The following is a non-profit fan-based story and the author is unaffiliated with ONE, Shueisha, or Viz Media, who own the rights to One-Punch Man. Please support the official releases.
^V^V^V^
:: HUMAN EVIL ::
by
Seraph of Winters Past
^V^V^V^
Epilogue
"The Rider is Dead"
To say that "Mumen Rider awakens in an unfamiliar place" is wrong in virtually every way that a statement can be wrong. But, until a human language develops to the point where it can adequately describe metaphysics and realms of existence beyond mortal experience, let's say that Mumen Rider awakens in an unfamiliar place. It'll hurt your head less, that way.
Insofar as he can be said to awaken in a place that's not a place, and to do so lying flat on his back, Mumen Rider comes to staring at the hot and whirling stars overhead. Comets streak across the heavens and galaxies pinwheel and blaze in their proscribed arcs. He's never seen a night sky so bright before: the light pollution of the cities he patrolled never let him see nature as it was intended and his eyes were always on the ground or distance. So, you can imagine that this is something of a revelation. Who knew that the sky could be so pretty?
It's just a small corner of the sky. He's sure that the rest of it would be equally glorious, but it's blocked out by a canopy of pink and white. Backlit by the starry night shedding enough light to read by, the translucent petals bob and dance in a cool sea-breeze.
Mumen Rider looks around himself. To his right, a forest of hill cherry trees in full bloom. To his left, ocean waves crashing against a cliff. Below him, cool grass blanketed in petals. Wherever he is, he feels a lot better than he did after being shot. Eyes flying open wide, he bolts upright and his hands race for his stomach. He sighs in relief when he doesn't find a hole and his hands come away dry.
"Blast, I'm glad that was a dream," he tells nobody in particular. He smirks, falls back against the ground in a spray of petals, and we laugh.
Now, I keep laughing, but Mumen Rider stops pretty suddenly. His eyes slowly slide over toward the edge of the cliff, and he finally realizes that he's not alone. There, in the starlight, he sees a young woman sitting against the trunk of a denuded tree. On some subconscious level, he knows that he's not really looking at one, but it's what he imagines when he sees me.
He likens me to a noblewoman of ancient times, like the woman in the woodcut from Tomoe's home. He sees silvery hair tinged blue, and eyes sparkling the pink of cherry blossoms in the dim light. My kimono's of the same color, and he half-expects to find cherry blossoms printed there: after all, that's been my main method of warning and encouraging him over a horrid day of blood and misery. Instead, he sees the blossoms of a peony bursting from a thin stem.
Metaphor... everything is metaphor here. His rides took him past many gardens, and he couldn't help but learn some horticulture along the way. The peony, the botan: the King of the Flowers. Surrounded by so many cherry blossoms, the fact that I wear the emblem of their ruler has to mean something to him even if he doesn't understand it yet.
But sure. Let's just say that he sees me giggling at a joke and leave it at that for now.
"What...?" he starts, coughs, clears his voice, and asks, "What's so funny?"
"It's just a song," I say lightly, shaking my head. "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream... I'm not laughing at you. It's just that you reminded me of something amusing."
"Alright, then," he says. He pushes himself to his feet and brushes off a few petals from his arms before walking over to me. "How long have you been here? Is this your garden?"
"Oh, it's everyone's garden," I tell him as the silent stars go by. "I just happen to exist here. I've been here a lot longer than you. I was there when you went to sleep, and I've been waiting a long time for you to wake up."
He tilts his head and stares at me for a little while. His eyebrows arch and his mouth tightens into a little "o" as recognition dawns on him.
"We've met, haven't we?" he asks. He points at me and shakes his hand a few times as the memories return, but this is Mumen Rider that we're talking about and he quits it when he realizes that some find pointing rude. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Just... you were there in the alley with the petals... and... you picked me up when I fell by all of those posters, didn't you?"
I snap my fingers with a smile and tell him, "Bingo. When you needed help, I lent a hand or gave you a little sign. It was the best that I could do, under the circumstances. I can't live where you came from for long."
He laughs and smiles, and it's one of those pure things that you don't see in these parts very often. He tells me, "You know who I am, but we haven't been formally introduced. I'm Mumen Rider, the Cyclist For Justice. I never knew my dad, but my mom named me Tanaka. Nobody calls me that anymore. I used to ride a motorcycle for my patrols until I lost my license, so everyone started calling me the Rider Without a License. Do you do handshakes here?"
