The call came in just after dusk: a landslide near a narrow residential road on the outskirts of Minato Ward. A truck had tipped, knocking loose the dirt wall beside it. Two civilians were trapped—one inside the vehicle, another beneath collapsed fencing.
Support units were still twenty minutes away.
Satoru didn't wait.
He was already pedaling through the wet streets, armor glinting beneath the streetlights, water slapping against his boots. His helmet visor caught droplets, and the wind cut sharp against his bruises—but he didn't slow down.
The slope where the landslide happened was steep and treacherous. His tires slipped. He fell once, his knee slamming into concrete.
He hissed. But stood.
He always stood.
By the time he arrived, the rain had turned the slope into mud. The delivery truck's front was caved in. A man was slumped against the wheel, unconscious. A teenage girl was pinned beneath debris, her ankle twisted awkwardly.
"I-It's Helmet Guy!" someone shouted.
No time to correct them.
Satoru parked his bike and slid down the embankment on foot. Mud splashed against his greaves. His chestplate thudded with each breath.
"Don't move!" he called to the girl. "I've got you!"
She was sobbing, soaked to the bone. "I-I can't feel my leg!"
"You don't need to. Just look at me."
He crouched beside her, wedging his shoulder under a broken fence beam. He braced, legs shaking, and lifted.
Pain shot through his back. His ankle, still healing from the patrol two weeks ago, screamed. But the beam shifted—just enough.
Someone behind him pulled the girl free.
She kept crying his name.
He didn't answer. Just turned toward the truck.
Satoru slipped again as he approached the driver's side. The man inside was bleeding but breathing. The door was jammed.
Satoru grabbed the handle with both hands. Braced a boot against the fender. Pulled.
The metal groaned.
Nothing.
He reset. Pulled again.
His shoulder popped—something gave, and it wasn't the door.
Still, he kept pulling.
On the third try, the latch snapped, and the door swung open with a screech.
Another voice—an actual hero, finally arriving—called, "Support team's here! Step back!"
But Satoru didn't move until the man was lifted out and safe.
Then, only then, did he fall to his knees.
---
He sat later on the curb, soaking wet, fingers trembling, chest heaving inside his armor. He'd taken another punch from exhaustion and smiled through it.
A young EMT offered him a thermal blanket.
Satoru shook his head. "Give it to the girl."
The medic blinked. "You sure? Your lips are turning blue."
Satoru chuckled softly. "Matching the armor."
---
From a rooftop nearby, Kana watched through narrowed eyes.
She'd followed the chaos, hearing the crashing noises.
Her fists twitched at her sides. Her palms still ached from yesterday's training.
She didn't say anything.
Just stared.
Helmet. Armor. Broken gait. That stupid way he smiled through the hurt.
Her voice caught in her throat.
"Idiot."