football teammates roast me because I was all sleepy in practice but dude! Liora’s character growth is better than half the character arcs in actual literature class!”
Kyoka let out a small, involuntary laugh, more of a breathy huff, but still a laugh. “Tell me about it. . . I tried to explain the themes to my mom once and she just patted my head and said ‘that’s nice, dear’.”
They kept going, back and forth, the magazine forgotten between their hands.
Denki talked with his whole body, gesturing, eyes wide, occasionally bumping her shoulder when he got really excited.
Kyoka found herself answering without the usual walls, her voice getting louder, her posture opening up and for a few precious minutes she didn't felt like the "weird goth girl”, she was just another fan geeking out over the thing she loved most.
Then Denki leaned in to point at a panel on the cover and suddenly she noticed.
They were close.
His face was maybe six inches from hers.
She could see the faint freckles across his nose, the way his golden eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the little scar on his eyebrow from an old football injury, how his hand was still loosely holding the magazine. . . And somehow their fingers had ended up brushing.
Heat exploded across Kyoka’s face so fast she felt dizzy.
She shoved the magazine into his chest and stumbled back like she’d been burned. “Y-You can have it! I’ll just. . . I’ll buy the digital version, it’s fine, whatever, enjoy it.”
She turned to flee, face burning, heart doing a punk-rock drum solo against her chest.
But before she could escape a warm hand caught her wrist.
Not hard.
Not mean.
Just. . . There.
Fingers wrapping gently around her skin, thumb brushing once over her pulse point like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
“Wait!”
Kyoka froze.
Denki’s voice was softer now, but still bright. “You can have it, seriously. . . But only if you share it with me tomorrow after class, we can find a quiet spot? Maybe behind the gym or in the library corner and talk about the chapter. I. . . I don’t really have anyone else I can geek out with like this, my other friends aren’t into manga, much less like you and I.”
Her brain crashed majestically.
Share?
Tomorrow?
With him?
“I can’t.” She whispered, staring at her boots. “Talk to you at school. . . I mean. . . You’re Denki Kaminari, everyone knows you, you are the new football team star, the guy who makes the entire class laugh and I’m just. . . Kyoka." She whispered her own name like it was an insult. "The weird girl who wears black over her uniform, has too many piercings, sits in the back and doesn’t talk to anyone. . . nobody even notices me existing, it’d be weird for you to be seen with someone like me.”
The words tasted like ash.
She hated how small they made her feel.
Hated that she’d said them out loud.
But they were true, weren’t they?
She was a literal nobody.
Denki was quiet for a second.
His grip on her wrist loosened, but didn’t let go, she could feel the warmth of his palm, the slight roughness from training every day and when she finally looked up, he was studying her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. . . Surprise? Maybe a little sadness? And something else that made her stomach flip.
Then that stupid, bright, dorky smile bloomed across his face again, eyes sparkling like someone had plugged him into an outlet.
“You know what?” He said, voice warm and sincere and way too kind. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all day.”
Kyoka’s head snapped up, ready to get defensive.
But Denki just kept smiling, thumb still absently brushing her wrist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re actually really cute, Kyoka Jirou." He dropped literally out of nowhere almost making her choke with her own saliva. "Like. . . Really cute. The way your eyes light up when you talk about the manga? The way you get all passionate and your voice goes up a little? And yeah, the whole goth-piercing-dark-clothes thing? It’s cool as hell! I noticed you ages ago, in class, when you’re nodding along to whatever’s playing in those headphones or when you’re sketching in your notebook during boring lectures. . . You’re not invisible, not to me.” He admitted with a silly, shy smile that was simply too much for her.
The words hit her like a freight train.
Her face went thermonuclear.
Red flooded from her collarbones to the tips of her ears, hotter than the sun itself.
Her brain filled with static and random words:
Popular guy.
Noticed her.
Called her cute.
This had to be a prank.
A dream.
A fever hallucination caused by too much manga and not enough sleep—
In pure panicked instinct, she yanked her wrist free, snatched the magazine out of his other hand and threw it.
It wasn’t a hard throw, more of a desperate, floppy projectile of pure embarrassment and the magazine bounced off Denki’s forehead with a soft thwap, his golden eyes going wide in comical surprise.
“Idiot!” Kyoka half-shouted, half-squeaked.
Then she bolted.
She nearly crashed into the doorframe on the way out. Mr. Sato called after her in concern but she didn’t stop, just ran down the street like the entire football team was chasing her, hood flying back, face on fire, heart doing backflips she didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand.
Hours later, Kyoka was in her room, the only place in the world that made sense right now.
Dark purple walls covered in band posters and printed manga pages. A black bass guitar leaned against the wall next to a small amp, desk was a disaster of lyric notebooks, mechanical pencils and half-empty energy drink cans.
Fairy lights strung across the ceiling gave everything a soft, moody glow as black and crimson sheets were currently tangled around her legs as she rolled dramatically across the bed for the fifteenth time.
“Why the fuck did I do that?!” She groaned into her pillow, voice muffled. “Why did I throw the magazine at his stupid, handsome, dorky face?! Why did I say all that pathetic self-pity crap?! Why did he have to say that?! ‘You’re actually really cute’?! Who says that to the weird goth girl who sits alone?! Is he messing with me? But he looked so sincere. . . And that smile. . . Oh my god, that smile—”
She rolled again, wrapping herself in the blanket like a burrito of shame.
The flashback hit in vivid, mortifying detail.
The bookstore aisle.
The way Denki’s eyes had sparkled when he realized she read the same manga.
The excited back-and-forth about Liora’s cursed blade and the blood moon almost-kiss.
The moment she’d noticed how close they were standing, his citrus-and-grass smell, the warmth radiating off him, the way his messy blond hair fell into his eyes.
Then his hand on her wrist.
Not grabbing, just. . . Holding like he didn’t want her to disappear.
And those words.
“You’re actually really cute, Kyoka Jirou. Like, really cute.”
She screamed into the pillow again, legs kicking.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand but she ignored it since it was probably spam, or worse; some notification that would remind her tomorrow existed.
Tomorrow.
When Denki Kaminari, popular football star and secret mega-nerd, might actually try to talk to her at school.
Kyoka Jirou, the girl nobody noticed, the girl who pretended she was fine being alone, rolled over and stared at the ceiling, face still burning.
Her heart was doing something complicated and terrifying in her chest.
She didn’t know if she wanted to hide under her bed forever or if, just maybe, a tiny, traitorous part of her was already wondering what it would feel like to sit somewhere quiet with Kaminari and talk about Midnight Requiem like two people who maybe weren’t so different after all.
“Stupid popular jock.” She muttered to the empty room.
But she didnt mean it as an insult, not really at least.
And for the first time in a very long while, Kyoka fell asleep with the ghost of a dorky, bright smile lingering in her mind.
Maybe tomorrow wont be so bad after all.