It all comes out so fast and nervous that I can't help but smile a little even though I'm about to give him some bad news. I hate breaking it to people like him. They're always so sad after...
"We don't really do a whole lot of anything around here," I tell him, both nodding and shaking my head at the same time in an impossible gesture that he just rolls with. "But you can interpret it that way."
Mumen Rider extends his hand. I rise without standing and take it firmly, shaking.
"Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" he asks.
He sees the long sigh and catches both the amusement and the sadness in it. I kind of shake my head and tell him, "I also have many names. But I'll be honest: you're the kind of person who'd accept my most recognizable one. I don't have to pretend to be someone else and hide it from you."
He tilts his head in a way and asks, "What would that be?"
I smile.
"Death."
Mumen Rider flinches, as much as he can without a real body, but he doesn't let go of my hand or break his smile. He just looks around himself – at the infinite garden of cherry blossoms, at the sea without end, at the dancing stars – and sighs.
"Life is but a dream..." he sings ruefully, the meaning sinking in. "I... I had a hunch that you were something like that. I don't know how, but..."
I flick him in the forehead. He doesn't feel pain, and he knows that it's not really what happens, but it's just a little imposition to draw him back to the moment. He stares down at me, perplexed, and meets my eyes again.
"It's because you've woken up," I tell him. "Everyone wakes up in the end."
"They call death the long sleep," he says, still coming to grips with the news. "And they wonder what dreams may come when we've shuffled off the mortal coil. And... I've been here before. Not... not before before, like you're saying, but... I..."
He turns me around to face the tree and points at it.
"That," he tells me. "I remember that. And I remember you sitting at its feet, like you were when I woke up just now! When the building fell on me! With that monster, and the Blond Bomber. I... I dreamed of this place!"
I shake my head and laugh a little, which makes him flinch as much as one can flinch without a real body or nerves to shake.
"No," I tell him. "No, you died."
"I died," he says in the most simple, matter-of-fact tone that you can imagine.
"You died," I tell him just as succinctly.
He ponders this for a moment during which a galaxy flares into life and burns out.
"Was I not good-enough for you?" he asks half-serious, and I bark out laughing from the absurdity of it. "Were you not entertained? Did you want to watch me suffer a little more before collecting for good? What, are you going to throw me back for your continued amusement? Is that what's going to happen now?"
"No," I snort. "No, no, no. You don't get it. I didn't throw you back. You saw Tomoe in desperate need of help, and you didn't let me stop you from going back. Mumen Rider, in his quest for justice, was too strong for Death to take."
"No," he tells me. "You pushed me back. I remember the wind and the cherry blossoms..."
"Nope," I say. "Well, yes, you remember the wind and flowers. But they're not what pulled you back. That was all you. I just guided you back when I saw that I couldn't get a hold of you."
He strongly fights the urge to let go of my hand, realizing only now that he never let me go.
"Oh, go ahead, you're already mine," I tell him, stifling laughter. He's been so courteous, and it just wouldn't be polite to mock him, would it? "But trust me. This time, I'm for keeps."
"The children!" he blurts, looking to the forest of cherry blossoms. "I've got to...!"
"You saved the children," I tell him, putting a hand on his shoulder. I turn him to face me and say, "You were crushed dead by a building. But, because you didn't know that Mitsubishi Tomoe would be safe, your burning drive to make things right let you come back to settle the matter."
The sea-breeze whips up the petals into a ring, showering us in pink and white.
"You pulled five children from my grasp," I tell him softly, despite my grip tightening like the end of the world. "You saved them from every kind of human evil. You got them out of harm's way. You're pretty sure that they'll find the help they need. And they will. Saitama is finishing what you started in Ghost Town, the police are kicking down doors across the city, and Blizzard and her gang are breaking what the police can't get."
My hands slip over his. He tightens his grip for comfort in a trying time. I squeeze back.
"Trust me, Mumen Rider," I tell him. "You've done everything that you can, and that tether to the life you knew has been broken."
"What now?" he asks as he accepts the inevitable. "What happens next?"
"You were the Sakura," I tell him. I guide his hands to the trunk of the barren hill cherry tree and say, "The cherry blossoms that burst into life, only to fall upon the careless soil. But sad though the end may be, your brief dance down gladdened me. Finally, someone appreciated the message of the flowers. Someone got the fact that things aren't worthless because they don't last forever. That's your legacy, Mumen Rider. You've taught a lot of people the lesson. And because of that..."
