Chapter Text
He doesn’t think much of it when he finds it. She’s at the age where K-Pop, heroes, and tv show figures are available on clothing and who’s he to deny her something she’s passionate about? So when the shirt appears in his hands halfway through sorting clean laundry he folds it and puts it in her pile to put away later.
But before he can get further Zenko is there, half throwing clothing out of the laundry bag. “Did you clean it, onii-chan?”
“Hey, hey, hey, stop that!” He shoos her off before giving her a reproachful eye that he likes to think other parents only dream they could manage. “Clean what?”
“My Mumen Rider shirt!” That receives a blank stare. “You know, Mumen Rider?” Another stare. “Onii-chan, he’s only one of the most popular heroes ever!”
Which immediately has his lips puckering. “Who?” Because he’s waiting for his A-Class #10 license in the mail, literally, and already the rank there is obsolete. (They’re calling him a natural, a wonder, a phenomenon. They don’t ask what he calls himself.)
Zenko rolls her eyes in a way that makes current Badd feel pity for future Badd and the ensuing teenage angst. “Mumen Rider, onii-chan. He’s courageous and daring and Mariko met him once and said he’s the nicest guy there is.” Laundry bag in disarray she turns to her stack. “I hope I get to meet him someday.”
With a triumphant cry she finds the mystery shirt from earlier and shoves it in Badd’s face. Goggles, helmet, a thumbs up - it’s a caricature of a disappointingly normal man, considering the build up.
He tsks. “What’s the guy even do?”
It’s as if he’s called Tama ugly. “Onii-chan!”
He holds his hands up to stymy the lecture. “What? Just asked what he does!”
“He’s a hero, just like you.” He won’t admit to that still feeling good, even as she struggles to pull the shirt on over her dress. “And I’m going to be late.”
It’s not that he’s annoyed that the shirt is going with her. But… “Going where?”
“Mariko’s.”
“Why?”
“For club.”
“Club?”
The sigh Zenko gives is worthy of a daytime award. “Mumen Rider Club.” He does his best to not narrow his eyes. “Mariko’s vice president. We’re gonna make signs for Hero Day.” Despite his apparent failings she gives him a brief hug before picking up her book bag.
No matter how he feels about that shirt, there are some things he absolutely can’t help. He’s with her as she crosses the threshold and off down the hallway, calling after her, “Hey, you be back for dinner, ya? And be careful walking over there! Text me when you get there.”
“Cross my heart,” she promises. She waves, then she’s off down the stairs and the two blocks away. He knows she’ll get there fine and in ten minutes her text will confirm that.
But that doesn’t stop him from glancing in the hallway mirror and scowling at himself. It’s ridiculous, being this jealous over one piece of mass produced merchandise. A shirt. A phase. He’s seen Zenko blow through pop band crazes like quarters at the arcade. This can’t be that different, he assures himself.
“Mumen Rider,” he mutters to himself with a snort. Adjusting his hair even as he tries not to compare. (Or rather compare Mumen to him, because if they’re honest the guy’s color scheme is dated and attire pedestrian. No flair, no style.) “Tch. Can’t be that impressive.”
Three days later he’s still convinced of that fact as he watches from the back of a park bench as what’s best described as a walking fruit basket attempt to terrorize a corner store. Attempt, as the amalgamous of melons that make up the thing are more of an absurd oddity than anything related to horror. A fact the thing - he’s calling him Fruit Mascot Man - is only just now figuring out.
Fruit Mascot Man attempts what should be a threatening swipe. It ends with a melon hand cracking, dripping juice all over the sidewalk to the screaming laughter of two curious kids. In some way, Badd feels that he understands.
It’s just not their day.
He sighs, bored. It’s the fifth Wolf Class threat he’s answered with no success. Sure, he can stop the thing with one swing of the bat currently on his back. But that’s not the point here.
The point is that extensive trawling of online message boards has hinted that X-City was Mumen Rider’s stomping ground today and so far? So far he has nothing more than a throbbing stubbed toe from not-even-monster #4 and the title of ‘most bags of chips’ eaten in one three hour shift. No Mumen Rider and even less self-pride than when he’d started.
If it weren’t for the Hero’s Association profile, he’d be skeptical as to the existence of Mumen Rider at all.
