It was the dead of night. The time when Petit Lion felt most comfortable. He took a running leap off of a building and swung off a nearby window ledge with practiced expertise. It had taken him some time to get the hang of rooftop traversing, but a combination of an extremely sharp learning curve with plenty of determination and a definitely unhealthy lack of self-preservation had resulted in Petit Lion's quick mastery of the skill. Now it was like second nature to him, and he enjoyed the feeling of adrenaline that it provided. Now, what should he do tonight? A few days ago he had dyed his hair a strawberry blonde and planed to let it grow longer.

He had already stopped thirteen muggings, six sexual assaults, four home break-ins, a bank robbery, and more drunken brawls than he could count. Of course, he'd crammed every single criminal's personal note with the worst puns he could think of. It was his payment for doing the police's job for them. And he'd seen several cops crack a smile at some of his better works, so he didn't think it was too terrible a price. But currently, he observed from his perch several hundred feet over the ground, the city was pretty quiet. Police sirens echoed through the air, but they were a near constant presence here, and most people had enough sense not to go out at night in such an environment. His job was to look out for the poor souls that didn't- and to kick the asses of the less poor souls that took advantage of them.

Petit Lion sighed. While he'd deterred a significant amount of crime, it wasn't enough to make anyone feel any safer. Not in this kind of place. Really, it was amazing that one city could have areas with such different atmospheres. Out west in central Musutafu, people walked with peaceful smiles on smooth faces and soft hands that spoke of easy living and cozy homes. They went about their daily business without a care in the world, swaddled in the comforting knowledge that they had the protection of heroes. At night, they returned home to hot dinners, welcoming families, and soft beds. They could walk to the supermarket without fearing for their life; they ate three good meals a day; they went clothes shopping every other weekend not because they needed new ones, but just because they could; they lived lavishly among swirling colors, skyscrapers, pristine store window fronts, and flashing lights.

The only lights that flashed here were the red and blue of sirens and the flickering "OPEN" signs of cheap bars, filled with cheap beer and cheap people. Unlike the vibrancy of the inner city, these eastern districts were largely populated by short, squat, and graffiti-infested brick buildings that were only sometimes bothered to be painted with peeling coats of ugly grays, browns, and reds. Tall structures like the one he stood on now were few and far between, so the skyline was low and dingy. Here, there was a miasma, a sense of hopelessness that lingered in every breath of alcohol-and-cigarette-smoke-scented air. It skulked in every draft that made the houses creak and slipped through boarded-up windows. It was embedded in every crease of a stress-furrowed brow and every callus or blister or broken nail on an overworked hand, but more than anything else it was a weight in people's eyes: a heavy sense of knowing that things would never get any better than this.

This was the place where all the forgotten, forsaken, and abandoned of Musutafu gathered. The human junkyard. The end of the line. He'd only been living here for two years, but he already knew that much. Well, maybe he was being too negative. He was walking proof that living in the central city didn't guarantee happiness and comfort, and he preferred his lifestyle here to the one he'd had while living there in several ways. At least now he could help people. And speaking of which, he really needed to stop letting his thoughts wander off like this before he fell off the edge of a building... again.

Stop and focus. Keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious. That's right. He still had a job to do. But right now there didn't appear to be anything that needed doing. Although it was possible he was missing something in the dark from so high up, everything seemed quiet for now. Enough so that he could afford to dedicate a couple minutes to the other issue at hand: the hero currently tailing him. Eraserhead, to be specific. He was a big fan, but now wasn't the time for that. What to do?

He could probably get away, but now he was thinking twice. He wanted to try talking to the hero, however risky. He wanted the police to know he was Quirkless- and by extension, the public, who would find out when his page on the vigilante listings was updated. It was important to start planting seeds of change now as Petit Lion, so he could cultivate them as a licensed hero with a more definite and positive influence. Eraserhead was probably the hero he had the best chance of getting his message across with. The man's erasure quirk was useless against him, so if things did end up coming to blows the fight would be decided on pure combat skill. While Petit Lion doubted he could beat a pro, he could hold his own long enough to make an escape.