I pull his hand from his barren tree and place them against a sapling.
"Mitsubishi Tomoe..."
I guide him to a tree that's not much larger.
"Toshikawa Gorou..."
And another...
"Daihatsu Toshi..."
I gesture to the forest at large.
"The names may not mean much to you, but this should," I tell him. "All of these trees are lives you've saved. All of them lasting for a moment, but whose seeds will create new forests. All of them knowing the value of what you gave to save them. They owe you their lives, but there's only one thing that you can do for them now..."
There's a rumbling unlike any other, and Mumen Rider whirls around wide-eyed. He sees the foaming water and smells the salt-spray in the wind. He feels the ground shaking underfoot and tastes the loose soil in the air. And finally, finally he sees the waves crashing against the cliff. The briny water smashes rock, plows away soil, and rips his tree's roots from the ground. The tree teeters on the edge for a moment – a moment lasting a lifetime, but a moment nonetheless – and falls to the black tide.
"...get out of their way," I say softly. "Time erodes the ground from under everyone, but you can't put down roots again without claiming space that belongs to someone else."
"I..." Mumen Rider pauses. He tries to think of some argument against my words. Then he tries to think of something to say in agreement. Nothing comes when he approaches it from either direction. It's all just so big and sudden for him to handle. He finally settles on, "I don't know what to say..."
I take him by the arm and lead him to the shore. I've got a little boat waiting. Just big-enough for the two of us. Just strong enough to find the other end of the universe.
"You've got eternity to figure it out," I say. "But for now, it's time to rest. I'll row."
He stares down at the boat in silence for a long time. Then he nods his head: I can't go back, but I can leave something behind.
"She'll need this," he says, removing his helmet. After a moment, he pulls off his goggles as well. "This too. Safety first..."
He turns back the way he came and hurls them as hard as he can. The wind takes them, and they sail far beyond his reach.
^V^V^V^
It seems like everybody came to Mumen Rider's funeral.
Politicians, dignitaries, businessmen, teachers, children, firefighters, policemen, athletes... Mumen Rider touched a lot of lives, and they flooded the temple to pay their respects. Everyone knew someone that Mumen Rider saved. If they didn't, then they knew someone who knew someone who Mumen Rider had saved. Or, if not them, then... well, in a moment of black comedy, someone made a game of it: Six Degrees of Mumen Rider.
The professional heroes liked to play the game, and there sure were a lot of them. Everyone from the lowly Class C that Mumen Rider championed all the way up to the demigods in Class S made appearances. The highlight of the event had to be Amai Mask singing a dirge for his fellow comrade in arms.
"He lost more fights than he won," the faceman of the Hero Association had said at the beginning of his set. "But he gave more to his cause than those more powerful than him dared, and in so doing he dignified heroes everywhere. He will forever be a paragon for others to hold themselves against. This next song is from my most recent album, available now for download through my website..."
Men and women. Boys and girls. Adults and children. Humans and demigods. But, when she got past all that, there was one group that hadn't shown up.
Family.
Watanabe Tanaka, as it turns out Mumen Rider was born, didn't have much in the way of relatives. His father disappeared when he was only a month old and nobody knew who he was. His mother died in a car accident in his early teens. Aside from a single maternal aunt with dementia, nobody could find a branch in Mumen Rider's family tree worth pulling on. Journalists and talk show personalities had a field day with that, spitballing theories on how the young man's lack of a home-life and familial background might explain his rise to heroism.
And this mystery presents a unique problem. You see, we're well after the funeral now. We're well after the public grief, well after the talk shows, well after the benefit concerts and news cycles have finished with him. None of these things really take that long because there are always other things for the media to fixate on: things more immediately pressing. In the end, the Ministry of Health cared the longest because they had to deal with Mumen Rider's remains.
Legally, there has to be a witness. Whenever someone's cremated in City Z, there has to be someone present who can identify the body rolled into the furnace and verify that its name matches the one that'll go on the urn. Mumen Rider had a very distinctive face, even with that helmet and those goggles, but the preference was for someone who actually knew the victim to witness the event, and it was especially preferable for that someone to be a family member. But... well, we return to the problem. They held off on lighting the furnaces as long as they could, but the only family member left to witness the necessary evil has dementia and wouldn't recognize her nephew from a jar of peanut butter with a green lid. They know this because that's exactly what happened.
