Aizawa's version of making breakfast was... chaotic, to say the least. Watching him move around the kitchen like a zombie with bedhead was equal parts entertaining and concerning.

He fumbled with the coffee maker first, muttering something about "Nezu ruining mornings" under his breath. I watched from my perch on the stool, tail swishing in anticipation.

The toaster was next. He jammed two slices of bread into it with the grace of someone who had clearly lost a wrestling match with kitchen appliances in the past. When the toaster refused to cooperate—probably due to crumbs clogging it—he smacked the side of it.

Oh, Aizawa-sensei, I thought, shaking my head. Even the toaster is tired of your nonsense.

Once the toast popped up, slightly burnt, Aizawa grabbed a tub of butter from the fridge and slapped it on the counter. He started spreading it on the toast in the most aggressive manner I'd ever seen.

Calm down, man. The toast didn't ruin your life.

That's when I saw it.

The bacon.

Golden, crispy strips of perfection sitting on a plate, forgotten while Aizawa grumbled over his burnt toast. My nose twitched, and my stomach let out a loud growl.

This is it, Izuku, I thought, narrowing my eyes. This is your time to shine.

I crouched low, calculating the distance between the stool and the counter. The bacon glistened in the morning light like a prize waiting to be claimed.

Aizawa had his back turned, still complaining to the toaster as he buttered the second slice.

Perfect.

With a leap worthy of an Olympic medal, I soared through the air and landed on the counter. My paws barely made a sound as I inched closer to my prize.

Just as I was about to sink my teeth into the bacon, Aizawa turned around.

"Hey!" he barked, his voice startlingly sharp.

I froze, one paw hovering over the plate, my ears flattening against my head.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, pointing the butter knife at me like a sword.

I gave him my best innocent look, tilting my head and letting out a soft mew.

"Oh, no," he said, crossing his arms. "Don't give me that. You're not getting my bacon."

Watch me, I thought, swiping at a strip with lightning speed.

The bacon hit the floor, and I was on it in an instant. Aizawa groaned, muttering something about "ungrateful cats" as I devoured the strip like it was my last meal.

"Fine," he said, tossing another piece onto the floor. "Take it. Maybe then you'll stop being such a little menace."

I purred triumphantly, munching on the second strip while Aizawa went back to his toast.

As he sat down at the table with his breakfast and coffee, I hopped onto the chair across from him, staring him down.

"What now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I meowed, long and drawn out, just to make a point.

"You already ate," he said, gesturing to the empty plate on the floor.

I meowed again, louder this time.

"Don't tell me you're still hungry," he groaned.

I blinked slowly, my way of saying, Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Figure it out.

He sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

Likewise, sensei, I thought, hopping off the chair.

As he finished his meal, I made my way to the couch, curling up in my usual spot. The bacon had hit the spot, but the morning's antics had left me drained.

From my cozy position, I watched Aizawa clean up the kitchen. His movements were slow and methodical, a stark contrast to the chaos of earlier.

For a moment, the apartment was quiet, save for the sound of running water and the occasional clink of dishes.

But in the back of my mind, a question lingered.

What now?

Being a cat was starting to feel like a full-time job, but I still hadn't figured out how to tell Aizawa the truth. My days were filled with small victories and frustrating failures, and the longer this went on, the more uncertain I felt about my future.

As Aizawa walked past me, I let out a soft sigh.

One day, sensei. One day you'll understand.