Three days later, Arata Hoshino was finally cleared for discharge.
Stepping out of the infirmary, he took a deep breath of the cold outside air, feeling as though he had truly come back to life.
“Don’t get too excited,” Shoko’s voice drifted from behind.
“If you end up back in here again, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to save you next time.”
“Understood.
Thanks, Miss Ieiri.” Arata turned back to see Shoko leaning against the doorframe, a lit cigarette between her fingers.
“You should smoke less; it’s bad for your health.”
Shoko merely waved a hand and retreated back into the infirmary.
Arata walked down the corridor.
Just as he reached the entrance of the school building, a massive, fluffy white figure lunged at him.
“Arata!”
Panda’s enormous body nearly sent Arata flying.
He staggered back a few steps to steady himself, his back slamming into the wall.
“Cough, cough…
ow, my back!
Panda, are you trying to finish me off?”
“Hehe, I just got too excited.” Panda let go, his furry face beaming.
“I’m just glad to see you’re out.”
Toge Inumaki followed closely behind, giving Arata a nod.
“Konbu.”
“Hey, Toge.” Arata waved, then looked behind them.
“Where’s Maki?”
Panda blinked his round eyes, a “just as I suspected” grin spreading across his face.
“She said she had something to take care of and had to go back for a bit.
Asked us to let you know.”
“Go back?” Arata paused.
“Where to?”
“The Zenin estate.”
Toge nodded in confirmation.
Arata’s expression shifted instantly.
The Zenin estate.
That place was never a “home” to Maki; it was a pit of mockery and disdain.
Why would she go back?
To see Mai?
“I’m going after her,” Arata said, heading toward the school gate.
“Arata!” Panda called out.
“You’re just going to go like that?
That’s the Zenin family.
Not just anyone can walk in there.”
Arata stopped and turned to Panda.
“Even Miss Yuki has heard of my name; do you really think the Zenins don’t know who I am?
I run with Gojo.
What are they going to do to me?”
“Then be careful.” Panda stepped forward and patted Arata on the shoulder.
Arata nodded and started to leave, but after two steps, he turned back.
“By the way, how do I get to the Zenin estate?”
“Quite grand, isn’t it?”
Arata stood before the main gates of the Zenin residence.
He looked up at the plaque bearing the name “Zenin,” took a deep breath, and rang the bell.
A middle-aged man in a traditional kimono stood there.
His gaze swept over Arata, his brow furrowing with that trademark Zenin condescension.
“This is the Zenin residence.
Who are you?”
“Tokyo Jujutsu High, first year–Arata Hoshino.” Arata crossed his arms, looking at this man who was shorter than him yet insisted on acting superior.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“Maki Zenin.”
The man’s expression flickered into a complex mix of contempt and surprise.
He looked Arata up and down as if evaluating a piece of property.
“Wait here.”
The gate slammed shut.
Arata stood outside, casually using Construction to create a lollipop, which he popped into his mouth.
About five minutes later, the gate opened again.
This time, it was a young maid.
She kept her head low, her voice barely a whisper.
“Mr.
Hoshino, please follow me.”
Arata followed her through several winding corridors.
He encountered many members of the Zenin family along the way, all of whom stared at him as if he were a rare animal in a zoo.
“This is the drawing room,” the maid said, stopping before a door.
“Miss Maki is inside.”
Arata slid the door open.
The room was large but sparsely furnished.
On the tatami sat a low table with a neatly arranged tea set.
Maki Zenin was sitting by the window, holding a cup of tea she clearly wasn’t drinking.
Her gaze was fixed on the rock garden outside, her brow slightly furrowed.
“Maki.”
Maki turned, her expression softening for a fleeting moment when she saw him.
“Why are you here?”
“Just passing by,” Arata said, sitting down beside her.
“Decided to check if my favorite person was being bullied.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the door to the room was roughly slid open.
“Oh?
If it isn’t our family’s little failure.
You actually came back?”
A young man in a dark kimono stood at the entrance.
His hair was perfectly styled, and his narrow eyes swept over the two in the room, his lips curled in blatant mockery.
Naoya Zenin.
Arata bit down on the stick of his lollipop, sizing him up.
Special Grade 1 Sorcerer, legitimate son of the Clan Head, heir to Projection Sorcery, and…
a total piece of trash.
Naoya’s gaze flickered over Arata as if looking at filth before moving back to Maki.
“What?
Couldn’t cut it on the outside and decided to come crawling home?”
Maki’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers tightened around her teacup.
“It’s not surprising,” Naoya continued with his innate sense of superiority.
“A worthless brat with no cursed energy–what future could you possibly have out there?
You’re better suited for menial labor back here.”
He paused, his smirk widening.
She knows how to work hard.
It seems without you around to lead her astray, she actually knows her place.”
Maki set her teacup down and stood up.
“Don’t.”
Arata reached out to stop her.
He rose from the tatami and strolled casually over to Naoya.
The distance between them was less than a meter.
Naoya was half a head shorter than him, but he held his chin high, his face screaming ‘Who do you think you are?’
“And you are?” Arata tilted his head, his voice dripping with genuine confusion.
Naoya’s face stiffened.
“You don’t recognize me?”
“Should I?” Arata blinked, his confusion deepening.
“Are you the janitor?
Or the doorman?”
“You…!”
Naoya’s face turned red with remarkable speed.
He took a step forward, but Arata didn’t budge.
Arata just looked down at him, a slow smirk forming on his lips.
“Oh, I remember now,” Arata said, slapping his forehead.
“Naoya Zenin, right?
Special Grade 1 Sorcerer, heir to Projection Sorcery, the Head’s precious son.”
Naoya’s expression softened slightly, but before he could speak, Arata added:
“You’re twenty-six, right?
Why are you still just Grade 1?
I’ve been a sorcerer for a year and I’m already Grade 2.
With one more recommendation, I’ll be Grade 1 too.
Are you just so mediocre that you’ve been stuck at Grade 1 all this time?”
“What did you say?!”
Naoya’s cursed energy erupted instantly.
The air in the room grew heavy, and the paper sliding doors rattled violently from the pressure.
But Arata acted as if he felt nothing.
He remained there, smiling, even leaning in a little closer.
“I said…
you’re pretty mediocre.”
“You’re dead!”
Naoya’s figure vanished instantly.
Arata figured Projection Sorcery had been activated.
The technique works on a logic of “1 second = 24 frames.” By dividing a second into 24 movements, the user can achieve extreme speed and force others to follow the same rules.
To an outsider, it looks like speed beyond common sense.
Arata tried to track Naoya’s position, but without using Flowing Red Scale, it was incredibly difficult to catch the movement.
However, Arata soon noticed something very interesting.
When Naoya’s fist slammed into his chest, it didn’t hurt at all.
*Thump!*
In the dull sound of impact, Arata’s body was pushed back slightly.
He looked down at the spot where he’d been hit, then looked up at the smug Naoya.
His expression turned somewhat subtle.
“Hey, that didn’t even hurt!”
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