Mumen Rider in MHA

Satoru rubbed the bruise on his ribs as he locked up the flower shop. His shift had gone long—Mrs. Arai had brought in a last-minute funeral order—and his fingers still smelled faintly of chrysanthemums and lilies. He checked the streets, slung on his patched jacket, and mounted his bike with a grunt.

No patrol tonight, he told himself. Just a quick ride to get the blood moving.

But somehow, his tires ended up humming down Route C again.

The city passed in blurs of rust-orange lamplight and neon flickers. He kept his head low, eyes scanning. It wasn't about hero work anymore. Not entirely. It had become… a ritual. Something between prayer and habit.

He didn't expect to hear footsteps on the rooftop above him.

A long shadow dropped beside a vending machine up ahead. Satoru's hands tensed on the brakes.

"Don't run," came the familiar dry voice.

"Aizawa-san," he greeted, trying not to sound like he'd just swallowed his heart.

The pro hero looked exactly as he had before: tired eyes, unshaven jaw, scarf like a warning flag. He looked Satoru up and down, unimpressed.

"You're still doing this. Even after last time."

Satoru forced a smile. "Not patrolling. Just… riding."

"Riding with body armor, a notebook, and three first-aid kits in your backpack."

"Preparedness is important."

Aizawa squinted. "You know you're not invincible, right?"

"Pain reminds me I'm still trying."

The silence stretched. Satoru thought he'd pushed too far.

Then Aizawa sighed and leaned against the vending machine.

"You remind me of someone I knew in school. Dumb as bricks, but wouldn't back down. He died punching a villain in the shin with a broken hand. Bought three seconds. Saved a life."

Satoru blinked. "He sounds like a hero."

"He was a dumbass," Aizawa muttered. "So are you."

The sky stretched out quiet above them. Distant traffic buzzed like static. For a moment, neither moved.

"Why not just get stronger?" Aizawa asked eventually.

"I'm trying. I just… I don't know how to catch up. Not without a quirk."

"You won't."

That stung. Satoru looked down.

"But," Aizawa added, "that doesn't mean you can't make a difference. It just means you have to be smarter than everyone else. And tougher. And probably more reckless."

"That last one I've got covered."

A faint twitch at the corner of Aizawa's mouth. Not quite a smile, but close.

"Don't die for nothing, Satoru."

"I won't."

He meant it.

Aizawa pushed off the vending machine. "Next time, at least wear better armor. Your elbow padding's a joke."

Satoru grinned. "You keep showing up for someone who's not a hero."

"I show up for fools. It's part of the job."

Aizawa vanished into the shadows.

Satoru leaned on his handlebars, heart hammering with quiet warmth.

He keeps showing up.

And somehow, that made the night feel less heavy.