A water pipe breaks thanks to a lucky punch, spraying the sidewalk in fruit juice and rapidly expanding water. Screaming erupts which is his cue. Brushing chips from his fingers, he straightens, letting the bag fall in favor of curling around his bat. Right, another no-
“Justice Crash!”
He barely hears it over the din, though he does see it in action. Up close and personal even. A pedal nearly grazes his face as it flies by, hitting Fruit Mascot Man’s side with a loud THWOK that sends it into the gutter.
Nose burning from the near-miss, he turns. Mumen Rider is there then, sun glinting off familiar green goggles. Mumen Rider’s shorter than Badd’s mind had made him, slim too for someone who can (supposedly) throw a bike from a several meters away. Despite his disappointingly accurate to photo looks, Mumen Rider is already in position, stance wide, arms up, fists ready.
It’s the picture of a fighter, a man ready for anything with confidence apparent enough for Badd’s hand to loosen on his bat.
Fighting spirit.
There’s a brief few minutes he’s tense, breath held, as he waits for Mumen Rider’s punch to be let out.
Instead, Fruit Mascot Man wheezes, and falls into a million ruined melon pieces. He just stares. As does Mumen Rider, until a melon hits his riding boot and he moves forward to warily rescue the bike from a now sticky sidewalk.
Just like that, three days of work is done and he doesn’t even know what to say to that. A bike crash. That was it. No punch, no kick, no kung fu, no super strength, no super speed. Nothing. Nothing except a move that could be classified as an accidental action. (Or convenient timing during a short lived and less than memorable career of terror.)
This was the guy Zenko wanted to meet?
As if knowing, Mumen Rider looks up and meets his eye. For a moment they stare at each other across the rapidly growing crowd of onlookers. He doesn’t want to say he’s star struck. He isn’t. Why should he be? Anyone could do what this guy did with less intention and just as much vigor. And yet he locks eyes with him and there’s a second there where he realizes a horrible truth: he’s goddamned curious now.
While he ponders this sudden epiphany, he realizes Mumen is frowning. Making a motion with his hand. Down?
He looks down to find his abandoned chip bag crinkling under his toe. Oh. Fishing it off the ground, when he meets Mumen’s eyes again the man has the audacity to smile. Then flash him a thumbs up.
Seriously?
The bag squeals in his hand as he crunches it, watching Mumen take a call and turn away. Within moments Mumen’s pushing off, cycling with purpose down the road. He turns, done here as well, even if his mind lingers on the encounter long after he takes his own call for a Demon Level threat in J-City.
Later that night, over a meal of take out sushi that he’s regretting, he realizes the wasabi mound he’s poking at is shaped suspiciously like a helmet. He groans, causing Zenko to look up.
“Onii-chan? What’s wrong?”
He’s not sure how to explain ‘creepy fascination with a c-class hero’ so he goes with, “Too much of this. Don’t know why they always give us half a dam-ng bottle.” The wasabi is not too delicately deposited back in the take-out trash. In his hurry a chopstick goes with, leaving him to fish it out from amongst dirty napkins and spilled rice.
Naturally, Zenko sees right through him. “You like wasabi.”
Chopstick rescued, he wipes it off and shrugs. “Not tonight.” She watches him even as a piece of tuna slips off out of her grip to drown in soy sauce. He clears his throat. “So, how was club?”
She hums. “Good! We made signs for Hero Day and we wanna get there early. We can go early, right?”
How can he say no to that? Even if she will be holding a banner for fucking Mumen Rider. “Of course. Gotta get a good seat for the parade, right?”
Zenko grins. “Yeah!”
He nudges a piece of sushi around. “So, Mumen Rider, huh?” Super subtle. “What should I know about him?” Zenko just squints at him. “Just sayin’, if I’m goin’ to Hero Day with you I should probably know who you’re holding signs for, yeah?”
“You’re gonna hold signs with us?”
He’s not ready to commit that far to this. “Was thinking a t-shirt.”
Zenko’s face lights up. “Really?” He makes an noncommittal click with his tongue, which she accepts with a wider grin. “Ok!”
“So, Mumen Rider?”
But it is too late to redirect the topic to anything fruitful. “You should come to our next meeting! You can sit with me and we can go for ramen afterward then to the park.”
“Hey now, I just agreed to a shirt.” She was giving him that look though, hands folded over her chopsticks, and he sighs. “Ok, ok.”
You don’t argue with Zenko. You just don’t.