Having made his decision, Petit Lion launched himself into the air once more and made a graceful landing on another rooftop. His feet made no noise as they hit the ground. He scanned the area. Eraserhead was still behind him, lurking on a nearby ledge. He grinned. Good. Then let the games begin. Aizawa was silent as he pressed his body against the cool brick wall. He didn't take his eyes off his target for a second. Petit Lion was like a deer: he'd spook him the second he made any sudden moves. He had to sneak up, get behind him, and then-

"It's a nice night, right Eraserhead? Too bad you're too tired to properly appreciate it." He stiffened on instinct, but immediately sighed. He should have known the vigilante had seen him coming. There was no point hiding himself now, so he came out from the shadows and joined Petit Lion in his overview of the city, still keeping his eyes glued on him. Right now he was only a few yards away from one of the most successful vigilantes of all Japan. He had to be ready for anything.

"How long have you known?"

"Since the second you started following me. I know I'm handsome, but stalking's a little much, don't you think?" He was the best of the best with an ego to match, apparently. Of course. No longer in the mood to talk, the erasure hero activated his quirk and felt out his opponent's… His opponent's… There was… Nothing...

"You're... Quirkless?"

"Yes indeed! I bet you were all scratching your heads trying to figure my quirk out, but there was nothing to figure out in the first place. Pretty surprising, right?" Surprising was an understatement. The fact that this scrawny guy had somehow taken down over 500 criminals in only two years, winning against enemies with powerful and varied quirks, all without a quirk himself and depending on nothing but sheer wit and skill was nothing short of miraculous. Even Aizawa was downright impressed. He hadn't thought something like that was possible, but the proof was right there in front of him.

The problem child was strong. Seriously strong. But was he a child at all? There was still a possibility he was actually talking to a forty year-old man-dwarf or something equally bizarre. Years of being a pro hero had taught him to expect the unexpected. He shouldn't jump to any conclusions.

"How old are you anyway?" He asked, straight to the point. Aizawa was too tired for anything but bluntness.

"Old enough to know I shouldn't go around telling my age to strangers. Especially not hobo-looking strangers who approach you in the middle of the night." Aizawa could hear the snark emanating from his voice even through the voice changer. A problem child through-and-through, this one.

"Ha-ha, very funny-"

"I know," the vigilante interrupted. God, he was annoying.

"Look, why are you out here? This kind of stuff, it's not just some fun game. It's really dangerous. If you want to help people, why not just enter the hero course at UA? You're definitely strong enough to get in. I would recommend you." The fact that Aizawa was willing to make such an offer showed just how desperate he was to do something about this situation. He'd always had a soft spot for kids.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Heroes are overrated and school is bo~ring!"

"You literally have no reason to refuse- oh God. Don't tell me... you're not old enough to take the entrance exams?" The erasure hero internally groaned. If so, this was worse than he'd thought. This kid wasn't even fifteen, but he'd already been pulling these stunts for two years? Why? What made him so desperate that he couldn't wait to enter the hero course? What happened to not jumping to conclusions? Aizawa silently reprimanded himself. But if this really was just a kid, a child, he didn't want to take that chance. Not after what had happened last time.)

"Jeez, what gave you that idea? I just said I'm not the studious type. Did you not hear or are those scarves of yours blocking your ears too?" Yup, he was definitely younger than 15. He was trying to use sarcasm to distract Aizawa from the horrible, horrible truth. If this kept up, the kid would die young, just like that person he couldn't stop thinking about. Either that or he would get himself killed with his recklessness and mindset of a need for battle. Just like- Why do you remind me of him so much, problem child? Aizawa barely noticed the jab at him as he pleaded with the vigilante- no, the boy in front of him.

