Kana was skipping class again.
Not because she was in trouble this time. No, not officially.
She sat at the edge of a weathered rooftop near the northern shopping district, legs swinging over the side, her chin tucked into her arms.
Beneath her, the world churned along like nothing was wrong.
A mother herded two kids into a pharmacy. A tired office worker leaned on a vending machine. A drunk guy argued with his reflection in the glass of a shuttered shop.
And then—
There he was.
Armor dull with dried mud. Visor streaked with old rain. One gloved hand carrying a bag of groceries, the other holding a folded umbrella. The new helmet made him look taller. Stronger.
But his walk was still the same.
Heavy. Stiff. Bruised in the way you only notice if you've watched too long.
Kana didn't move.
She just watched.
Satoru Kojima—Mumen Rider now, apparently—paused at a corner, letting an elderly man cross in front of him.
The old man shuffled slow, cane tapping against the concrete.
Satoru didn't rush him.
In fact, he stepped forward, held the bag under one arm, and offered the old man his arm. The man took it, surprised, and nodded a thank-you.
Kana's hands curled around the rooftop edge.
No reporters. No crowds.
Just him doing that. Again.
Even after everything—after the fall, the hospital, the twisted ankle, the punches and bruises and rumors—he still walked like that.
Still looked at people like they were worth saving.
Still smiled like it didn't cost him something.
Kana's teeth pressed together.
He wasn't fast.
He wasn't flashy.
He wasn't strong.
But he was always there.
And suddenly, she hated it—how much she couldn't look away.
---
She was still sitting there when he walked past the alley below.
He didn't look up.
Didn't notice her.
Or maybe… maybe he did, and just didn't say anything.
She didn't call out.
Didn't throw a can this time.
Didn't mock him.
Just sat there, in silence, heart thudding for reasons she didn't understand.
She watched him turn the corner. Gone in seconds. And yet somehow… still there.