Mumen Rider in MHA

Kamino Ward burns.

The sky above is thick with smoke and heatwaves, blinking red with reflected flame. Broken walls groan under their own weight. Sirens scream in the distance, already too late.

And in the center of it all—

Satoru stands.

His boots skid back against cracked asphalt as another tendril lashes toward him. He ducks, barely. His shoulder clips the edge of it, sparks flaring from the battered armor. He coughs but keeps moving.

All For One looms ahead, amused.

"Still breathing, little rider?"

Satoru doesn't answer.

He charges.

His legs scream in protest. His arms are too heavy. His grip is slipping—but his mind is clear. Every time he's fallen before has led to this. Every lesson from pain, every act of kindness, every bruise that came with meaning.

He drives forward. A blur of battered metal and aching will.

And this time—

He lands a punch.

A real one. Square against AFO's jaw. It's like punching the side of a mountain. But it hurts AFO. Even if only in pride.

The villain's head barely turns with the force of it, but the reaction is instant.

CRACK.

A counterblow slams down on Satoru's head. A sharp sound echoes as the visor spiderwebs with fractures. The reinforced plating over his helmet bends with the impact.

He staggers. One leg gives out. He hits the ground hard.

For a moment—he doesn't move.

Kana's breath catches from behind the rubble.

People across the city stare at the screen, frozen.

Sayaka slams her fist against the breakroom wall.

Miyako sinks to her knees in the flower shop.

Keiko's hand covers her mouth. Her tea spills from trembling fingers.

---

Inside the helmet…

Blood drips into his eye.

The world is tilted. Muffled.

He hears his own breath. Rattling. Shallow.

(Can't see… helmet's gone. Focus. Don't stop.)

He lifts his hand, slow and shaking, and removes the shattered visor. His fingers tremble as he unclasps the cracked helmet piece by piece.

The last fragment falls.

And now—

His face is bare.

Blood-slicked. Blackened with soot. One eye swollen shut. The other burning with fire.

All For One looks down at him. Bemused.

"There you are. The mask falls, and all that's left is a trembling child."

Satoru plants his hand against the ground.

He rises.

Again.

---

Broadcast POV montage:

A family in the evacuation shelter huddles around a tiny radio.

A police officer at a barricade lowers his rifle to watch the feed.

A pro hero, wounded and shaking, whispers from the sidewalk:

"That's him. The one who saved us in Shibuya. He's still standing."

—

Back in Kamino.

All For One frowns.

There's no mockery this time—just a flicker of something colder.

Disgust… and something like curiosity.

"Why do you keep getting up?"

"You gain nothing. You will die here."

Satoru steadies himself.

His breath is ragged. His body sways.

But he smiles.

"If I stop… someone else falls."

"I can't let that happen."

AFO steps closer, slower now, watching him like a puzzle he can't quite solve.

"You're no All Might."

"Wasn't trying to be."

"No quirk. No lineage. No legacy."

"Yeah," Satoru says, holding his ground. "And I'm still here."

AFO's mask shifts.

He hates it.

He almost respects it.

---

Kana stares from her hiding place, lips trembling.

Every blow, every step, every breath he takes—it's like watching someone walk through fire without flinching.

He's not supposed to be able to do this. He doesn't have powers. He's not even—

And yet…

He stands.

---

Satoru exhales.

His vision tunnels. Every sound turns distant, underwater.

But he sees them—Kana, her mother, a hundred nameless lives behind him.

And he hears his mother's voice in his mind:

"You always got up, baby. Even when it hurt."

So he does.

One more time.