It started with a drizzle. The kind of rain that didn't soak you right away—just lingered like a warning.
Satoru sat inside the flower shop with his helmet resting on his knee, eyes distant. The Mumen Rider armor, still new, was scratched now—scuffed at the shoulders, streaked with dust at the knees. He hadn't bothered to polish it lately.
Miyako was behind the counter, quietly arranging hydrangeas. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, though every now and then her eyes drifted toward him.
She didn't ask what was wrong. She never did.
Outside, two delivery boys from the neighborhood walked past beneath a shared umbrella. Their voices cut through the pattering rain.
> "Hey, isn't this the Helmet Guy's shop?"
"No way. He works here?"
"I heard my cousin say he lives upstairs. Swear to God, she saw him once—without the helmet."
"Man… crazy to think he's just some flower shop dude."
Satoru didn't flinch.
Miyako glanced up from the bouquet, startled. Her eyes flicked to him, then to the boys outside.
Satoru met her gaze. He gave no reaction. Just the same quiet stillness he always wore when someone mentioned him like a story, not a person.
The boys passed. Their umbrella tilted as they jogged away from a deeper patch of rain.
"Sorry," Miyako said softly, almost too quietly.
"For what?"
She hesitated. "They shouldn't talk about you like… you're not real."
Satoru exhaled. "It's easier if they don't think I am."
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Instead, she walked to the back and returned a moment later with a towel, damp but warm.
He took it without a word and began drying his gloves.
The bell above the door jingled—no one came in.
Just the wind.
Later, when they closed for the night, Satoru went out to lock up. The rain had thickened into a cold mist. Streetlights reflected off the pavement like stretched memories.
That's when he saw it.
Tucked under the handlebars of his bike was a note. Folded neatly. Written in pen.
He opened it.
> "Thanks for helping us that night near the station. You probably don't remember. But we do."
– A Couple You Saved
There was no name.
Just a small pressed flower taped to the corner of the paper. A cosmos. It hadn't come from his shop.
Miyako stepped beside him in the doorway, hugging her arms.
"…Another fan?"
He shook his head, staring at the note. "No. Just… someone who remembered."
She smiled faintly. "That's the nicest kind."
He nodded. Then carefully tucked the note into the pocket behind his armor's chest plate.