Another night, another patrol. Izuku- No- It felt wrong to keep calling himself Izuku after he had regained his memories. Alexander suppressed a sigh as he finished knotting the zip-tie on a criminal's wrists. He'd finished off a good portion of a small-time gang today, and now he had to waste time restraining all the twenty-two hooligans he'd caught when he could have been catching more. It was frustrating. Maybe he could invent some kind of support gear that would automatically restrain a villain? Just load it with a zip tie or rope, place the things you want to bind inside the mechanism, and it would automatically tie them with whatever it was loaded with. Or maybe he could just invest in handcuffs, but buying this amount would be too pricey. Making his own then? That way he could customize them and add all sorts of bells and whistles… He'd have to figure something out, but no time for that now: two presences had entered the alleyway behind him, blocking his main escape route. Danger.

"Yo, Aizawa! Fancy seeing you here! You're one persistent hobo, y'know?" Petit Lion finished off the knot with a sharp tug and turned around to face the duo as casually as he could. "And if it isn't Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi in the flesh!" The person in question stiffened slightly at being called out by name and tightened his grip on his gun- currently aimed at Petit Lion. Danger, dangerous, out to hurt or kill or worse. Enemy. Alarm bells clattered in his mind. This could be a problem.

He'd have to improvise. Tsukauchi had a look of pure horror on his face. Aizawa just looked tired. The detective could only stare before he finally came out of it and commandingly said, "Freeze! Petit Lion, you're under arrest for assault and vigilantism! Come quietly without resistance." It didn't really have the same effect considering how unprofessional he'd looked a minute ago.

"Nice try, but I haven't actually done either of those, remember?" Petit Lion smiled a catlike grin. The other two couldn't see it, but they knew it was there by the slyness in his voice. "It's only assault if you start the fight, and I've never started a fight in my life, y'know? It's self-defense or nothing. And vigilantism, well, there's the whole quirkless thing." Tsukauchi flinched before lowering his gun with an exasperated sigh.

"He's telling the truth... so the famous Petit Lion is really quirkless, huh. I couldn't believe it at first." It was a much milder reaction than Petit Lion had expected, no hatred or disgust. It would seem that Detective Tsukauchi wasn't particularly biased against quirkless people... an ally like that on the police force would be valuable. He had to play his cards right here. Make it known that he wasn't dangerous (well, maybe he was, but not to them), but still a useful enough asset to be worth keeping. The best way he could do that at the moment was to continue to play the fool. ...Although he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the opportunity to be as silly as he wanted for once.

"What business do you gentlemen have with the 'famous' Lion on this fine night?" Aizawa responded in his usual deadpan.

"Tsukauchi-san wanted to meet you in person to ask you some questions, and I came to make sure he didn't get stabbed to death in an alleyway." Alexander gasped.

"Aizawa! I'm offended! What's with that accusing tone? Do you truly think I'm capable of such a heinous act?" He crossed his arms, and it was obvious that he was pouting even with his face concealed. Eraserhead's response was blunt and to the point.

"I have to be cautious for safety."

"You're as cold as ever, huh~," the vigilante said, not sounding at all upset. "But it's okay. You don't have to pretend with me. I already know... the real reason you're here." In his last sentence, he dropped into an ominous and somber rumble, an effect strengthened by the voice changer. He sounded as if he was about to reveal a dark secret. Tsukauchi perked up at this.

"Oh?" Aizawa sounded as dull as ever, but there might have been a hint of curiosity in that monotone syllable.

"Yes. The real reason..." The vigilante let his voice trail off mysteriously. The duo stared at him in anticipation, urging him to complete his thought. And complete it he did. His words abruptly readopting their normal cheerful lilt, he chirped, "It's because you wanted an excuse to put off grading your students' essays, right?"

"..."

"..." Right now, both of the men in front of him were wearing very complicated expressions. Tsukauchi seemed to be both affronted and in shock that the vigilante had knowledge of Aizawa's job at UA. And the teacher in question... well, he still just looked tired, but if you looked hard enough- with a microscope or something- you could tell he was mentally kicking himself for expecting a serious answer. However, Lion was taking this entirely seriously... just not in the way they'd thought he would. He did have his pride as a jokester, after all. And so he pressed on.

"Don't deny it, Eraserhead! I know a procrastinator when I see one. It's a look in their eyes, y'know?"

