The sunlight warmed my fur, and a faint breeze drifted in, carrying the sounds of the world outside—cars honking, children laughing, and the occasional bark of a dog. It was the kind of serene moment most cats would bask in, utterly content.

But I wasn't most cats.

Inside, my mind churned like a hurricane, thoughts swirling faster than I could keep up with. I wanted to be a hero. That wasn't just a dream; it was the very core of who I was. It had been since I was a kid. Everything I'd done, every risk I'd taken, every ounce of pain I'd endured—it had all been for one goal: to save people.

And now? I was stuck in this tiny, fur-covered body, unable to do anything but bat at threads and chase dust motes.

I dug my claws into the windowsill, my tail flicking back and forth in frustration. The urge to do something burned inside me, but what could I do? No one understood me—not Aizawa, not Nezu, not even Koda. I couldn't speak. I couldn't write. I couldn't so much as point to a piece of paper without it being dismissed as "adorable cat behavior."

It wasn't adorable. It was desperate.

I turned away from the window, pacing across the room. My paws made soft thuds against the floor, a rhythm to match my racing thoughts.

There had to be a way. There was always a way. That's what being a hero was about, right? Finding solutions when none seemed possible. Overcoming impossible odds.

I paused, sitting down in the middle of the room, my tail curling around me.

Could I be a hero like this?

The idea seemed ridiculous. Heroes were supposed to be strong, brave, larger than life. I was...a cat. A scrawny, green-eyed furball who couldn't even open a door without help.

But then I thought about the fight where I'd used One for All. My paws tingled at the memory of the power surging through me, the way the black lightning had crackled and danced, more intense and wild than ever before. I'd saved Aizawa that night. Me, a cat, had done something no one else could.

Maybe I couldn't be a hero in the way I'd always imagined. Maybe I couldn't wear the uniform or shout "SMASH!" at the top of my lungs. But did that mean I couldn't save people? Did it mean I couldn't try?

I stood, determination sparking in my chest.

I had a quirk. I had instincts. I had a brain that was just as sharp as ever. If I could figure out how to use all of that together, maybe—just maybe—I could find a way to help.

Of course, there was the small issue of Aizawa not understanding me at all.

My ears flattened as I thought about him. For all his grumbling and sighing, he wasn't a bad guy. He was kind, in his own gruff way, and I could tell he cared about me—even if he didn't realize who I really was. But his inability to see past "dramatic cat behavior" was driving me insane.

How many times had I tried to communicate with him? A dozen? A hundred? And every single time, he just raised an eyebrow and muttered something about how cats were "needy little tyrants."

I let out an exasperated meow, as if he could hear my frustration from the other room.

If Aizawa wasn't going to figure it out, then I'd have to take matters into my own paws.

I hopped back up onto the windowsill, gazing out at the city again. Heroes were out there right now, saving lives, fighting villains, making a difference. That was where I belonged. Not cooped up in this apartment, chasing my tail and waiting for something to change.

The question was, how?

How could I turn my dream into reality when no one even knew who—or what—I really was?

My mind raced with possibilities. Maybe I could figure out a way to write, even with paws. Or maybe I could use One for All to show Aizawa I wasn't just an ordinary cat.

But even as I considered those ideas, doubts crept in. What if Aizawa thought I was just some quirked-up animal? What if he tried to hand me over to Nezu or Recovery Girl again, thinking I was some experiment gone wrong?

I sighed, resting my chin on the windowsill.

It was a gamble, no matter how I looked at it. But what choice did I have? Giving up wasn't an option. It never had been.

I watched a bird flutter past the window, its wings catching the light in a way that made them look golden. It was so free, soaring wherever it pleased, unburdened by doubt or fear.

I wanted that.

No, I wanted more than that. I wanted to fly.

Maybe not literally, but in the way that mattered. I wanted to rise above this, to find a way to make a difference—even if it seemed impossible.

I stood up, my tail held high.

I didn't know how yet. I didn't know when or where or even if it would work. But I was going to find a way.

Because that's what heroes do.

And I wasn't going to let a little thing like being a cat stop me.