The villain's hand ignited—flames spiraling like a living serpent.
His arm rose, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on Keiko.
She didn't move.
She was frozen, jaw clenched, fists raised but trembling.
She wasn't a hero.
She was a girl—scared, standing her ground anyway.
And Satoru saw it.
He saw the fear in her shoulders, in the way her fingers curled, in the way her mouth pressed shut to keep from shaking.
And something in him snapped.
He couldn't think.
He couldn't breathe.
But he moved.
---
"DON'T HURT HER!"
His voice cracked.
A scream, soaked in panic, ripped from his chest as he threw himself forward—legs burning, lungs tight.
He didn't punch.
Didn't swing.
Didn't even lift his hands.
He just stepped between them.
Between Keiko and the flame.
Standing.
Sobbing.
Arms spread wide, body trembling.
"Please… please don't hurt her…"
The villain blinked, genuinely confused. His fire wavered.
A scrawny, crying boy stood in front of him like he could stop the sun with his shadow.
"What the hell are you—?"
BOOM.
A crimson blur slammed into the villain's side like a bullet.
The ground cracked. Fire scattered. The man went flying across the street, crashing into a wall with a grunt of surprise.
A pro hero landed in his place.
Tall. Armored. Cloak flickering from the heat.
He didn't say a word—just dropped into a stance between the kids and danger, gauntlets glowing.
The fight began in an instant.
But Satoru didn't see the rest.
He had collapsed to his knees, gasping, sobbing, face streaked with tears.
He hadn't run.
He hadn't run.
---
Keiko stared at him.
She didn't speak.
Didn't scold.
Didn't ask why.
She just looked at her little brother—
Still crying.
Still shaking.
But standing.