Mumen Rider faced death daily. It was a fact of life that he had to consider, and it turns out that he did so long ago. When the authorities looked through his apartment, they found his will and discovered that he'd picked out his own witness a month ago.
Mitsubishi Yuki wasn't on the will. Neither were her parents. Mumen Rider only learned of them on the day of his death and he'd only met Yuki. Nevertheless, since they weren't going with a family member anyways, somebody decided that it was only fitting for someone whose life he'd died to save should also be at the crematorium when they perform the final, ghastly deed. Circumstances being what they are, the family of that person came in her stead. So, coming from worlds apart, you can imagine that Yuki has no idea who the disheveled, hairless man in a poorly-fitted suit sitting next to her on the bench is. Understandably, she wants to know more.
"How did you know him?" Yuki asks after a terribly long moment of silence. Her parents snap their gazes her way in disapproval. One, because they don't trust the man with an utterly disreputable look. Two, because they really shouldn't be chatting idly while in the same room as a dead man. But the concrete room's stuffy and her black dress is stifling, and she has to do something to take her mind off of how uncomfortable this all is. "Old guy?"
"We worked together," the man says simply because his mind's elsewhere. His eyes – hollow and sunken – fix the coffin across the chamber, flanked by white lilies. To his disappointment, Mumen Rider hasn't kicked open the lid yet. It sounds like a perfectly in-character thing for him to do. "And we were classmates."
"Really?" Yuki asks, kicking her feet. "You knew him before he was Mumen Rider?"
"He was always Mumen Rider," The bald man scoffs. "He just didn't know it yet. First day of junior high together, he was late to class because he wasn't used to biking that far. So, when all of the other teachers and students were in their classrooms, he was in the right place at the right time to see a bunch of bullies beating up some kids for lunch money and stopped it. Tried to, anyways. Man, they beat the shit out of us..."
Yuki looks back and forth between the man and the coffin. Something sad wells up inside of her, something foreboding. And something else, too. Something like... pride, maybe? That her hero was always who she thought he was?
"It sounds like a preview of his career," Yuki says, joining the man in staring across the room. "Doing what needed doing even if it didn't do any good."
"He did do good," the man says slowly. His features seem to sharpen a bit: some little pang of emotion sculpts that formless potato of a face into something human. Something that almost bristles with offense. "He saved your life, didn't he?"
Yuki flinches and pulls away from him a little. She starts to say something, but her mother quickly overrides her with, "He saved her sister. Tomoe couldn't be here..."
The man's sharp gaze switches from Yuki to her mother and he demands, "Why? Why isn't she here? She should be here to see this. She should-"
Fast and angry, the mother shouts, "Tomoe was thrown to the wolves and saw a man die to protect her! She doesn't have to see the fire take him!"
Mr. Mitsubishi puts his hand on hers and settles her down. Almost accusatorily, mostly apologetic, he looks at the bald man with hooded eyes and says, "She's in witness protection. Until she's safe, that's where she'll stay. We won't let Mumen Rider's sacrifice be in vain. We won't advertise her location out of sentiment. We're not losing her to the mobsters again for shame. The other families are in hiding, but we're here. We're here for him because she can't. Isn't that enough?"
The bald man and the parents stare off for a while. It's a match that the man loses. His features fall out of focus again, and soon he's just that expressionless lump of apathy. Without saying a word of apology, his eyes just slide away from theirs and stare at the coffin again. That hacks off the Mitsubishis more than anything.
"Don't talk to him," Yuki's mother tells her. "Just be quiet..."
This is, of course, the perfect moment for an attendant in a suit to burst into the room. The stout and dapper man slowly says, "We're ready to begin. Mitsubishi Rei? Mitsubishi Shinji? Are you ready?"
The two parents nod.
"And... Saitama... Saitama?" the man looks back and forth between the bald man and a clipboard in consternation. "Is that your first name, or your last name?"
"Man," the man in question throws up his hands. "I don't even fucking know anymore."
"Well, are you ready?" the attendant asks. All that he gets is a glare in response. "Well, alright then. Let's start..."
"Wait," Yuki says, blinking. "What about me?"
The attendant checks his list and tells her, "Who are you?"
"Mitsubishi Yuki," she tells him. "I'm-"
"I apologize, but you aren't on the list," the attendant tells her. "Legally, we can't have you in there."
Yuki looks toward the sliding steel doors near the coffin. They're just in the antechamber: the furnace lies beyond. It's just a couple of meters away, but he's telling her that it may as well be on the moon to her.
