The hospital smelled like stale antiseptic and boiled rice. It was raining outside again—of course it was.
Satoru stood at the end of the hallway, dripping wet from the ride over, a small bouquet of unevenly tied daisies in hand. He hadn't meant to fall asleep at Minato Base again, but everything blurred these days.
His part-time job. Night patrols. Homework he barely did anymore.
His ribs still ached from last week. His ankle throbbed every time the cold hit. But he didn't complain. Didn't slow down.
He stepped into Room 214.
Yuri Kojima sat propped up with her oxygen line tucked under her nose, hands folded over a thin blanket. She looked so small now. But when her eyes met his, they still lit up.
"Hey," she rasped.
"Hey, Mom," Satoru said, smiling gently. "Sorry I'm late."
"You're always late."
He chuckled and crossed to her bedside, placing the flowers in the little vase Sayaka had left behind.
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the rain drum against the window.
"You're tired," she said softly.
"I'm okay."
"No," she said. "You're not. But you're trying."
Satoru lowered his eyes. "I don't know what else to do."
She reached out, fingers trembling, and brushed a hand through his damp hair.
"I'm proud of you, Satoru. But I worry."
He took her hand and held it tightly. "You don't have to."
"I do. I always will."
Sayaka stepped in quietly to check Yuri's vitals. She nodded at Satoru without a word—then left just as quietly.
"I graduated last week," Satoru said suddenly. "Keiko came. You didn't miss much. Boring speeches."
Yuri smiled. "Did you get your license yet?"
"Sort of. Hero Public Safety Commission approved a youth support certificate." He paused. "I'm allowed to work. Not fight, not yet. But I can help."
"I know you'll do more than help."
Satoru didn't respond. He just leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly on the edge of her bed.
The silence stretched again.
"I'm still scared," he whispered. "That I'm not enough."
Yuri's hand moved slowly to rest against the side of his face.
"You're more than enough. You always have been."
He closed his eyes.
Eventually, he rose. Kissed her on the forehead. Adjusted the blankets.
"Rest, okay?"
"I will."
He turned and left the room without looking back.
---
The night was cold. The rain hadn't stopped.
Satoru unlocked his bike, slung on his battered jacket, and adjusted his helmet. His hands trembled a little as he fastened the strap.
Then he pedaled into the darkness—streets slick, tires hissing over wet pavement.
People still needed help. He still had work to do.