"..."

"..."

"...Is- is he always like this?" The detective, having recovered enough to be able to form words, asked his companion.

"Worse," the tired man grumbled back. Petit Lion scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

"But seriously, I've got people to save and all that jazz. I'm sure you guys get it. Oh, unless- I know, I know! Do you guys wanna patrol with me?" He sounded like an excited child, but it came out a little strangely with the warping and deepening of the voice changer. It was a strange thing to hear from anyone, let alone one of Japan's top vigilantes- at least, that's what his interrogators' expressions told him. He took satisfaction in noting the mild dread on the two's faces.

"Petit Lion, we're trying to question you," Tsukauchi pointed out.

"And as delighted as I am that you're curious about me, duty still calls. So, are you tagging along or not? 'Cuz I'm going. Not sure how well Mr. Detective here will fare with all the fighting though~" The man's face twisted as he weighed the choices in his mind. After a moment of consideration, he rubbed his face tiredly and gave his answer.

"...Just one question, and then I'll leave you and Eraserhead to it." One question? He could work with that.

"Shoot! But nothing about my civilian persona or silly stuff like that, m'kay? Confidentiality and all."

"Yeah, I figured... then, why did you become a vigilante?" Alexander tensed for a moment before his eyes glazed and he got lost in memory, not realizing what he was saying.

"Society failed me more than once. I don't want anyone to end up like I did the first time around, and this time it wasn't much better. This time though, I won't make the same mistakes I did back then. This time I have a solution to those problems and if I can save even one more life before mine is taken then it'll be damn well worth it, but keep this in mind. Yes I'm willing to die, but I am not throwing away my shot!" Aizawa paled severely and started speaking, trying to find answers.

But Petit Lion was already gone. Eraserhead didn't want to deal with this. He wanted to go home to his husband, watch some TV or something, and go to sleep. But instead he was here in the middle of the night, and Petit Lion was MIA. Again. Not only that but his theories were reinforced by Lion's words tonight. He remembered Alexander saying those same words to him. It all added up.

The last time he had managed to catch a glimpse of him since Lion had last spoken to him, the boy was clearly heavily injured. Nothing. He'd looked for hours after spotting him. The sun was up, school was about to start, and here he was tracking the same person down for the third time that night (or morning, now). He'd spent so long searching for someone who shouldn't even have been able to move in their condition, let alone run away, yet he'd still found nothing. Not even a blood trail.

The implications of that made his stomach twist. If the vigilante had croaked in an alleyway or something, he would have found the body. Some signs of disturbance caused by his presence, some blood, something to signify that he had once been there. But Aizawa had looked thoroughly. There hadn't been anything like that. So either the problem child had somehow stayed lucid enough to cover his tracks, or someone had kidnapped him in his weakened state and cleaned up after themselves.

Petit Lion... Where was he? Was he trapped in someone's basement right now? Was he being hurt? Was he getting help? Was he even alive? He didn't know. When it came to Petit Lion, he didn't know anything. Now all he could do was wait while the kid might be bleeding out somewhere because of his own incompetence. If he died, it would be George's fault.

At that moment, Petit Lion was in fact making his way to Aldera Junior High. Rather, it was less making his way as it was frantically staggering. But all in all, he was doing pretty well. He'd luckily managed to twist his body just before the shrapnel had cut him, so nothing important had gotten hit. After escaping Eraserhead- that guy really didn't give up easily- it had just been a matter of finding a safe place to fix himself up using his portable emergency first aid kit. He'd ended up tucking himself into an empty dumpster while he stitched up the wound, and had afterwards proceeded to pass out in said dumpster- where he'd stayed until receiving a rude awakening by his phone alarm (he always kept it on him, just in case) about two and a half hours later.

It was the most sleep he'd gotten in a long time, and no nightmares either. So that was a bonus. After that, he'd made a mad dash to the place he'd stashed his school uniform, tugged it on as to not aggravate his fresh stitches, and was now finally arriving at the school gates. He didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see them in his life. The euphoria was quickly fading, though, especially as he caught sight of a head of ash-blond hair. It looked like the owner of that head had caught sight of him too. Great.

Bakugo was stomping over now, all but steaming in anger. Auntie Mitsuki had probably scolded him or something, and now he was looking for something, or someone, to take it out on. Izuku could actually see the change in Bakugo's eyes the second he locked onto his unfortunate target. Who happened to be Izuku.

