Mumen Rider in MHA

Satoru Kojima lay awake in the hospital bed long after the nurses dimmed the lights.

The fire was out. His burns were healing. But something felt heavier now—like his body had caught up to the weight he'd been carrying all year.

He turned his head toward the nightstand.

There were three letters.

One typed. One handwritten. One unopened.

---

The typed one came from the Hero Public Safety Commission.

> We regret to inform you that your recent involvement in the warehouse incident is being reviewed for possible overreach under provisional clause 14b: "Interference during licensed pro-hero activity by uncertified individuals."

> While your efforts may have saved lives, your actions violated protocol.

> A hearing may be scheduled.

He read it twice.

Then folded it, tucked it under his pillow, and didn't react.

---

The handwritten letter was from Keiko.

A page and a half, written in her sharp, looping style.

> You did good. You always do good. But if they punish you for this, I swear I'll scream in front of a commission building until my throat gives out.

> Also, you're a dumbass.

> But I mean that with love.

He smiled at that one.

---

The third letter—he hadn't opened.

He recognized the careful handwriting.

Miyako.

He stared at the envelope.

He wasn't sure he could take her kindness right now.

Not after this.

Not when everything he tried seemed to blow up in his face—literally.

---

The door opened softly.

Sayaka stepped in with a clipboard and a tired expression.

"You're awake."

"I'm always awake lately."

She didn't argue.

Instead, she handed him a cup of lukewarm tea and sat beside him.

"You got three thank-you notes today," she said. "And one complaint from someone who said you looked 'too reckless to trust with a helmet.'"

"I'll add it to my résumé."

Sayaka didn't smile. She just looked at him.

"Do you want to keep doing this?" she asked.

Satoru blinked.

"I mean it," she said. "No more jokes. No more shrugs. Just tell me—do you want to keep going?"

He hesitated.

"…Yes."

"Even if it gets worse?"

"Yes."

Sayaka exhaled. Looked away.

"I hated every second of that news report. I hated hearing your name with the word 'disciplinary review' next to it. I hated thinking that the next time someone wheeled in a stretcher, it might be you in pieces."

Silence.

Then, her voice barely above a whisper:

"I hated that I couldn't do anything about it."

Satoru turned to her. Really looked.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But I'm not going to stop."

She nodded.

"I know."

Then she reached into her bag and pulled something out.

It was the newspaper clipping.

> "Unlicensed Hero Saves Two—Again."

She set it beside his helmet.

"Let them lie," she said. "The truth's right here."

---

Meanwhile, across town—

Miyako sat in the flower shop, staring at the empty register.

She had another letter in her hand.

This one addressed to the commission.

She hadn't sent it. She wasn't even sure if she should.

But she'd written it anyway:

> "He saved me once. Not from fire. Not from danger. Just… from being invisible."

She folded the paper, tucked it back in her pocket, and whispered:

"Please don't give up."

---

And in the darkened corners of an empty rooftop—

Kana crouched beneath a rusted overhang.

Alone.

Watching an old video on her phone.

The fire. The helmet. The man dragging people through smoke.

Satoru Kojima.

She didn't say anything.

Just watched.

And, for once, didn't look away.