Mumen Rider in MHA

The clock above the Minato Base Agency's entrance ticked past midnight as Satoru strapped on his helmet. His arms still ached from training, but tonight wasn't about pushing his limits. Tonight, he was on observation duty—his first official night patrol shift.

He adjusted his gloves—the new ones Aizawa had handed him without a word—and climbed onto his battered bicycle. The streets of the quiet ward stretched before him, slick with recent rain, the neon lights casting long reflections across the wet pavement.

"Radio check," came the voice of a pro hero named Kyotaka over the comm in his earpiece. "Satoru, you're assigned east sector. No engagement unless explicitly ordered. Observe and report only."

"Understood," Satoru replied, his voice calm.

He pedaled out into the city.

---

At first, the streets were eerily still. Cats darted under dumpsters. A couple stumbled out of a karaoke bar, laughing. A flickering streetlight buzzed overhead as Satoru cruised past, eyes always scanning, always watching.

For the first hour, nothing happened. But even doing nothing had a quiet dignity to it. He was out here—not for fame, not for glory, but because people deserved to feel safe.

Then, a crackle in his earpiece.

"Report from West Sector—possible quirk usage near the park entrance. All available eyes, confirm."

Satoru adjusted course immediately, angling toward the district's west edge. As he rolled to a stop near the park gates, he heard it—a low voice, an argument. A man with a jagged red streak in his hair was berating a smaller man pressed against a lamppost.

"—you think you can scam me? After what I paid?"

Satoru dismounted quietly, voice low into the comm. "Visual confirmed. Possible extortion, no immediate threat. Requesting support."

"Standby," Kyotaka's voice crackled.

The larger man pulled something from his coat. Satoru's stomach dropped—it wasn't a weapon, but a quirk enhancer, the kind illegal vendors sold. The small man looked terrified.

Satoru didn't wait for backup.

He rolled his bike forward slowly and called out, "Excuse me, sir. This is a monitored area. You need to stop what you're doing."

Both men turned.

The red-streaked man scoffed. "You again? You're that knockoff hero, the Helmet Guy. What, here to deliver groceries?"

"I'm with Minato Base," Satoru replied, standing his ground. "You're engaging in an illegal transaction. Back away and leave now."

The man stepped forward. "Or what? You don't even have a quirk."

Satoru braced himself. "Then I'll stop you anyway."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then a light dropped from the sky—Kyotaka landed between them in a blur of motion, trench coat whipping behind him. "Thanks for stalling him," he said to Satoru.

The thug tried to run, but Kyotaka was faster.

It was over in under thirty seconds.

The scared vendor sank to the ground, breathing hard. "Thank you," he whispered to no one in particular.

Satoru exhaled and reached out a hand. "You should go home. Don't get mixed up in this again."

The man nodded and vanished into the alley.

Kyotaka turned to him. "You disobeyed an order."

"I made a judgment call," Satoru said. "It could've escalated."

Kyotaka stared at him for a beat… then clapped him on the shoulder. "You were right."

---

When Satoru returned to Minato Base near 2 a.m., he found a note on his locker from the agency director:

> 'Good eyes. Good heart. Don't burn out. – Ren'

He folded the note carefully and tucked it into his notebook.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The city gleamed.

He rode home slowly, not from pain, but from peace.