"DEKU!" The boy screeched. He bore a striking resemblance to a pterodactyl. Suddenly Bakugo lunged at him, and both boys went tumbling to the ground. The world went careening around him as they landed roughly against the concrete. The blond had him pinned down. Izuku felt one of his stitches rip. "DAMN DEKU!"

Crack. The fierce, sick sound of a punch connecting with bone. Bakugo raised his fist again. Crack. All the while, people were walking by or watching the beatdown with interest. He heard some laughs, some cheers, the snapping of phone cameras. They were enjoying this. A teacher walked by, sending a poisonous glance Izuku's way before continuing towards the school. Go figure. Crack. He hoped his nose wouldn't be broken again. It had been a nightmare to fix the last time it had happened; a cloth to bite down on and some online tutorials could only get you so far.

Was this his punishment for skipping the rest of his patrol? He'd been holed up sleeping peacefully while people could have been getting hurt, so he supposed he deserved at least this much. He made himself completely motionless even as he was being attacked, letting the hits come without any attempts to dodge. This appeared to infuriate Bakugo even more. He stopped talking and lost himself entirely to his anger, continuing to wordlessly pummel Izuku into a pulp. Izuku kept smiling.

This doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt. A hero would be smiling right now. Crack. And it didn't hurt. Really. Crack. At least, not as much as it used to. Crack. He was becoming numb; he knew that much. Whether that was good or bad, he neither knew nor cared. Crack. He didn't care about much of anything right now. Crack. Bakugo stopped, chest heaving. He got up. He glared down at the pathetic and bloodied figure on the floor for a long second. He walked away.

Izuku peeled himself off the ground gingerly, squinting to try and combat his blurred vision. He wiped the blood out of his eyes. Bakugo hadn't used his quirk today, so that was something to appreciate. Burns were a lot harder to treat than bruises. Ah, had the morning bell gone off at some point? Was he going to be late?! He stood up with a heaving breath and brushed the gravel off his clothes. He had to get to class, so fixing up his injuries would have to wait until later. They weren't too bad anyway, except the stitches. But he'd gone to school with worse. The world was still spinning, but he managed to stumble into the school, find his classroom, and gratefully plop into his seat. (After he'd swept all the thumbtacks off of it, of course. That was one of the oldest tricks in the book.)

Head pounding, he straightened himself up, only to realize that his classmates were staring at him. That could only mean one thing: they were expecting something from him. Had they scribbled some new insult onto his desk or something, or were they just bored? Izuku was too tired to care. But he knew it would only bring trouble later if he didn't keep his classmates happy. If they didn't get what they wanted, who knew what they would do later?

So he ducked his head down and let his eyes glimmer with false tears, lower lip wobbling as if he was about to cry. He heard snickers. Apparently his expression had been satisfying, but would that be enough? For good measure, Izuku placed his schoolbooks down with a loud fake sniff and trembling hands, the textbooks landing too loudly and drawing all eyes to him. The giggles increased in volume.

They were really enjoying this. They were enjoying seeing a person forced to their lowest point. Humiliated. Even if this- the silent, tearless sobs, the way his body heaved in his chair, the raw pain in his face- was all an act now, it hadn't always been. (And some part of it would always, always be real.) But his classmates, these people, they... they-

It's better like this, he reminded himself. He felt something cold and dark writhe in his chest and repeated the words again, soft and under his breath like a mantra, just as he did every day whenever everything became too much. It was better like this. Better to sacrifice his pride and save himself from a few bruises than to suffer the punishment. Better not to give into his impulses, because when did he ever get what he wanted anyway?

It's better like this. He whispered it over and over again until he felt that shifting sensation settle and fade into numbness.

The final bell rang. Izuku thanked the heavens. He quietly gathered up his materials and let his mind take stock of the school day's events.

It had been another normal day, nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual punches and kicks, all the death threats, and some fresh spider lilies on his desk that actually looked pretty expensive. He didn't know whether to be happy or upset about that. Then there were classes. The teachers all openly despised him and put him down at every turn, but it was more difficult for anything aggressive to happen during these times. Things tended to be on the milder side due to that. Sure, there were still the spitballs and thrown suicide notes (some with surprisingly explicit directions, to the point where he wondered how long they'd taken to write) and the minimum of three extra pages of homework only he received, but who was counting? Lunch had brought its own fair share of perils, including but not limited to meal stealing (not that there was that much to steal), having food and drinks dumped on him (that made him mad, it was a waste of food and money!), and so on. Again, nothing out of the usual there. And how could he forget the daily textbook stealing, which seemed to have turned into something of a game for the class: who could steal his textbook first, in the most spectacular way, and hide it in the weirdest place?

