I stretched lazily on the windowsill, my black fur soaking up the morning sun like a sponge. It had been days—weeks even—since I found myself stuck in this ridiculous situation. My heroic journey to UA had turned into a bizarre side quest where I was now a full-time stray-turned-housecat, living with Aizawa-sensei of all people.

Honestly, the man wasn't terrible as a roommate. He didn't bother me too much, didn't yell when I stole his bacon (often), and his apartment was weirdly cozy. But there was one thing that had been bothering me since day one.

It started weeks ago when Shoto, bless his socially awkward little heart, once randomly asked me during training, "Do you think Aizawa-sensei owns a cat?"

"Pfft, of course not," I had said, waving him off. "Aizawa-sensei? A cat? He's too grumpy for that. Cats need affection. Besides, where would he even find the time?"

Shoto had nodded solemnly, as if my words carried the wisdom of the ages. We even bet on it. The stakes? Whoever was wrong had to wear whatever Mineta picked for their next dorm movie night. I was confident. Shoto didn't stand a chance.

And then, fate laughed in my face.

Because here I was, staring at evidence.

Exhibit A: A scratching post tucked discreetly in the corner of the living room. At first, I thought it was for decor—maybe some quirky minimalist furniture. Nope. It's functional. I tested it myself.

Exhibit B: A small stack of cat toys in a basket near the couch. I found these while hunting for my stolen bacon (still salty about that, by the way). Toy mice, jingling balls, even one of those feather wands.

Exhibit C: Cat beds. Plural. There were three. One by the heater, one under his desk, and one by the couch. Who needs three cat beds?

And the pièce de résistance, Exhibit D: a drawer full of cat treats.

Let me repeat that for dramatic effect. 

Aizawa. 

Has. 

A drawer. 

Full. 

Of cat treats.

At first, I was sure I'd misunderstood. Maybe these things were for a friend's cat, or he was cat-sitting at some point. Surely, the guy wasn't secretly a cat enthusiast. But then I saw him the other day, casually dangling one of the feather wands and muttering, "You like this, don't you?"

Who was he even talking to?

The man doesn't own a cat. I know this because I am the only cat currently in this apartment, and trust me, I've looked for rivals. Yet here he is, fully stocked like he's running some underground feline daycare.

My brain short-circuited. 

Did Aizawa... secretly want a cat? 

Was this his way of coping with the absence of one?

This is Shoto's fault, I thought bitterly. He jinxed me. Now I was stuck in the world's strangest paradox: a cat living with a man who clearly prepared for one but didn't own one.

I let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping dramatically onto the windowsill. This was driving me insane.

As if on cue, Aizawa walked in, still in his casual morning clothes. He carried a fresh cup of coffee and, to my annoyance, a small plate with another strip of bacon. This one was for him, obviously.

"You've got your food," he said, glancing at me. "Don't even think about it."

I yawned loudly, pretending I couldn't care less. 

Oh no, Sensei, I'm totally not planning to swipe that the second you turn your back.

He sat down at the table, scrolling through his phone like he wasn't surrounded by cat-themed chaos. I tilted my head, watching him.

Finally, curiosity got the better of me. I hopped down from the windowsill, padding silently over to the scratching post. I gave it a single, testing scratch. My claws sank into the material with satisfying resistance.

He looked up at the sound, his eyebrow twitching slightly. "Don't ruin that," he muttered.

Oh, so it is yours, I thought, narrowing my eyes. "Mew?" I meowed back innocently, as if I hadn't just exposed his secret.

He sighed and went back to his phone, muttering something under his breath about cats being nuisances.

I decided to push my luck further. Wandering over to the basket of toys, I stuck my paw into it, fishing around until I pulled out a jingling ball. With one dramatic swipe, I sent it rolling across the floor.

Aizawa didn't even look up.

Fine. Time for the big guns. I strutted over to the drawer—the one with the cat treats—and pawed at it.

"Don't even think about it," he said again, not bothering to glance up this time.

Oh, I'm thinking about it.

I pawed at it harder, letting out a loud, insistent meow.

Finally, he set his coffee down and gave me the flattest, most unimpressed look I'd ever seen. "Do you ever relax?"

I sat down, my tail flicking smugly behind me. Not when there are mysteries to solve, Sensei.

He walked over, opened the drawer, and pulled out a treat. "Here," he said, tossing it to me. "Now leave me alone."

I caught it mid-air and chomped down triumphantly. It was pretty good, I'll admit. But this wasn't just about the treat. This was about answers.

I watched as he returned to his seat, completely unfazed by the chaos around him. The scratching post. The cat beds. The toys. He acted like all of this was normal.

You are a mystery, Aizawa-sensei, I thought, crunching the last bit of my treat. But I will figure you out.

I padded back to my spot by the window, curling up with a huff. I'd lost the bet with Shoto, but I wasn't going down without a fight. Aizawa might not own a cat, but he sure as heck acted like he did.

And now, apparently, that cat was me.