Morning light filtered through the blinds of Satoru Kojima's hospital room. The walls were still and sterile, but a folded newspaper now sat on the tray table beside his untouched breakfast.
He blinked blearily, sitting up with a groan.
A sticky note was taped to the front page.
"Don't let it go to your head. –Nakamura"
Satoru peeled it off, setting it aside before looking at the article.
"THE HELMET HERO: Symbol or Stubborn Idiot?"
The piece was surprisingly balanced—clearly written by a journalist who'd done their homework. It detailed multiple rescues over the past six months, citing eyewitness reports, grainy photos, and snippets of footage from vigilante forums and minor agency cams.
The writer never confirmed his identity. But the hints were there:
"A boy around seventeen."
"Often injured."
"Usually seen near Minato Ward."
"Reported to wear standard-grade agency gloves."
Satoru sighed.
"They're getting closer," he muttered.
The piece closed with a quote from a civilian he vaguely remembered—a woman he'd once helped during a late-night mugging.
> "I don't care what they say. Real heroes don't wait for permission to help. That boy didn't ask me for anything. He just showed up. That's enough."
He folded the paper gently.
---
Down the hallway, Sayaka Nakamura wiped down a tray of instruments at the nurse station. She didn't look up as Keiko approached.
"You're the sister?" she asked.
Keiko nodded warily. "Yeah. Why?"
Sayaka pulled a photocopy of the article from her locker and tapped the final paragraph with a gloved finger.
"That's your brother they're talking about, isn't it?"
Keiko hesitated… then exhaled through her nose. "They never say it. He never says it. But yeah."
Sayaka looked at the article again, her expression unreadable.
"…He's going to break," she said quietly. "People like him always do. Not because they're weak, but because they don't know how to stop."
Keiko nodded. "I've been trying to tell him that for years."
Sayaka met her gaze. "Then maybe he needs someone who doesn't tell him. Someone who just… reminds him to sit still once in a while."
Keiko almost smiled. "You volunteering?"
Sayaka didn't answer. Just closed her locker and walked off down the hall.
---
That afternoon, Miyako passed by a bookstore window and caught sight of the article in a display.
She froze.
Her heart beat faster, fingers twitching at her sleeves.
She didn't say a word. But she reached into her school bag and pulled out a small sketchpad.
Inside, she drew a boy on a bicycle—helmet slightly crooked, bruises under his eyes.
And beside him, she added a tiny paper flower.