Tokyo, Jujutsu High, afternoon.
Cicadas shrilled noisily through the dense woods, yet the air itself was heavy with a pressure that would have made any jujutsu sorcerer break out in a cold sweat.
It was the physical manifestation of humanity’s deepest fears.
And yet, even in that kind of atmosphere, Mizuki Makoto was tucked around the corner of the old school building with a solemn expression on his face, his fingers sliding rapidly across the screen of his tablet.
“The tone of the pupils needs to be a little colder…
yeah, like the frozen surface of Lake.
That kind of soul-swallowing blue is what gives it life.
The cinnabar mark on the forehead needs to be rounder too.
That collision between ‘divinity’ and ‘fallen grace’…
now that’s art.” Makoto muttered under his breath, his eyes burning so intensely it looked as if he might set the screen on fire.
On the tablet, a woman with hair as white as snow and eyes like blue gemstones was leaning forward slightly.
She had Gojo Satoru’s signature arrogant smile, but she was dressed in an extremely daring nun outfit.
She bent forward just a little, striking a one-handed salute that carried a strong sense of provocation.
The black veil-and-habit outfit that should have symbolized sanctity had been twisted by Makoto’s terrible taste into a deep V-neck and high-slit design, generously revealing a delicate collarbone, proud curves, and a pair of long, almost illogically perfect legs wrapped in semi-transparent white stockings.
The finishing touch was the round dot of vermilion on her forehead.
Amid the cold tones of azure and snow-white, that splash of red stood out sharply, adding a trace of allure and danger.
It was a masterpiece that perfectly blended “divinity” and “temptation.” The arrogant, self-assured smile at the corner of her lips seemed to be mocking the entire world: ‘even dressed like this, there still isn’t a single person alive who can touch a hair on my head.’ This was Mizuki Makoto’s grand work—Gojo Mai: Saintess Edition!
“Perfect.” Makoto closed the tablet in satisfaction and let out a long breath.
That was when a specter, a specter haunting Jujutsu High, suddenly spoke from right behind his ear without the slightest warning.
“Wow, Makoto-kun.
I know I’m handsome and all, but drawing me as this kind of…
hmm, ‘mature older-sister type’?
And isn’t this outfit a little too economical with the fabric?” Every hair on Makoto’s body stood on end.
He did not need to turn around.
In all of Japan, there was only one person with that sweet-tinged cursed energy that felt as impossible to look at directly as the abyss.
He stiffly turned his head and saw a long-legged man in a black Jujutsu High uniform and blindfold crouching on top of the wall, a bag of freshly bought Kikufuku dangling from one hand as he looked down at him with great interest.
“Gojo…
sensei.” The corner of Makoto’s mouth twitched as he quietly tried to shove the tablet behind his back.
“No point hiding it.
The Six Eyes can see more than you think, you know.” Gojo Satoru teleported down in front of him, reached out with the utmost naturalness, and took the tablet from his hands.
He pulled down one corner of his blindfold, and those eyes capable of seeing through all things reflected the figure of “Gojo Mai.” For a moment, the air seemed to freeze.
Makoto had already started calculating how long it would take to dig a hole in the back mountain of Jujutsu High and bury himself in it!
“Makoto-kun.” Gojo Satoru suddenly stopped smiling, his voice becoming a little deeper.
Mizuki Makoto’s heart sank.
“Sensei, I can explain.
This is actually a form of performance art—” “No.” Gojo raised his head, and a dangerous, excited light flashed in those blue eyes.
“What I want to ask is, why doesn’t this version of ‘me’ have my favorite limited-edition daifuku?
As an older-sister type, shouldn’t there be that kind of gap-moe detail?
Also, the ‘breast’ you designed for Miss Mai here should be…
30D?
Wow, Shoko would probably get jealous if she saw this~ And that one-handed salute, were you copying the way I looked while working yesterday?” Makoto: “…Huh?” “And this waistline.
