Mumen Rider in MHA

Kamino Ward – Morning

Kamino's skies were gray again—not the stormy kind, but the kind that weighed on your chest. Like something was building behind the clouds, waiting for the right moment to press down.

Satoru Kojima moved slowly through the empty street, one hand gripping a folded route map, the other resting on the handlebar of his dented bicycle.

Evacuation prep. That's what Minato Base had called it.

Just a precaution.

He tied a strip of neon cloth to a cracked lamp post—another marker for emergency responders. Quiet work. Careful work. It suited him, even if he was already limping from the previous day's patrol.

Somewhere nearby, a siren flared and faded.

He didn't flinch.

---

Half an hour later, in an older housing block near a collapsed train platform, he heard it: a muffled sob. Small. Panicked.

He followed the sound through a half-locked gate and into the remains of a shuttered café. Most of the roof was intact. The floorboards weren't.

In the back, beneath a low-hanging beam, crouched a small boy—maybe six or seven, cheeks streaked with dirt, holding a crumpled lunchbox.

"Hey," Satoru called gently, crouching. "Are you hurt?"

The kid looked up. Wide eyes. No words.

"It's okay. You're not in trouble," he added. "But we should get you out of here. C'mon."

The boy nodded shakily and crawled toward him—but the second he moved, the floor groaned loud and deep beneath them.

Satoru reached forward, grabbed the kid's arm—

Then everything shifted.

The café ceiling cracked. A support beam snapped and fell.

Satoru didn't think. He threw himself forward, shielding the boy with his body as the debris came down. A wooden post slammed into his shoulder, and something sharp tore across his thigh as he rolled.

Pain lanced up his leg. His helmet hit the tile floor with a hard crack.

But the boy was fine.

Just trembling. But whole.

---

Ten minutes later, emergency support from Minato Base arrived to find Satoru sitting on the sidewalk with the kid in his arms, blood streaking from his leg through a rip in his armor.

His helmet was dented. His eyes were tired.

But he was smiling faintly.

The rescue worker paused. "Are you… the rider?"

Satoru didn't answer.

He just looked at the boy—then up at the cracked café behind them.

"Someone should board that up," he said, voice hoarse.

---

Later, Hospital Ward

Sayaka's face was unreadable as she pressed cold spray to the torn muscle in his thigh. She didn't speak at first.

Then, quietly:

"You're running out of bandages, Kojima."

He chuckled. "Lucky I know a nurse."

She rolled her eyes.

"It wasn't a compliment."

He grimaced as she adjusted the compression wrap. "It never is."

Silence stretched between them. She checked the IV line without looking at him.

Then:

"You don't have to take every risk."

"I didn't know it would collapse."

"You always don't know. That's the point."

He went quiet.

Sayaka's voice was quieter now. Not sharp—just tired.

"You help everyone. But when are you going to let someone help you?"

Satoru said nothing.

She stood, done with the dressing, and stepped back.

But before she left, she hesitated by the door.

"Get some rest. Kamino's not done shaking yet."

Then she was gone.