"Kid, you can't be doing this. It's dangerous and illegal, and you could get killed. You don't understand-"

"I do understand, Eraserhead," Petit Lion spat, cutting him off. "I understand, believe me. That's exactly why I can't stop. The only ways you can make me give up being a vigilante are to arrest me or to kill me, and let's face it, you can't do either of those things." His tone sounded strangely bitter, older in a way that no child should ever sound. "You have no legal right to arrest me because I've never broken the law. Vigilantism is defined as illegal usage of a quirk to stop crime, but I've never used a Quirk once this whole time. That law doesn't apply to me. Technically I'm nothing but a Good Samaritan who just so happens to be out at night a lot, just so happens to be a good fighter, just so happens to come across a lot of crime, and just so happens to have made a name for himself stopping said crime. And as for killing me... We both know you couldn't do that."

Damn it all. He didn't want to admit it, but the kid was right. He couldn't take him in without a reason, and killing him had never been on the table. But he couldn't just stand by and watch the boy put his life at risk! What was he supposed to do now? Why did he always get involved in such troublesome situations? He needed more coffee.

Suddenly, Petit Lion perked back up again and shifted back to his usual cheery tone as if nothing had happened. "Well, Aizawa- I can call you that, right? Thanks a bunch, Aizawa! It's been super fun! But I do have other things to do, SOOO I'll have to take a rain check tonight. Make sure you tell everyone back at the police department that I'm Quirkless, 'kay? Video their reactions for me if you can and send it to me, I'm gonna set their faces as my lock screen. I've already put my number in your phone. So for now..." Suddenly the vigilante was right next to him, whispering in his ear. "For now, I've only got five words for you: catch me if you can."

And then he was gone. Aizawa's stomach dropped. He snapped out of his daze and sent his capture tapes flying forward, but there was nothing. No thump of a body hitting the pavement, no feeling of weight in his scarves- nothing. He peered over the edge of the twenty-story building that the vigilante had just back-flipped off of, looking for some sign of his presence, but it was as if he had vanished into thin air. Petit Lion had disappeared. How the hell had he done that? Actually, how had he done any of the stuff he did? What the hell had just happened? That problem child... he's no joke.

The erasure hero stood there in shock for a few minutes. He gaped at the emptiness that, according to all known laws of physics, should have been occupied by one very dead vigilante. Then he pulled out his phone. True to the kid's word, a new contact had been added to Aizawa's very short list that was simply called Petit Lion. He had no idea how the problem child had gotten his phone away from him long enough to do that and then plant it back on him without him ever noticing a thing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Aizawa, the stealth hero, had been out stealthed. And he couldn't even bring himself to care. That's how upset he was. That problem child... He better not die before Aizawa could help him. And he would help him. He wouldn't let another child end up like Laurens or Hamilton. Yes, something he hadn't told anyone was that he was the reincarnation of the first President of the United States of America. General George Washington.

It was easy to say things like that, but reality was a different story. A sleepless night had passed since the encounter between the hero and the vigilante, and the day was almost over. Yet Aizawa had made, well, zero progress towards figuring out Petit Lion's identity. He shifted in his seat. These café chairs were comfortable enough to nap in and he could definitely use one, but he didn't have time for that right now. He had to find that troublesome vigilante.

He didn't like how easily the problem child had jumped off that roof. Even if he'd known what he was doing, to be able to leap off a skyscraper several hundred feet in the air without an iota of hesitation... it disturbed Aizawa. He was a pro with years of experience, but he still avoided the edges of buildings. And this kid was jumping off of them like nobody's business! What if he fell and broke his neck?! Didn't he have any sense of fear?! If Petit Lion was doing stuff like that every night, then he had to get him off the streets and fast.

Not only to keep him alive, but that brat had changed all his contact names and replaced them with stupid nicknames. Detective Tsukauchi had been changed to Nancy Drew, Yamada had become Drug-Addict Cockatoo, Nemuri was Rated R, and the list went on. Even Nezu hadn't been spared, now listed in the hero's phone as Da Boss. The list went on, but the point was that he had to find that problem child and give him a whack upside the head for all the grief he'd caused.

