Aizawa carried me home, cradled against his chest like some scruffy feline royal. His grip was firm enough to keep me from squirming but not so tight that I couldn't plot my next move. Because believe me, I was plotting.

The whole walk back, he muttered to himself like some disgruntled dad who just found out his kid snuck an extra dessert. I tried not to feel offended by the tone—it's not my fault he didn't specify what he meant by "stay."

But let's back up for a second. Did you see that construction site? That wasn't just any dusty pit of scaffolding and sweaty workers. That was something else. I mean, come on, they had blueprints everywhere. The kind that looked suspiciously exciting. And don't even get me started on the title I spotted scrawled across one of the papers before I was rudely whisked away.

Universal Simulation Joint.

I know, right?

 Tell me that doesn't sound cool. 

If you're not freaking out a little, you're either way too calm or missing the point entirely.

 A place like that?

 It could only mean one thing: next-level hero training.

 The kind of place I dreamed about before my life went full Freaky Friday: Feline Edition.

Anyway, there I was, dangling like a sack of potatoes, staring longingly over Aizawa's shoulder as we left the site behind. My heart (and paws) itched to go back and investigate further, but noooo. Apparently, I'm not allowed to have fun.

"You're unbelievable," he grumbled, not for the first time that day.

I flicked my tail in response. 

Yeah? 

Well, so is dragging me away from the coolest place I've seen in weeks. 

You ever think of that?

Back at his apartment, I decided it was time to take matters into my own paws. As soon as Aizawa set me down, I darted for his bag. I'd seen him shove those papers in there—blueprints, notes, secrets I had to know about.

"Hey!" he barked as I pawed at the zipper.

I froze, giving him my best wide-eyed innocent look. 

What?

 I wasn't doing anything. 

Just stretching. 

Definitely not snooping.

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was regretting every life choice that led to this moment. But he didn't stop me when I continued poking at the bag.

Victory.

It took some effort (okay, a lot of effort), but I managed to nudge the bag open just enough to snag one of the papers. I batted it onto the floor and squinted at the messy scribbles.

"USJ," I muttered to myself, reading the bold title. "Universal Simulation Joint."

Holy All Might's spandex, this wasn't just a training ground. 

It was the training ground. The kind of place that made Ground Beta look like a preschool playground.

If I'd still had my normal, human hands, I would've been holding that paper with a reverence normally reserved for sacred artifacts. Instead, I just stared, my tail swishing with excitement.

This place—this dream—was somewhere I would've killed to train at back when I was, you know, a person. It looked like the kind of facility that could simulate real-world hero scenarios, complete with all the danger and adrenaline of an actual fight. The kind of place where heroes were forged.

And Aizawa was involved? That meant it was legit. My teacher wasn't exactly one for flashy nonsense. If he was working on this, it had to be important.

"Alright, enough of that," Aizawa said, snatching the paper off the floor.

I meowed in protest, batting at his hand as if to say, Hey, I was reading that!

"You don't need to know about this," he said, folding the paper neatly and shoving it back into his bag. "It's not for you."

Not for me? 

Excuse you, sir. I may be a cat, but I still have ambitions.

He walked off toward the kitchen, muttering about how he couldn't even have a moment's peace. Meanwhile, I sat there, staring after him with a mix of frustration and determination.

Because here's the thing: if Aizawa thought he could keep me out of this, he clearly underestimated just how persistent I could be.

Mark my words, I'd figure out a way to get to that training ground.

 And when I did?

 Oh, it was going to be glorious.