He said that, but it wasn't all bad. He always got them back (mostly) intact in the end. After all, if he he lost them then his classmates wouldn't be able to play anymore, so no one ever outright destroyed them. So. Just another day. The bell was still shrieking. People were starting to get out of their seats, so Izuku erased his presence to the maximum and slipped out of the classroom. In less than two minutes, he was out walking down the streets, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. He couldn't train or work out without risking reopening his stitches- again- but he thought he could use this opportunity to put a certain plan of his into action. One he'd been thinking of for a while. It had to do with Petit Lion.

As a vigilante, he'd been evading the police for several months even before Eraserhead had joined his case. Now, with both the pro hero and Tsukauchi on his trail, the difficulty had increased exponentially. Even if he managed to keep himself hidden for the next year and a half, until he applied to UA, then there would he the principal to worry about. He'd heard rumors about Nezu's capabilities; having that kind of being on his trail with access to his school records was basically a death sentence. Nezu would immediately notice the similarities between the newly applied student and the vigilante, start drawing some conclusions, and then it would all be over. He'd be stuck in the foster care system in a heartbeat. That was practically fact.

Until now, he'd been searching for ways to avoid being found out. But the more he thought about it, the less feasible that sounded. It might be time to change his tactics. Instead of looking for a way to prevent his identity as Petit Lion from being discovered, look for a way to ensure that he could continue to both work as a vigilante and attend UA even after his discovery. That's what he'd come up with. And after a lot of thought, he'd come to the solution which he was about to start putting into action.

He'd done all he could. Today would be the moment of truth. God, he was so screwed if this didn't work. Before he'd realized it, he'd arrived at his first stop: the abandoned park where he'd stashed his vigilante suit and mask. The recycling bin here was always empty, so it was a perfect place to keep his stuff. He'd prefer something lockable or, better yet, an actual home to hide them in, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He made do with what he had.

Now, casting one last look to make sure no one else was around, Izuku crept up to the bin and opened it to reveal his dark green costume. He shrugged off his school uniform and pulled on the skintight suit as gently as he could, then pulled the mask over his face and set its latches so that it wouldn't fall off. Finally, he folded his uniform into a neat square and placed it into the bin, which he closed again.

That was one more step done, but now he had no more excuses to procrastinate with. All there was left in his plan was to turn himself into the police, bargain with them, and win. Yeah, all he had to do was let himself be trapped in an enclosed area filled with threats and danger, swarming with cops and heroes and detectives, and then somehow win in a battle of wits against the entirety of their collected minds.

...Oh God, he was so screwed. Usually he was able to smoothly slip into his Petit Lion persona after a couple minutes of wearing the mask, but today he was much more on edge than usual. There was a lot riding on this. He couldn't mess up. If he did… You're making things worse. Stop getting into your own head and think rationally. He was prepared. He knew that. He'd thought his whole argument through, and it was solid. If he did this right, then he could convince them, hook, line, and sinker. But confidence would be key in order for that to happen. He would have to put on a show of it, sound entirely sure of himself, even though all he was seeing in his mind were the countless ways he could fail. Fake it till you make it, as they say.

Luckily, faking it happened to be something that Petit Lion was very good at. That's right. He wasn't Izuku Midoriya, he was Petit Lion. He was brave and assured and someone capable of walking into enemy territory and coming out as the winner. He was Petit Lion, the quirkless vigilante, and this victory was as good as his. But God, was he screwed if this didn't work!

The police station was in sight now, but his presence was no longer erased. He was getting a lot of weird looks from passersby. Not that he could blame anyone for the confusion: his appearance wasn't known widely among heroes, let alone the public, so to most people he looked like a random, costumed man casually walking down the street. Which he supposed he was, technically. Petit Lion came to a stop in front of the two large, glass doors. The only things separating him from his enemies. It was now or never. He breathed in. Breathed out. Cleared his mind of everything but his goal. Here goes nothing.

And he opened the door.