And if he'd smirked a bit the first time he'd seen the new names, Petit Lion didn't need to know that. Another thing, the name Petit Lion… The old General knew it was French for 'Little Lion', after all, Lafayette had always called Alexander 'Mon Petit Lion'. Then it hit him. You don't just randomly come up with a name like that, and if I and many of the others have been reincarnated… Why not him? Why not my son? Why not Alexander Hamilton.

"Your o-order, sir," A blond haired boy with scarred hands set down four black coffees on the table, along with a paper bag that he hadn't ordered. He then made a beeline back towards the counter while clutching the tray to his chest, visibly flinching when Aizawa called him back.

"Kid, you gave me something extra," he told the barista.

"Ah! N-no, t-that's on the house... Thank you f-for all you do, E-Eraserhead, sir..." The boy- his name-tag read Izuku Midoriya- scratched his neck sheepishly and turned his face to hide his burning cheeks that gave him the distinct look of a strawberry.

"You recognize me?"

"Yeah! S-sorry if I did something w-weird, um... It's just a c-cake, I can take it back if you don't w-want it... sorry," Midoriya squeaked. Somehow he had had gotten even redder. He could do a mean tomato impression, that was for sure.

"It's fine, but won't you get in trouble for giving this to me? Such a problem child." It seemed he had an abundance of those recently.

"It's okay, r-really! S-sorry for worrying y-you, uh, b-bye!" The greenette scurried back to the counter, looking like he was about to burst from embarrassment. Aizawa was torn, feeling bad for the kid and amusement at his anxiousness. Gah, why was he letting himself get distracted? He didn't have time for this. He had another problem child to worry about: Petit Lion. That kid was more slippery than a buttered noodle. His height, gender, and age range would narrow down the search, and his Quirklessness would eliminate most of the possible candidates, but the remaining few were still too many to individually investigate. He needed more specifics, more information about the vigilante's identity. Something, anything would do to get the ball rolling. But there was nothing. Nada. Zilch. He couldn't even be sure why Petit Lion had chosen to reveal himself as Quirkless in the first place. In short, he was getting nowhere.

"I don't feel like doing this... I want to sleep..." He chugged the last of one of his coffees. The taste was great, but a bitterness lingered in his mouth. He was in a pickle. He knew next to nothing about the one he was supposed to be chasing, protecting, besides that he was far too young to be doing everything he did. The vigilante was probably about the same age as that barista! Actually, now that he thought about it, that kid looked awfully young to be working here.

"Hey, Problem Child. How old are you?"

The boy jerked in surprise and almost dropped the coffee pot he was holding. "U-um, m-m-me?! I just turned fourteen, s-s-sir!" His eyes were bugged out of his head in alarm. It was funny in a way. Aizawa suppressed a snort.

"Aren't you too young for this job?"

"W-w-well, I k-know the owner, s-so..." Aizawa eyed the boy suspiciously for a moment longer before turning away with a quick mumble of "problem child" and a sigh. He had bigger fish to fry. He turned his attention back to the sea of documents with newfound determination.

"I'll find you if it's the last thing I do," he muttered as he started on his second coffee. "Just wait, Petit Lion..." Alexander had practically had a heart attack when the very same man who had been trying to arrest him last night casually came up to him and ordered some black coffee. Luckily, Eraserhead hadn't seemed to recognize him, and he'd been able to deliver the order without biting his own tongue off. He'd even given the man a free cake. Even if they were enemies as Eraserhead and Petit Lion, right now he was just Alexander Hamilton, and he was still a fanboy at heart who wanted to express his appreciation to heroes.

That cake would be coming out of his paycheck though. He tried not to think about that. Too depressing. The rest of his shift passed without incident, with the erasure hero quietly sipping coffee and looking through documents in the corner and Alexander trying not to look at him too much. He wondered if Eraserhead was working on his case right now. If he was, it didn't seem to be going too well, going by the slightly larger than usual scowl on his face. He guessed he should be glad about that. Any progress made in that case would bring the hero closer and closer to capturing him. And he absolutely couldn't let that happen. It would ruin everything. He couldn't let it happen. He couldn't.

The rest of the coffees he brewed that day tasted especially bitter.