If you raised it by two centimeters, it would give off a stronger sense of ‘divinity.'” “Makoto-kun, your drawing skills aren’t bad, but your understanding of ‘the strongest’ is still too shallow.
The look in her eyes is arrogant enough, sure, but it still feels like it’s missing a little of that ‘throughout heaven and earth, I alone am the honored one’ energy!” Gojo Satoru pointed at the illustration and spouted nonsense with a completely serious face.
“You need to capture that kind of open-mindedness, you know?
The kind where even if I accidentally got split in half one day, I’d still praise my opponent in my life flashing before my eyes, saying he was really strong and blaming myself for not giving him a more satisfying fight.” Makoto’s mind went completely blank.
“…Sensei, maybe you shouldn’t casually plant such weird defeat flags?” His teacher’s brain circuits really had been fried by Infinity, hadn’t they?
“Sensei, the point isn’t the daifuku!
The point is that I genderbent you!” Makoto could not hold back anymore.
“Shouldn’t you be throwing me into a detention room or blasting me into a shooting star with Hollow Technique?” Gojo tossed the tablet back to him, pulled his blindfold properly into place again, and curved his lips into an amused smile.
“Why would I be mad?
It’s pretty interesting.” He patted Mizuki Makoto on the shoulder with enough force to nearly send the protagonist straight to heaven.
“Compared to those boring rumors fabricated by those rotten oranges—the higher-ups—I like Makoto-kun’s kind of ‘sincere’ creation much more.
But…” Gojo Satoru’s figure began to blur in the air.
It was the sign of teleportation.
“Since you used my face as material, I’ll be looking forward to tomorrow’s promotion test.
If you lose, I’ll print this picture out and stick it on the school gate’s noticeboard with the signature: Public Disclosure of Mizuki Makoto’s Fetishes.” “…You’re the real devil here, Gojo-sensei!” Makoto stared at Gojo Satoru’s almost-vanished back, then suddenly seemed to remember something.
He sprang up and waved his fist at the empty air, shouting at the top of his lungs.
“And one more thing, sensei!
That is blatant slander!
Defamation!
A devastating attack on the reputation of an upright high school student!” Gojo Satoru’s figure paused in the void.
Tilting his head, he seemed very interested in hearing this “little monkey’s” final defense before death.
“Oh?
Which part was defamation?” “My type is clearly a mature, elegant older woman like Mei Mei!” Makoto stood with his hands on his hips, his face full of righteous conviction and his voice so loud it startled the cicadas in the trees!
“A white-haired childish man like you, who has nothing going for him except his face and strength, whose personality is so awful the entire jujutsu world loses sleep over it, and who even steals Kikufuku from children, is not within my hunting range at all!” Still looking perfectly righteous, Makoto continued, “Do you know what people outside say about you?
‘A long-haired white cat who is perfect in every way except personality.’ Who would want to date a cat that only knows how to wreck the house every day and steal sweets from students?
Please don’t use your cheap imagination to speculate about my noble taste!” The air went dead silent for three seconds.
Gojo Satoru, who had originally been about to teleport away, visibly twitched at the corner of his eye.
He pulled down his blindfold, and those Six Eyes studied this recklessly bold student once more, as if confirming whether the guy’s brain had been kicked by a cursed spirit.
“…Mei Mei?
That woman who practically lives inside a pile of money?” Gojo put his blindfold back on and let out a laugh that sounded strangely meaningful.
“Makoto-kun, your taste is really…
unexpectedly expensive and dangerous.
I’ll pass that along to her word for word, and while I’m at it, I’ll ask whether she’s willing to pay a ‘reputation damage fee’ for that illustration.” “Hey!
There’s really no need for that, sensei!” Whoosh.
Gojo Satoru vanished completely.
Mizuki Makoto collapsed weakly against the base of the wall and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
Only after confirming that the oppressive cursed energy had completely moved away did he finally let out a long breath.
The terrified expression on his face instantly switched back to a scheming, sinister smile.
