Mumen Rider in MHA

The café booth was cramped. Dim lighting buzzed overhead. Rain tapped on the windows like impatient fingers.

Satoru Kojima sat by himself, helmet on the seat beside him, cooling tea untouched.

No mission vest. No goggles. Just a hoodie and tired eyes.

Across the café, a young couple whispered while glancing at him. A child pointed.

"It's him," the boy said, wide-eyed. "The one with the bike."

His mother gently lowered his hand. "Shh. Don't stare."

Satoru pretended not to notice. But his tea had already gone cold.

---

Outside, headlines still ran.

> "Unlicensed Vigilante Disrupts Rescue Effort"

"Youth Certification: Not a Free Pass"

"Is Hero Society Failing Its Own?"

Inside, the ache was worse than his broken arm had ever been.

There was no bruise he could ice for this.

No wound to bandage.

Just that hollow, familiar ache of not enough.

---

He stepped out into the rain without his hood.

The sky had been crying for hours. Seemed like the world was letting itself break a little.

Felt fair.

At the hospital, he found Sayaka sitting in the staff lounge, coat draped over her shoulders, writing notes into a thick binder.

She barely glanced up. "You look worse than the night you got your license."

He slumped onto the bench beside her.

"Tried going outside," he mumbled.

"Did you win?"

"No."

She handed him a towel. "You don't have to do this."

"I know."

"Then why do you?"

He looked at her.

Not defensive. Not angry. Just tired.

"Because if I quit now, I'll start believing I should've never tried."

---

Sayaka didn't say anything at first. Just watched him.

Then, quietly, she said, "I envy you."

He blinked. "You what?"

"You're still choosing the fire, even when it burns you."

A pause. Then:

"But even candles die out when no one shields them."

---

Later, he visited his mother's room. She was asleep. Her breathing labored, but steady.

Satoru sat beside her.

Pulled out the letter from the flower shop.

Read it again.

He smiled, faintly.

---

Meanwhile—

At a train station, Keiko stood facing a junior officer.

"I know the commission's reviewing him," she said. "But that boy has done more with a bike and broken ribs than some heroes have done with full licenses."

The officer said nothing.

Keiko exhaled. "You don't have to like him. But you have to see him."

---

In another part of town, Miyako clutched her delivery list to her chest.

Customers talked about the Helmet Hero again.

She smiled without joining in—but left an extra sunflower on someone's bouquet with no explanation.

---

And at home, Kana sat on her bedroom floor.

She turned on her phone, rewinding the same moment from a community video:

Satoru dragging two people to safety, his ankle clearly injured, refusing to quit.

"Even when he's limping…"

She said nothing else.

But didn't look away.