Mumen Rider in MHA

Satoru Kojima didn't go straight home after the hearing.

He pedaled aimlessly—through side alleys, under flickering signs, past shuttered corner stores. The city lights seemed too bright, the roads too quiet.

His arms ached. His helmet felt too heavy. His body moved, but the rest of him lagged behind.

The commission had cleared him. Technically.

But it didn't feel like a win.

---

At Minato Base, his locker had been moved.

A new section, closer to the back. "Youth Oversight Candidates," the sign said.

The moment he stepped inside, some of the older pros looked up.

One of them—a stocky man with smoke for a quirk—grunted. "So that's the kid?"

Another rolled her eyes. "Hope he doesn't get someone else killed."

Satoru didn't answer. He hung up his coat. Sat. Laced his boots. Checked his gear.

His hands were steady. His chest wasn't.

---

Outside, he found a quiet bench near the base's training track. That's where Keiko found him, holding two cans of coffee.

She tossed him one. "I still think they were full of shit."

He caught it, popped the tab. "Yeah."

"You okay?"

Satoru stared at the steam curling from his drink.

> "I don't know what 'okay' looks like anymore."

Keiko didn't press. She just sat beside him and nudged his arm.

> "You didn't do anything wrong."

> "Didn't I?"

She turned toward him. "You saved lives."

> "And almost lost my place for it."

Keiko looked away. "Then maybe this place needs fixing."

---

Later that night, Sayaka visited him at the hospital room where his mother was resting.

Satoru sat beside the bed, the soft beep of heart monitors filling the silence.

Sayaka entered without knocking. She set down a plastic bag—some onigiri, soup in a thermos, and a bottle of vitamin water.

> "Eat. You look like death warmed over."

Satoru chuckled tiredly. "Thanks."

She sat down across from him.

> "You didn't lose today."

> "Doesn't feel like I won either."

Sayaka leaned back in her chair. Her voice gentled.

> "You stood your ground. Told them the truth. You didn't apologize for caring."

> "They almost took everything away."

> "They didn't."

Silence.

She folded her arms.

> "You're allowed to hurt, Kojima. But don't mistake pain for failure."

He looked at her. Really looked.

> "It's just… I wanted to do something good. That's all I ever wanted."

Sayaka smiled faintly. "You did."

---

The next morning, at the flower shop, Miyako had opened early.

She didn't expect him to show up.

But he did.

He looked exhausted, but he was smiling—barely.

> "Hey," he said.

Miyako blinked. "Hi."

He stepped behind the counter, tied his apron without a word.

For a moment, she just watched him move—quiet, methodical, as if nothing had changed.

But everything had.

> "I saw you on TV," she whispered.

Satoru paused.

> "You didn't… look scared."

> "I was."

> "You didn't seem it."

He gave a small laugh.

> "I think I'm just getting better at hiding it."

Miyako hesitated—then pulled something from her bag.

A folded news clipping. His name under the title: "Youth Hero Dodges Disciplinary Measures After Public Outcry."

Scribbled across the bottom corner, in her careful handwriting:

> You keep doing what you do. We'll keep believing in you.

Satoru didn't say anything. He just folded the paper and tucked it into his chest pocket.

---

He hadn't been broken. Not yet. And maybe, just maybe—he wasn't alone in this fight anymore.