After spending enough time hanging around Kyoto Jujutsu High, Mizuki Makoto came to a grim realization: an artist’s occupational disease was apparently terminal.
There was no cure.
Whenever he looked at Zenin Mai’s face—so strikingly similar to Zenin Maki’s—his mind automatically slipped into “model comparison” mode.
‘ Maki’s features were all hard edges, carrying the sharpness of someone determined to cut through anything in her way.
Mai, meanwhile, had a tongue steeped in poison, yet beneath it lay a damp, unhealed vulnerability.
As an artist determined to slander the entire world with his pen, Makoto knew one fundamental truth: fruit forced off the vine might not be sweet, but drizzle it with honey and it could still be damn delicious.
“Mai-nee, here’s this month’s newest limited-edition scented hand cream, plus that lace choker you secretly circled three times in that magazine.” Makoto arranged the stack of exquisitely wrapped bags across the studio table, pushed up his glasses, and offered a smile so mild and innocent that he practically looked haloed.
“Where…
where did you get these?” Mai had been prepared to turn him down with a cold look, but the instant she recognized the hand cream’s logo, her resolve visibly wavered.
As a Grade 3 sorcerer who had never received much consideration from the Zenin clan and earned little from missions because her technique consumed so much cursed energy, the kind of refined but expensive luxuries she wanted were usually things she could only stare at longingly while sighing over her bank balance for half a month.
“I drew some unpublishable licensed merchandise for Gojo-sensei and made a little extra cash,” Makoto lied without so much as a blink.
Then he pointed at the stool beside him.
“In return, would you mind putting on this outfit and helping me with a manga experiment about parallel worlds?” Five minutes later, Zenin Mai emerged with a dark expression, awkwardly tugging at the Tokyo Jujutsu High combat uniform clinging to her body.
Makoto had acquired it through Panda, and it had once been Maki’s spare uniform.
Maki’s build had been forged by constant high-intensity training, far more explosive and athletic than Mai’s, which made the outfit sit on Mai’s slimmer frame in a distinctly suggestive way.
It cinched her waist into a narrow curve, while the fabric over her chest was stretched taut, lending her an allure that had nothing to do with combat.
“…Disgusting.
Why do I have to wear that idiot’s clothes?” Mai muttered through clenched teeth, though her fingertips kept drifting to the new lace choker around her neck.
“Perfect!
That expression is exactly what I needed!” Makoto’s charcoal pencil raced wildly across the page.
He was not only recreating Mai’s overwhelming embarrassment on paper—he was building a mirrored image of a parallel world beside it.
The left panel showed Maki in Kyoto Jujutsu High’s elegant skirt uniform, carrying a staff over her shoulder as she openly wolfed down a hamburger.
[Would she still turn into a delinquent even in a ladylike outfit?] The right panel showed Mai in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s combat uniform, both hands covering her face as her eyes darted helplessly about, so embarrassed she looked ready to start steaming.
Makoto had even added a thought bubble behind her, faithfully capturing her current inner monologue.
[Boohoo, this is so embarrassing…
Why am I wearing that idiot’s clothes…?
My perfume feels like it’s being washed away by sweat…] “Mizuki Makoto, are you done yet?!” Mai finally reached the end of her patience and stormed over to his drawing board.
The moment she saw the finished sketch, her breathing stopped.
“Y-you…
you perverted rumor-spreading maniac!” Her face flushed to the tips of her ears.
Being so precisely exposed—her hidden softness, her longing for a more refined life—hit far harder than any insult could have.
She snatched up the drawing, gathered the luxury gift bags to her chest along with it, and fled the room with her face covered.
‘The ultimate tsundere reference has been successfully collected.
And…’ Makoto looked at the duplicate print he had prepared in advance and smiled in a way that could only be described as deeply sinister.
He pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of Mai’s retreating back, then opened a chat marked [Demon Princess].
[Mizuki Makoto]: Maki-chan, look.
It’s your worn-out uniform, but on Mai-nee, it gives off a kind of bashful charm you’ll never have in your life.
Also, Mai-chan accepted the lace choker I gave her and took this drawing back to her room to treasure.
Kyoto’s air is so sweet, and Mai-chan is much gentler than you.
See you~ ♡ The peaceful moment was shattered by another burst of frantic vibrations.
This time, they were messages from Okkotsu Yuta, far away in Tokyo.
[Inner Disciple Grey Yuta]: Makoto-kun, I hope this finds you well—if you’re still alive.
Gojo-sensei came back to Jujutsu High today and found the Gender-Swapped Jujutsu High collection you left beneath the sofa.
Since he’s busy helping Mr.
Geto look after two troublesome girls and has only been sleeping three hours a day, the good news is that he doesn’t have time to come to Kyoto personally.
[Inner Disciple Grey Yuta]: The bad news is that he smiled as he photocopied the entire stack and sent it to every higher-up at Jujutsu Headquarters.
Apparently, a few old men have already fainted from anger, so you may be in a little trouble.
He also sent you a mission list to clear out three high-grade cursed spirits in Kyoto, ranging from Grade 1 to special grade.
Makoto, take care.
His smile is very…
“pleasant.” …
At Tokyo Jujutsu High’s training field, a murderous aura so thick that even a passing dog would probably get kicked twice was pouring off Zenin Maki.
“That asshole,” she said, her voice low and sharp as a whetstone.
Then she spun toward the enormous figure nearby.
“Panda, I have a question.
Why is the spare uniform I left in the dorm laundry room in Kyoto?!” Pinned beneath her killing intent, Panda stiffly turned his head.
His thick paws rubbed together uneasily as his eyes wandered everywhere but her face.
“Well…
before Makoto left, he said that if I helped him out, then when he went abroad to sketch from life next year, he’d bring me back a gentle, elegant female panda who was well-versed in foreign cultures.
I-I only did it for the prosperity of the panda species!” The training field fell dead silent.
“…What?” The vein at Maki’s temple began to twitch at an inhuman pace.
“What the hell does the prosperity of the panda species have to do with you?!
You’re not even a biological panda!” “But dreams are still worth having…” Panda muttered, shrinking in on himself.
“Heh.” Maki drove Dragon-Bone into the ground with enough force to crack the paving stones, and the sound was eerily like Makoto’s ribs collectively crying out in pain.
“Gojo Satoru, the first-generation scumbag, provides the fertile soil where this depravity grows.
Mizuki Makoto, the second-generation scumbag, produces the depraved content.
And you, the accomplice whose brain has been overtaken by lust…
all of you can go die!” …
At Kyoto Jujutsu High’s rear training ground, Makoto hid behind Todo Aoi’s back, which was broad enough to pass for a wall, and calmly powered off his phone.
Mai’s furious screaming in the distance, along with the murderous intent he could somehow feel all the way from Tokyo, made him shiver.
“Brother, you looked rather evil just now.” Todo turned toward him suspiciously.
“No, Brother Todo.
I was trembling for art,” Makoto replied without changing expression, while running Echo Mimicry even harder.
“Those were my wings celebrating my genius.
So please, Brother!
As for Simple Domain, I’m counting on you to prepare me for the calamity that’s coming!” “As expected of my brother!” Todo roared.
“You have already set your sights on special-grade cursed spirits capable of expanding a Domain!
If you possess that resolve, then prepare yourself.
You will learn this secret teaching, passed down to me by Professor Tsukumo Yuki, with your body!” Feeling the force behind Todo’s ground-shattering punch, Makoto shut his eyes and sent one final wave of resentment toward the first-generation scumbag far away in Tokyo.
‘Gojo-sensei…
I’ll accept the title of second-generation.’