"Then why did I come?" she asks. "Why did you...?"
"Wait here," her mother tells her. "It won't be long."
Yuki protests. It doesn't do her much good. The adults mostly ignore her and soon they're wheeling the coffin through those doors and Yuki's left all alone. That's the hard part. Without anything else to focus on, without anything to take her mind off of it, that sad feeling rises up and overpowers the pride.
He was my hero, Yuki thinks as something hot and wet wells up in her eyes. Now he's gone. Now he's nothing...
"He was a lot of things to a lot of people," a smooth, powerful voice tells her. "It's okay if it takes time to sort it out."
Yuki's gaze snaps upward to meet the piercing green eyes of a tall raven-haired woman in a black dress. Anyone passingly familiar with the Hero Association will recognize her, and Yuki's a member of a fallen hero's fan club, so...
"Hellish Blizzard?" Yuki asks. "What are you...? Why are you...?"
"He's my friend," Blizzard says, taking a seat next to the young girl. "I had to be here for him."
"You can't go in," Yuki says, sniffling. "They only want people on their list to see the-"
"Oh, no," Blizzard interjects. "No, no. I know that. I already said my goodbye at the funeral, and my people are tying up the loose ends. I'm here for Saitama."
"Saitama?" Yuki asks. "The rude old guy? Why are you here for him? Why are you friends with him?"
Blizzard actually smiles at that. It takes Yuki off-guard.
"You haven't seen him at his best," Blizzard tells her. "I have. And he's hurting, just like you. You've got your friends and parents to be there for you, but Saitama doesn't have a lot of people. Mumen Rider would be there for him if he could, but..."
Blizzard shakes her head ruefully.
"Don't judge people based on how they act while grieving," Blizzard says simply. "How's your sister doing?"
The change of topic is so sudden that Yuki gets whiplash from it. She gapes like a fish for a few seconds before saying, "She's... fine... I only saw her for a little before the police took her away..."
"Oh boy," Blizzard says. She looks Yuki in the face, points at her own eyes, points towards Yuki's, and tells her, "From one girl who saw her sister get taken away to another, here's some advice: let her know that you're there. Don't force her to come hunting for you. Just let her know that you may have your own life now and can't spend all of it with her, but you're there when she needs it and that'll never change. I'm not saying that your sister will turn into the most powerful esper in the world and develop a complex, but..."
"Wait, what?"
The steel doors slide open, and everyone but Mumen Rider comes back out again. The attendant leaves in respectful silence, making no eye contact and passing like a ghost. Yuki's parents walk out, drained and emotionless, and take her by the hand to lead her home. And Saitama... well, her parents are leading her out before she knows it so she doesn't really get a good look at what Saitama does, but she catches a brief glimpse of a stony and blind gaze, and of Blizzard rushing towards him.
"Are you alright?" Blizzard asks.
"I found his bike," Saitama says. "I know that they couldn't burn it, but why not his helmet? Why did they put him in a suit? Where was his helmet? Where were his goggles? Where...?"
"It's alright, Saitama," Blizzard tells him. The voice is quieter now, through distance and sadness. "It's alright..."
"Why couldn't they...?" Saitama mumbles. He doesn't sound confused, but lost. Saitama's not there anymore. He's an empty suit voicing a stream of thoughts from a mind that just can't handle the disappointment anymore. "I could've spared five minutes... five minutes and he'd still be alive... I can't punch the problem away... he's on the other side and he doesn't have his helmet..."
"Let it out," Blizzard says sadly. "It's okay to feel..."
Someone starts crying, and Yuki doesn't know who it is. She just knows that the world feels a whole lot emptier.
^V^V^V^
Life goes on.
It has to. It can't stop and wait forever. I'm the sudden stop at the end, but you've got an awful lot of living before I come for you. And Yuki's painfully aware of just how much longer she has left.
"Huff... huff..."
Now, the air's not as hot and heavy as it was a couple of weeks ago when this story began, but it's still plenty hot. The mercury's going to hit 25 degrees Celsius by noon, and that's pretty hot when you never applied yourself in Physical Education and you've got to bike ten kilometers in July.
Really, she never applied herself that much in any of her classes and her parents didn't really care much. Now, though, they've got all of these concerns about her future, knowing that their daughters could disappear or die at any moment. They want them to get into good high schools and find promising careers, and Yuki can't do that with C's on her report cards. So... remedial classes it is.
