Mumen Rider in MHA

Monday – Kamino Ward, late afternoon

The glass in the principal's office still rattled faintly.

Someone had tried to tape the cracks. It didn't help.

Outside the closed door, two teachers whispered about damages, insurance, and control. Inside, Kana sat slouched in a metal chair, arms crossed over her chest, eyes sharp with fury but ringed with something worse—shame.

Her knuckles were still red. Bits of char clung to her uniform sleeves.

"She blew out a portion of the east stairwell," one teacher hissed. "She detonated at school. That's the third time in two months—"

"We can't expel her," said another voice. "She's been through too much."

"She's dangerous."

Kana barely heard them.

Her ears still rang from the blast. From the yelling. From the sound of her own voice when she lost it.

They said she overreacted.

They said she scared people.

They never asked why.

---

It was past sundown when the knock came at the school's side entrance.

Satoru Kojima stood there in full armor—his new helmet tucked under one arm, armor dirtied and dented from the day's patrol. He looked like he'd just biked through a storm.

The receptionist hesitated. "She's still here. Refused to call home."

"I'll walk her," Satoru said.

---

They didn't speak for the first ten minutes.

The two of them walked side by side, past quiet Kamino storefronts and flickering street lamps. Kana's backpack thumped softly against her spine.

Satoru finally broke the silence. "What happened?"

She snorted. "Teacher kept saying I'm behind. That I have 'anger issues.' He looked at me like I was a bomb."

Satoru didn't respond.

"So I gave him one," Kana muttered, eyes low.

He nodded. "You okay?"

Kana stopped walking. "Do I look okay?"

"No," Satoru said plainly.

Her mouth twitched. "Good."

He glanced at her scuffed boots. "Your joints hurting again?"

"I'll live."

He tilted his head. "You've been practicing in secret again."

Her jaw tightened. "It's not enough. I keep getting stronger, but they still look at me like I'm a threat."

"You're not."

"I know that," she snapped. "But they don't."

Her voice cracked.

She clenched her fists. The air around her shimmered faintly, a low crack building in her palms—then vanishing.

Satoru stepped closer. "Kana—"

"Why do I even care?" she said through her teeth. "Why do I even try to be decent? They treat me like I'm a walking explosion. Like I'm just waiting to blow."

Satoru knelt slightly to meet her eye level.

"Because," he said softly, "you aren't just your fire."

She stared at him.

"I've seen what it's like," he continued, voice low. "To be judged before you even speak. To be told your anger makes you dangerous. That your power—" he gestured gently to her clenched fists "—is the only thing you'll ever be good for."

Kana looked away.

"I know how much it hurts," Satoru said. "But you're still here. That matters."

She exhaled sharply, chest heaving.

The silence stretched.

"…I broke a trophy case," Kana muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. "Expensive?"

"Second place fencing medal. I don't think anyone will miss it."

"Still," he said with a faint grin. "Try not to make it a habit."

She looked at him sideways. "…You really think I'm not a monster?"

"I know you're not," Satoru said. "Because monsters don't show up to help a stray dog. Monsters don't cry when no one's watching. And monsters sure as hell don't care what they become."

Kana didn't speak. Her shoulders trembled slightly.

Then—almost too quiet to hear—she asked, "Why do you keep trying? Even when it doesn't change anything?"

Satoru looked ahead, toward the night-dark horizon.

"Because I've seen what happens when no one does."

They stood there together for a long moment. The wind picked up, rustling leaves around their feet.

Kana's voice came out barely a whisper. "You think I can be a hero?"

Satoru glanced at her.

"I think you already are."