The crowd stretches endlessly.
Thousands gather across the Kamino ruins.
Not in silence—but in reverence.
Some weep. Others clutch signs.
Many just stand—because they have no more words.
A field of grief, soaked in golden dusk.
No polished marble.
No gleaming statues.
Just the crater where Satoru Kojima made his final stand.
---
At the center, beneath a temporary canopy, sits a low casket.
Empty.
Inside, only the things he left behind:
His shattered helmet.
Torn, bloodstained gloves.
A folded cloth, bearing his name, scorched at the edges.
A quirkless boy.
A no-name.
A symbol now.
---
POV: Keiko
She sits in the front row, fists clenched in her skirt.
The wind rustles the fabric of her brother's old hoodie—she wears it like armor now.
Tears spill, but she makes no sound.
Only her eyes speak:
"You promised you'd ride home again."
She touches the helmet before they're placed in the casket.
"You stubborn idiot…"
---
POV: Kana
Her wheelchair rests beside her mother.
Kana hasn't spoken all morning.
She clutches his scarf, knuckles white.
The same scarf he left behind during winter patrol. She never gave it back.
In her lap: a single flower—pressed and dried. From their first day at Minato Base.
"I thought you were reckless."
"But you were braver than any of us."
---
POV: Sayaka
In her nurse's scrubs, she stands behind the family.
Her eyes are bloodshot. Her hands tremble.
She used to nag him about overworking. About coming in too bruised.
She'd slap a patch on his ribs and mutter "Idiot" every time.
And now?
"You really went and did it this time…"
She steps forward. Places a bandage roll into the casket.
No words. Just grief.
---
POV: Miyako
She stands in the back, half-hidden behind a pillar.
She didn't want to come. But she had to.
In her arms: a flower arrangement. Wild. Messy. Handmade.
No one told her what to bring.
She simply knew what he'd like.
She walks up when no one's looking and tucks it beside the gloves.
"You never bought a single flower, Satoru."
"So I brought one for you."
---
POV: Aizawa
Eraser Head remains near the edge of the crowd, black scarf fluttering.
He watches without blinking.
He remembers the boy in the alleyway who helped evacuate during a villain raid.
The one he dismissed as a vigilante nuisance.
And then watched save lives again and again.
"This is what real heroes look like," he mutters.
"No quirk. Just guts."
---
POV: All Might (True Form)
All Might stands hunched, cloaked, his gaunt frame barely visible.
Few recognize him.
But he's here—for the boy who reminded him what a symbol truly was.
His voice rasps.
"He stood taller than any of us."
"Even with broken bones… he kept the line."
He bows, hand over his heart.
"I salute you, young man."
---
Keiko's Eulogy
She doesn't walk to the front.
She forces herself.
Each step feels like it might break her.
The mic screeches—too loud—then dies into silence.
Keiko stares out at the crowd.
At thousands of strangers…
All mourning her brother.
She exhales, and her voice trembles.
"He didn't have a quirk."
"He didn't have fame. Or sponsors. Or power."
Her fingers grip the podium.
"He had a secondhand bike. A chipped helmet. And that stupid grin he always wore when he came home beat to hell."
Laughter flickers. Some sobs, too.
"He wasn't born special. But he made every second count."
"He carried groceries for strangers. Showed up in storms. Got knocked down and stood back up every time."
"You all called him a hero."
"But to me… he was just Satoru."
Her voice catches.
"My little brother who always pedaled faster when someone was scared. Who gave me his hoodie when I cried. Who promised—"
She stops. Covers her mouth. Then steadies herself.
"He promised he'd come home."
"And maybe… maybe he did."
She looks out again.
At the people wearing his symbol.
The kids with bike helmets.
The city he gave everything to.
"You remember him now. All of you."
"So don't forget."
She lays her hand over her heart.
"If you fall down—get back up."
"If someone's in danger—stand."
"Be brave… even when it hurts."
Tears streak her cheeks, but she nods to the casket.
"That's all he ever did."
"That's who my brother was."
---
The Mourning Sea
Thousands bow their heads.
The rescued dog from months ago whines beside a family's feet.
Children wear green bike helmets in his honor.
Storefronts hang black banners with his symbol:
A circle with wings, drawn like wind behind a bike.
---
The Farewell
Keiko places the helmet in the casket.
Kana follows, laying his scarf beside them.
Miyako's flowers.
Sayaka's medical patch.
One by one, the people come forward:
A man lays a cracked skateboard.
A woman adds a child's drawing: "Thank you, Mumen Rider!"
A girl presses a single white daisy on the wood.
---
As the sun sinks, the wind picks up.
The canopy flutters.
Cherry blossoms fall—too early for the season.
Someone raises a cardboard sign:
"Thank You, Mumen Rider."
Another voice begins chanting:
"STAND. STAND. STAND."
It spreads.
Across the plaza.
Through the broken streets.
Through the silence.
---
A camera drone pans upward.
A crater.
A casket.
A thousand hearts beating as one.
And his name, spoken in every mouth:
Satoru Kojima.
The Quirkless Hero.
Our Mumen Rider.