I don't know how much longer I can keep going. My paws are shredded from hours of sprinting across jagged concrete, my fur is matted with dirt, and exhaustion gnaws at every muscle in my tiny, miserable body.

This whole day has been one long, terrible joke. And the punchline? I'm completely, utterly lost.

I collapse beside a stack of garbage cans, panting softly, wondering if this is how my heroic career ends—curled up in an alley somewhere, forgotten by the world. Maybe the papers will call me the first hero to die in the line of duty as a cat.

But just as I'm about to resign myself to becoming a permanent alley dweller, I see him.

A dark figure crouches by a group of stray cats, setting out little bowls of food with the kind of resigned patience only someone deeply exhausted could have. Messy black hair, a ratty old scarf slung around his neck, a familiar scowl etched across his face.

No way.

My heart stutters, and for a second, I think I must be hallucinating. But no. It's him.

Aizawa-sensei.

I almost let out an involuntary purr out of sheer joy, but I catch myself. He's here. He's real. And maybe... just maybe, he can fix this mess.

I try to get to my feet, but my legs wobble like wet noodles. Instead, I awkwardly flop over and let out the most pitiful meow I've ever heard—somewhere between "Help me" and "Please don't step on me."

Aizawa's sharp eyes flick in my direction, his gaze cold and calculating, as if assessing whether I'm a stray worth his time. For a second, I think he might recognize me.

But nope. He just sighs. "Another one, huh?"

He reaches into the pocket of his worn coat and pulls out more cat food. I shuffle closer, trying to stay on the edge of the group so the other cats don't shove me aside. My body aches with every movement, but the smell of food makes my stomach rumble so loudly I swear one of the other cats glares at me.

Aizawa sets down a small dish within my reach, and I practically dive into it, wolfing down every bite. This might be the most glorious meal I've ever eaten.

He watches us eat with that familiar, tired expression, as if feeding stray animals at dawn is just another part of his routine. Which, knowing Aizawa, it probably is. He reaches out to pet one of the friendlier cats—a scruffy tabby that purrs as soon as his hand touches it.

A small part of me feels betrayed. Why does that cat get affection while I get nothing? I let out a frustrated little meow, hoping he'll notice me again.

He glances my way, one brow raised. "You're a needy one."

If only you knew, Sensei. If only you knew.

Still, he doesn't give me the attention I so desperately want. Instead, he finishes handing out food and scratches a couple more cats behind the ears, his expression softening ever so slightly. It's strange seeing him like this—quiet, at peace. Almost... content.

I take a step forward, meowing again, but Aizawa just stretches and stands up, brushing off his coat.

"Well, I've got work to do," he mutters, as if apologizing to the cats. He glances at me one last time, then turns to leave.

My heart sinks. No, no, no! Don't leave!

I try to follow, but my paws ache too much to keep up, and I stumble awkwardly. I let out a pathetic squeak of frustration, but he's already walking away, his scarf trailing behind him as he disappears around the corner.

I slump down on the cold pavement, feeling utterly defeated.

So close. I was so close! He was right there, and I couldn't even manage to get his attention.

I let out a small, frustrated sigh, curling into a ball beside the empty food dish. The other cats slowly wander off, well-fed and content, while I lie there in the alley, wondering how my life became this.

I may be dirty, tired, and covered in scratches, but one thing is clear: I need Aizawa-sensei's help. I don't know how to change back on my own, and if anyone can figure this out, it's him.