The rooftops were quiet—resting above the chaos like tired gods. Clotheslines fluttered in the wind. Rusted AC units hummed.
And Kana Fujimura crouched at the ledge, watching the street below with narrowed eyes.
There he was again.
Satoru Kojima, seventeen, limping slightly, one arm suspended in a cast and sling. He walked his bicycle instead of riding it this time, a gentle slope in his shoulders betraying the pain he tried to hide.
He didn't wear his helmet today. No patched jacket, no goggles. Just an oversized hoodie, jeans, and exhaustion.
Kana scowled. "Idiot."
She'd heard what happened. Everyone had. Two thugs cornering a couple near the alley behind the supermarket. One had a pipe, the other a knife. No heroes around. No police nearby.
And of course, Kojima had stepped in. Helmet or no helmet.
She didn't need to imagine the scene—she'd overheard enough from her brother's friends. The kid with no quirk took a blow to the ribs, then a pipe to the shoulder, but still tackled one of them and distracted the other long enough for the couple to escape.
Some grown-ups had said he was brave.
Others called it suicidal.
Kana just called it stupid.
From the rooftop, she picked up an empty juice can and tossed it. It clattered to the pavement near his feet.
Satoru paused, looking up, unfazed.
"Kana," he greeted, like she hadn't just thrown something at him.
"You look like crap," she called down. "What, trip over your own dumb ideas again?"
He smiled faintly. "Something like that."
"Should've minded your business."
"I couldn't."
"Why?" she asked, genuinely puzzled now. "You're not even a real hero. No one asked you."
Satoru thought about it. The metal pipe cracking across his shoulder. The sickening thud of fists hitting his ribs. The couple's terrified eyes.
The scream of the woman calling his name.
He met Kana's glare with a tired but steady gaze.
"Because someone had to do something."
Kana snorted, but her voice came out smaller. "You're gonna get yourself killed."
"Maybe," he said. "But not today."
They stared at each other. Neither blinked.
Finally, Kana scoffed and turned her back on him, muttering something under her breath as she disappeared from view.
Satoru stood there a moment longer, then pushed his bike forward, wincing with every step. Each movement sent sparks of pain through his side, but he walked anyway.
He always walked.
He always stood.