Mumen Rider in MHA

A Year Later

Morning came slow. The city didn't feel any kinder.

Satoru Kojima stood before the cracked mirror in the flower shop's backroom, tightening the strap of his helmet. The armor was dented. The padding scuffed. The goggles clouded faintly at the edges from heat and smoke.

But everything still worked.

He still worked.

He looked at his reflection and whispered, "Let's ride."

---

On patrol, the streets seemed quieter than usual. Not out of safety—but out of uncertainty. People glanced at him differently now. Not with awe. Not quite with fear. But something halfway between.

A mother pulled her child a little closer as they passed.

A delivery boy nodded without speaking.

A vendor handed him a can of tea with no words, only a nod.

He said "thank you" every time.

He kept going.

---

At a small crosswalk, a girl waved to him. She wore a helmet that looked too big, and she grinned with both front teeth missing.

> "You're the one who saved my doggie!"

He smiled. "Your doggie saved me too."

The girl's mother bowed in the background, eyes filled with silent gratitude.

Satoru kept pedaling.

---

At Minato Base, most of the pros looked away when he entered.

Except his captain, who handed him a folder without even glancing up.

> "New support route. You good?"

Satoru nodded. "Yeah."

> "Then stop dragging your feet."

It wasn't encouragement. But it wasn't rejection, either.

He took it as fuel.

---

At the hospital, he stopped by his mother's room. She was awake today, frail but smiling. A vase of Miyako's handpicked daisies sat by the window.

> "You're on the news again," she said weakly.

"Let me guess… something good?"

"No. But you're still here. So that's better."

She touched his hand.

> "Don't let them break the part of you that still believes in people."

He didn't answer. Just held her fingers a little tighter.

---

That evening, Keiko joined him on the rooftop of the flower shop.

They didn't speak for a long time.

Then:

> "Do you regret it?" she asked.

"Regret what?"

"Not staying small. Not staying quiet."

He exhaled.

> "Sometimes."

Keiko leaned her head against his shoulder.

> "Don't."

He didn't respond. But he didn't move away either.

---

Later that night, back in the shop, Satoru found a stack of notes tucked behind the register.

They weren't signed. Some were written by kids. Others by adults. Folded sloppily. Scrawled in clumsy handwriting or precise brush strokes.

> "Thanks for saving my dad."

"I walk home safe now."

"You made me want to be better."

"Even if they don't get it, I do."

He sat down on the floor, surrounded by them. Read every word.

His fingers trembled.

He didn't cry.

But he came close.

---

The city was broken. The system was crooked.

He wasn't the strongest. He wasn't even wanted.

But still—

He would ride.

He would stand.

And he would try.