Mumen Rider in MHA

The building rooftop was cold and scratchy under her knees. Kana Fujimura leaned over the ledge, pigtails bouncing in the wind, eyes squinting down at the street like a hawk.

"There he goes again…" she muttered, chewing on her straw candy.

Below, that weird guy on a bicycle was pedaling down the sidewalk, slow and clumsy. He had on the ugliest patched jacket she'd ever seen. His helmet looked like it came from a thrift shop. He even had duct tape on his knee pads.

A group of little kids on the corner waved at him. He waved back like an idiot.

Kana rolled her eyes hard enough to strain something.

"What a loser…"

She puffed up her cheeks, tapping her fingers against the concrete ledge.

Why was he even pretending to be a hero?

He didn't even have a quirk. That much was obvious. The news had said he wasn't licensed. Some people online said he was reckless. A vigilante. Dumb.

Kana snorted. "He's not a hero. He's just some guy playing dress-up on a bike."

And yet… everyone kept talking about him.

---

Three days ago, she'd seen it happen. The fire. The alley.

She wasn't supposed to be out that late, but whatever—she was eleven, not a baby. She snuck out sometimes. Just to run, to let her legs burn, to feel the crackle of her quirk buzzing under her knees.

She liked explosions. She liked being fast. She liked when people stared.

She didn't like that night.

She'd seen the fire from a distance and came closer just to watch—sirens wailing, smoke curling into the stars. Then she saw him.

The Helmet Guy.

He ran in. Alone.

Came out dragging a kid and some old guy. His jacket was smoking. His hair was singed. He was coughing so hard he dropped to his knees.

Kana had frozen at the alley's edge, watching from the shadows.

He looked like a mess. Not cool. Not badass. Just shaking and tired.

And people clapped for him anyway.

---

Back on the rooftop, Kana kicked her legs angrily.

She didn't understand it.

Why did people cheer for someone so lame?

He didn't punch the bad guys. He didn't have explosions. He didn't make people look.

He just… helped.

She folded her arms. "It's stupid," she told herself. "He's stupid."

Her cheeks puffed again. That meant she was mad.

"Real heroes blast through stuff! They don't ride around on bicycles like delivery guys."

Still…

She turned away, pouting, pulling out her sketchbook.

She flipped past the pages until she landed on the new one.

Helmet Guy. Drawn in crayon.

She'd drawn him looking extra dumb. Big helmet, wobbly eyes, flailing arms.

She was going to draw a villain kicking him next.

She stared at the page.

Didn't move.

"…He's still dumb," she whispered.

But her voice didn't sound very sure anymore.

---

Kana sits alone under the moonlight, sketchbook open on her lap. She traces the helmet gently, then huffs and slams the book shut.

> "He's not a hero. He's just pretending…"

But she doesn't throw the sketch away.

Not this time.