Chapter Text
The alarm went off at 4:17 a.m.
Jirou stared at the ceiling.
For a few seconds, she didn't move.
Her room was dark, quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Everyone else in the dorms was asleep.
She reached over and silenced the alarm.
Then she sat up.
Her body immediately protested.
Her shoulders were sore. Her legs ached. Her wrists hurt from yesterday's training, and there was a dull pain behind her ribs whenever she breathed too deeply.
Good.
Pain was simple.
Pain made sense.
She pulled her training clothes from the chair and changed without turning on the light.
As she tied her shoes, her eyes drifted toward the small photograph sitting on her desk.
She froze.
Two people smiled back at her.
Her parents.
Her mother had an arm around her shoulders, laughing at something outside the frame. Her father stood behind them, grinning like an idiot.
It had been two months.
Two months since the phone call.
Two months since she'd stood in a hospital hallway and learned that neither of them was coming home.
Two months since everything had changed.
Jirou looked away.
She couldn't think about that.
Not now.
She grabbed her headphones and left.
The training room was empty.
Exactly how she wanted it.
Jirou plugged her jacks into the speakers and started the music.
Loud.
Loud enough that she couldn't hear herself think.
She started with push-ups.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Forty.
Her arms shook.
She kept going.
Fifty.
Sixty.
At seventy, her elbows nearly gave out.
She forced herself back up.
"Come on."
Her voice sounded strange in the empty room.
"Again."
She moved on to sit-ups.
Then squats.
Then weights.
Then combat drills.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Every time she made a mistake, she started over.
Every time she stumbled, she repeated the movement.
Every time her body told her to stop, she ignored it.
Because stopping meant remembering.
Remembering meant seeing the blood.
Remembering meant hearing the phone call.
Remembering meant thinking about the question that had been eating at her for sixty-one days.
Why couldn't I do anything?
She hit the training dummy harder.
It flew backward.
Jirou breathed heavily.
"Again."
By seven in the morning, she could barely feel her hands.
She showered quickly and went downstairs.
The cafeteria was beginning to fill.
"Morning, Jirou!"
She looked up.
Kaminari waved from a table.
"Come sit with us!"
She forced a smile.
"Maybe later."
She grabbed a piece of toast.
That was enough.
At least, she told herself it was.
She sat at the edge of the room and took one bite.
Then another.
Her stomach twisted.
She pushed the plate away.
She wasn't hungry.
That was what she'd tell anyone who asked.
She stood.
"You're not eating?"
Jirou looked over her shoulder.
Bakugo was standing behind her.
His expression was its usual mixture of irritation and suspicion.
"I'm not hungry."
"Tch."
He glanced at the untouched food.
"You've been saying that a lot lately."
Jirou's fingers tightened around her cup.
"I said I'm not hungry."
Bakugo stared at her.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he scoffed.
"Whatever."
He walked away.
Jirou watched him go.
Her heart was beating too quickly.
Not because of him.
Because he'd noticed.
She hated that.
Training that afternoon was worse.
Aizawa divided the class into pairs for combat exercises.
Jirou was paired with Sero.
The exercise began.
She moved quickly.
Too quickly.
She attacked before Sero had finished positioning himself.
"Whoa!"
He barely dodged her cable.
"Jirou, chill!"
"I'm fine."
She attacked again.
Sero blocked.
She changed direction.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Her breathing became uneven.
Her vision blurred for half a second.
She ignored it.
She couldn't afford weakness.
Not anymore.
A villain wouldn't care if she was tired.
A villain wouldn't stop because she hadn't eaten.
A villain wouldn't care that her legs were shaking.
Her parents hadn't gotten a second chance.
Neither would anyone else.
She lunged.
Her foot slipped.
The world tilted.
Jirou felt herself falling.
Then a hand grabbed the back of her shirt.
She stopped inches from the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Bakugo.
She looked up at him.
He released her immediately.
"You almost ate concrete."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
"I'm fine!"
Her voice cracked.
The room went quiet.
Jirou froze.
Everyone was looking at her.
Bakugo's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But she saw it.
He wasn't angry anymore.
He was watching her.
Actually watching her.
She hated it.
"I'm going to the bathroom."
She walked away before anyone could stop her.
She locked herself inside a stall.
Her hands were shaking.
She pressed them against her face.
"Get it together."
Her voice was barely audible.
She took several breaths.
Then she reached into her pocket.
Her fingers found her phone.
She opened the gallery.
The first photograph was the same one sitting on her desk.
Her parents.
Alive.
Smiling.
She stared at it.
Her eyes burned.
"I'll get stronger."
Her thumb brushed across the screen.
"I promise."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She wiped it away immediately.
"I'll make sure it never happens again."
That night, everyone went to sleep.
Jirou waited.
11:30.
Midnight.
12:47.
She quietly left her room.
The training room lights flickered on.
She dropped her bag.
Her muscles screamed.
She ignored them.
She put on her headphones.
The music started.
Jirou stood in front of the training dummy.
Her eyes were tired.
Her stomach was empty.
Her body was exhausted.
But for the first time all day, she felt like she had control of something.
She raised her fist.
And hit.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until her knuckles hurt.
Until her arms shook.
Until she couldn't think about anything else.
Outside the training room, unseen by her, Bakugo stood in the hallway.
He had been on his way back from getting water.
He stopped when he heard the repeated impact.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
He frowned.
It was almost one in the morning.
He looked through the small window in the door.
Jirou was still training.
Bakugo watched for several seconds.
Then he noticed the untouched water bottle beside her bag.
And the way she kept rubbing her side whenever she thought nobody was looking.
His eyes narrowed.
"Idiot."
He walked away.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong with her.
And for some reason, he wanted to know what it was.