They don't send the Corgi Bus for students like her. And she'd be damned if she could remember which twenty bus stops she has to take each morning to get to school through the normal routes, so biking really is the best answer. She just wishes that she got more exercise before deciding, "No, mom, I can do it myself! Don't worry!"
So, that's how Mitsubishi Yuki finds herself trundling along, out of breath, two blocks from her school.
"No, dad... huff..." she tells nobody in particular. "I'm just going to be an... urgh... idol... huff… No need... huff... no need... huff... no need to study...! Ugh-hff... You're too cool for school, Yuki... wheeeeeeeze... you can sing your way... ugh... to fortune and fame... huff!"
A block short of the target, she pretty much gives out. Sagging over the handlebars, the young girl in a sweaty uniform pulls off her helmet and drops it, letting an unseasonably cool breeze that smells like blossoms rustle her hair and take some of the oppression away. She pants a few times and, once a bit of queasiness passes, looks at a stop sign at the next intersection. A pigeon's staring at her, tilting its head in confusion.
"Coo?"
Yuki's eyes narrow.
The bird flies away like it's the easiest thing in the world.
"Don't mock me," Yuki growls. "I... hurngh... I can make it on my own! I... huff... I'm going... urgh... I'm going to freaking die..."
She pulls out her phone and stares at it few a few seconds. It's 9:14am. Classes start at 8:50, so she's making a poor first impression as it is, isn't she? Might as well make it look like she meant to do that. She can't do that if she's out of breath, so...
"Let's break," she says, laughing and hyperventilating all at the same time. "Start the day off strong! I'm... huff... almost thirteen and I'm goinnnnnng to die of a h-h-heart attack... wheeeeeeeeze... FML, Yuki. FML."
She didn't take her phone out to use it like an actual phone, but, while she's got it in hand, she figures that she might as well do that. None of her friends are awake at this ungodly hour, and it's not like she can call her parents. Yeah, that call would go over well. "Hey, dad! Tell mom that I'm getting an awesome start on my education by not being in class! See you in a few hours, I'm going to work in a brothel when I'm older, bye!"
But, the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that there's one person that she can call.
"I h-hope you're there," Yuki mutters as she waits for an answer. Ring, ring, ring...
"I speak, I speak," a little girl on the other end of the line tells her.
"Hey, Tomoe," Yuki says. "Hope you're well. I..."
"...this is Tomoe, and I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave your name, number, and a message after the beep. Thanks for calling. Goodbye!"
And then a robotic voice like a chain-smoker gargling gravel.
"This phone is being monitored by the police. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have been advised of your rights: proceed at your own risk."
Beeeeeep!
Yuki glares straight ahead, gritting her teeth for a good while before realizing that her sister's voicemail and the police are recording her aggravated silence. She wishes that there was an answer, but she guesses that voicemail's how it's going to have to be.
"Hey, Tomoe," Yuki says breathlessly, fighting to still her heart and not keel over. "It's me again. I hope that they're treating you well, wherever they have you right now. I'm fine. Late for class, you know? Nothing's really changed in that regard, hah... Be good, okay? I know that it can't be easy, but I hope you're well. I hope to see you again soon. It's just not the same without you. Maybe we can..."
Clatter!
You don't live in the projects for long before you learn the sound of trash cans being thrown around. Or, more accurately, someone being thrown into a trash can. There's this certain kind of crunching sound mixed with the echoing of tinny bells and a wok wok wok sound as the lid rolls away. The discus of metal rolls out of the faculty parking lot and falls over into the street.
"...sorry, Tomoe, gotta go!" Yuki says as chipper as can be and hangs up. She hesitates, debating whether to investigate or keep going.
"Heeeeeey, new kids!" an older boy's voice booms out after the lid. "Do you know why we brought you out behind the school?"
Crunch!
That's not the sound of bones breaking, but it sure must've hurt a lot, whatever it was. Still had something to do with the garbage cans, that's all that Yuki really knows. Truth be told, she doesn't want to know more. Yuki heads forward, half-riding the bicycle and half-walking it. She tries to keep her head straight and ignore the sounds coming from the parking lot. For the love of Blast, she tries not to catch sight of what's happening inside.
"No-no," Yuki hears a smaller voice – boy or girl, it doesn't matter: it just sounds hurt and scared – half-speak, half-whimper.
