Mumen Rider in MHA

The bell above the flower shop door jingled as Satoru stepped inside, the scent of lavender and marigold hitting him like a warm wave.

The familiar creak of the wooden floor, the soft rustle of hanging petals—it all welcomed him like nothing else could. The place was tidy, quiet. A soft glow filtered in from the front window where the late afternoon sun poured through the glass.

He breathed in.

For a second, just a second, he felt okay.

Then he heard the cough.

He froze.

"Mom?" he called gently.

There was a rustle from the back room. "In here, sweetheart," she croaked, trying to sound cheerful.

He rushed behind the counter, past rows of freshly trimmed stems and buckets of water, and found her seated on a stool, a handkerchief clutched in one trembling hand. Her smile was pale. Her eyes tired.

"Again?" he asked softly, crouching beside her.

She waved him off. "I'm fine. Just the weather. Cold air gets into my chest."

He reached out, took her wrist gently, checking her pulse like he'd seen nurses do. "You need to rest more."

"I need to run my shop," she countered, trying to ruffle his hair with a shaky hand. "You're out chasing dreams and getting bruises. Let an old lady do something useful."

"Mom…" His voice cracked. "You're not old."

She chuckled weakly. "Flatterer."

He helped her into the old armchair behind the counter and pulled a blanket around her shoulders.

She leaned back, her gaze following him as he moved behind the register, automatically starting to prep the day's last bouquet orders. The routine came naturally—it was something his hands remembered even when his mind was a storm.

"I saw the news," she said quietly after a moment.

He paused.

"People are saying it was you. The boy who saved that child in the fire."

His shoulders tensed.

"I didn't tell anyone."

He nodded.

"I didn't lie either," she added, voice warm. "Just said I was proud."

Satoru swallowed.

"I'm trying to be careful," he said.

"I know." She reached for his hand. "That's why I'm scared."

---

That night, the three of them sat in silence at the dinner table.

Keiko stirred her rice without eating. Their mother coughed once every few minutes. Satoru poked at his vegetables.

It was a peaceful silence, but not a comforting one.

"I could help more at the shop," Keiko offered suddenly. "Just during my off shifts."

Mom shook her head. "You already work too much."

"I'll manage," Keiko replied without looking up.

Satoru glanced at them both, then quietly said, "I'll come by more often. After school."

His mother frowned. "You have your own responsibilities, Satoru."

"I know," he said. "But this one matters too."

She looked at him long and hard, then smiled—small, tired, but real.

"You always were my strongest boy."

---

The next morning, Satoru stood in the corridor outside his classroom, watching the students shuffle past.

He spotted Miyako near the shoe lockers, quietly changing her shoes. She moved with soft, thoughtful motions—always so careful, always watching.

He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped.

Instead, he just gave a small wave.

She blinked in surprise, then returned it, eyes curious but kind.

He turned away before she could ask anything, the words he hadn't said still tangled in his throat.

Not yet.