Those rotten oranges at Jujutsu Headquarters could keep dreaming!
The “student with only ornamental value” recorded in their files was far more cursed than anything they could imagine.
[Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical College · Student Personal File] • Name: Mizuki Makoto • Year of Enrollment: 2017 • Grade: Grade 3 Sorcerer, provisional • Innate Technique: [Echo Mimicry] • Technique Summary: Capable of briefly replicating another person’s cursed technique through visual capture and cursed energy perception.
• Evaluation and Defects: Due to extremely poor compatibility, the replicated techniques usually only possess 1% to 50% of the original’s power.
Their appearance also manifests as unstable blue-light static, leading to an evaluation of “a low-quality tribute with only ornamental value.” The individual himself is extremely dissatisfied with this assessment and claims that the upper limit of his cursed technique depends on his “spiritual resonance” with the target being imitated.
“‘A low-quality tribute with only ornamental value’…
heh.
What a gentle evaluation.
Makes me want to cry.” Makoto mocked himself under his breath as his fingertips lightly rubbed the edge of the tablet.
His innate technique was a taboo powerful enough to make the entire upper echelon of the jujutsu world suffer collective heart attacks.
Its name was—[Limitless: Cognitive Parasite].
It was different from the Gojo clan’s elegant, sacred bloodline inheritance that had been passed down for a thousand years.
Mizuki Makoto’s [Limitless] was, at its core, a form of “cognitive plunder.” The name did not refer to space.
It referred to the condition required to trigger the technique’s feedback.
Having absolutely no moral limit.
As long as the “rumor” fabricated by Mizuki Makoto caused a cognitive distortion in its audience, he could share power from the target.
The strength of that feedback strictly followed three variables so deranged they almost sounded like a joke.
[Degree of Deviation from Fact]: The greater the gap between the lie and the truth, the stronger the feedback.
For example, spreading a rumor that Gojo Satoru is gay would yield a hundred times more benefit than spreading a rumor that he likes salty tofu pudding.
[Target Strength]: The higher the cursed energy level of the slandered target, the higher the upper limit of the shared power.
[Social Acceptance]: The more people believe the rumor, and the more deeply they believe it, the closer the shared output becomes to the real thing.
In simple terms, the farther Makoto’s “rumor” strayed from reality and the more recognition it received, the stronger the return would become.
For example, if he could somehow make the entire jujutsu world—including Gojo Satoru himself—sincerely believe that Gojo Satoru was actually his biological son, then he could dice Sukuna into minced meat on the spot!
For now, however, he was still at the starting stage where stealing a hook got you executed.
In order to stay alive, he had to wrap this vicious cursed technique in the harmless-looking disguise known as [Echo Mimicry].
Walking that kind of tightrope was honestly even more thrilling than playing “Today Is a Good Day” right in front of Gojo Satoru while Geto Suguru died.
There was nothing he could do about it.
The cursed technique he had received was not some hot-blooded, orthodox shonen ability.
It was basically That Time I Became the Strongest by Spreading Rumors.
‘Although Gojo Satoru is laughing pretty happily right now, if he ever finds out what I’ve already done and what I plan to do…
he’ll probably give me a literal demonstration of “Domain Expansion” and send me straight to the afterlife by force.’ The instant Gojo Satoru acknowledged the drawing, Makoto’s cursed technique erupted with an unprecedented, greedy pull.
[Technique Judgment: Formula Logic] • [Degree of Deviation]: Genderbending the strongest man of the modern age into Woman.
Judgment: Extremely high!
• [Target Strength]: Special Grade Sorcerer, Gojo Satoru.
Judgment: Highest level!
• [Social Acceptance]: The person in question, Gojo Satoru himself, formed the mistaken impression that “this kid drew it really well / captured the details accurately.” Judgment: Extremely slight.
‘Tsk.
Maybe next time i should draw an ohoho-style Miss Gojo Mai, or maybe a Milf Miss Gojo Mai instead—’