"We're a little short on cash," says the big guy. Somewhere in the parking lot, another boy laughs. It sounds less like a human and more like a freight train blowing its horn, he's so loud.
It's not your problem, Yuki says, closing her eyes and passing the gate. Just keep going. Juuuuuust keep going. Not much that a little girl like you can do now anyhow.
"Uh," a boy's voice whimpers, followed by another boy stuttering, "Um… m-money...?"
"Can you do something to help us out?" the second boy – the one who was laughing – asks cheerily with an undertone of violence. One that basically says, 'I can bench press a truck. What do you think that I can do to your leg?'
Yuki, despite her best efforts, peeks. She sees pretty much exactly what she was expecting. Two upperclassmen – boys old enough to drink legally, by the looks of them – with their uniform sleeves ripped off stand over a trio of boys and girls about her age. They're all banged up, one of the boys has a cut on his forehead, the girl's clutching her arm, and the last boy's curled up amongst some trash cans.
"Nope!"Yuki says, quickening her pace and passing the gate without a second glance. "I'm not going to tangle with that! That looks like a mistake and I've made enough of those today! Nope, nope, nope!"
Bang!
"AAAAAAAAGH!"
There's this sound like a brick slamming into a rack of beef on a meat hook, repeated after every syllable of, "How! Much! Have! You! Got!" and accented by screams and shrieks.
"I don't have any!" the girl shouts, followed by a shriek as a dress shoe connects with her abdomen.
Time seems to slow. Yuki doesn't look back, but she doesn't go forward either. The moment of hesitation's caught up to her. What was an easy decision a moment ago becomes an ordeal. She's going to get her skull bashed in if she sticks around. She's never going to be able to live with herself if she keeps going. She has a really pretty face and she doesn't want it messed up. The guilt's going to haunt her all week, at least...
Protect the head, she tells herself. It's the first thing that you learn when riding a bicycle, scooter, motorcycle... any kind of vehicle that leaves you exposed. It's why helmets should be mandatory.
She looks behind her. She knows that she dropped her helmet back there, but she'll be damned if she can see it. Did it roll away? Did somebody grab it? Well, there's no time to go back and search for it. The bike rack's right there, anyways. And just her luck, somebody left a perfectly good helmet and even some goggles hanging from the corner. She'll have to brush off the pink petals that cling to them, but they'll do.
"But you do at home, don't you?" the second boy demands, standing directly over the girl with a foot planted on her shoulder. One boy headlocked in each arm, the other bully chuckles. He lets them watch. He wants them to see this. He wants them to get the message.
The girl nods her head, shielding her face with her bloody hands. She's curled up, trying to present as small a target as she can to him. She can't muster up the courage or fire to say anything. All that comes out is this low sound halfway between a sob and a whimper.
"Do you know who we are?" the first bully asks. "We're the-"
"Justice Crash!"
Clonk!
Everybody's so focused on the sight of the beaten girl on the ground that they never see the impact. But looking up, they do see a goggled madwoman in a green helmet bringing a bicycle down on the young man and slamming the wheel into his gut. Everyone's too stunned to react. Especially the guy who's puking up his breakfast. Eggs and rice. Tasted better going down.
The other bully – the one with the boys in the headlock – opens his mouth to ask a question. I guess that it doesn't matter what it was because he never gets it out. It's drowned out by the shrill, angry voice of a young heroine as she rushes toward the danger.
Mumen Rider is dead.
Long live Mumen Rider.
THE END
^V^V^V^
Author Notes
(Originally uploaded on Thursday, July 25th, 2019)
(Replacing an epilogue posted on Thursday, July 18th, 2019)
(Re-edited and re-uploaded on Friday, January 31st, 2020)
To say that this was the original ending that I had in mind when I wrote this story is to be disingenuous. To say that it's the third or fifth is also a lie. But, I had a lot of ideas going forward into the ending, and this was certainly one of them. I originally planned to have Mumen Rider survive and make a full recovery. Then I contemplated having him die and have Tomoe take up the bike. Then I thought about maybe having him survive with a disability, and Tomoe becomes his apprentice. Then Yuki was created on almost a spur of the moment and I thought that maybe I'd have her become the next Mumen Rider. Then I thought about going back to Mumen Rider living and forgetting about Yuki because I'm kind of afraid of creating a Mary Sue. And then I thought that I'd kill him off but save the question of what happened to those he left behind for a sequel, meaning that I didn't have to worry about who takes up the helmet next. That's ultimately the one that I actually went with.
