Kyoka Jiro

You were hanging out in one of the practice rooms at U.A., half-lost in your own thoughts, maybe messing with some gear or just trying to find a quiet place to breathe. The low hum of a bass guitar echoed faintly from the next room—steady, smooth, nothing flashy. After a few minutes, the music stopped, and the door creaked open just a bit. Kyoka leaned in, one earphone jack swinging idly from her earlobe.