But, while I liked that ending, the fact is that it doesn't really wrap things up. It felt incomplete, and my one reviewer (Thanks again, Maelaerian!) agreed. I let it sit for most of a week before convincing myself that I had to do something about the original ending. If you missed it, it was basically the first half of this chapter, plus a whole lot of cosmology and talk about reincarnation and alluding to a failed god fighting a menace below City Z in a sequel that I'm not sure I'll ever got around to. It handily explained what happened to Mumen Rider (he basically achieved Nirvana and became one with the Universe) but just wasn't a satisfying answer. I could have some of that (just so long as I didn't go overboard) but I had to answer some questions about what happened to Tomoe and the other missing children, how the world reacted to Mumen Rider's death, and tie up one or two other plot threads left unresolved throughout the story. So, here I am at the ending.
Again.
My next story, if I write one, is going to be a continuation of this one. It's not going to follow Yuki as the second Mumen Rider, but, if there's a need for Mumen Rider to show up and do the kind of thing that Mumen Rider needs to do, then Mumen Rider's going to appear as a thirteen-year-old girl just starting her Hero's Journey. The focus is going to go back to Saitama, the One-Punch Man, and the things that he has to deal with in a world where his best friend (Mumen Rider was everyone's best friend) is dead. I pulled a few ideas for that sequel and put them into the epilogue here, but I think that you'll like seeing things from another angle in the future.
A couple of notes to share. The first is that Tanaka isn't, as far as I know, Mumen Rider's real name. As I went along, I realized that I couldn't get around the issue and I had to invent one for him. So, we got Tanaka. If One ever reveals that he even has a real name, I'll look pretty foolish. For now... well, I'm going to stick with it.
Before I go, I'd like to thank a few people. The first is Rougescribe, aka Mira, aka Cahadras, who I met through this site almost 16 years ago – half my life! – and stuck with me for the long and chaotic ride into adulthood. I may not have turned out half as functional a person without her help (which, admittedly, is still not very functional, but she tried). I'd also like to thank Ben, aka Sir Tasnica, for helping me work out many, many personal issues when things fell to pieces over the last couple of years. He didn't seem to hold it against me, which I'm thankful for beyond relief. Penultimately, I'd like to thank Maelaerian: the guy who reviewed literally every chapter that I wrote, often within hours of uploading. It's hard to write in the public forum when you don't have an audience, and Maelaerian helped assure me that there was someone out there, hopefully enjoying the story. You made it worth continuing.
Lastly, I'd like to thank everyone else who got this far. Thanks for sticking it out to the end of what is, I fully admit, a really morbid tale. Let me know if you liked the story, if you'd like to see more, or just say hello. Hello's always nice. I like hello's.
I regret to announce that this is the end. I'm going, now. I bid you all a very fond farewell. Goodbye.
Best/Dan
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It's a long ride. It's no ride at all. Time doesn't really mean so much when you're dead.
But, when you reach the end of the world, you know it. The stars have all blinked by and everything's gone cold and dark. Tanaka the Rider Without a License has found the end of the Universe, and he steps off the boat into the beginning of the new one. He can't help but take one last look behind, and what he sees startles him.
"What is that?!" he demands, grabbing me by the shoulder and turning me around. "What is that?!"
It's a titan. A giant over giants, so utterly gargantuan that it towers over everything that is and ever will be. The three eyes of its head shine with all the light of the cosmos, and something greater besides. It's powerful: more powerful than anything that the universe could hope to produce. So powerful that you can only find it when you've gone outside of everything. From his vantage point, Mumen Rider sees the thing looming deep under the Universe like a centipede in the dark, fixing its brilliant gaze upon the pale blue dot that he left behind so long and a moment ago. The look on its face isn't kind.
"That?" I ask. "That's the closest thing to a god that your universe ever produced. He's waited for eons for someone to come along that can give him a worthy fight. Now Saitama's emerged in his dreams, and he's begun to stir from his slumber. He's looking forward to waking up."
The hero stares at the monster for a long time. Then he smiles.
"Saitama can kill him," Mumen Rider declares. "There's nothing that he can't defeat in one punch."
"You're right," I tell him. "But he can only kill it if he makes that punch."
He stares at me, honestly nervous for the first time in a long time, and asks, "Will he?"
I smile with fragility, take his hand, and lead him beyond the end of the world.
"I don't know."