For Innocent Kyoto, a Second Pervert

"Freedom never came without a price. In the Jujutsu Society, the price of freedom usually included a huge sum of money, along with a painful memory of losing one's dignity."

Mizuki Makoto sat on the Shinkansen bound for Kyoto, clutching the slightly crumpled "letter of recommendation" in his hand. The scenery racing past outside the window gave him the illusion that he had escaped alive, yet the face that surfaced in his mind was Shoko Ieiri's lazy expression, seemingly covered in the word "scum."

For this piece of paper, he had not only emptied half a year's royalties to buy Shoko a limited-edition luxury eye cream set, but had also signed a week-long "medical waste transportation contract" with utterly inhumane terms.

Even worse, whenever Gojo Satoru barged into the infirmary like a giant white-haired cat, carrying a bag of sickeningly sweet Kikufuku and trying to find someone to test them on, Mizuki Makoto had to step forward. With the resolve of a man facing death, he had to spread his arms like a loyal lackey to block that high-sugar biochemical assault, then shout himself hoarse: "Sensei! Let me handle something this trivial! Big Sis Shoko is taking a great restorative nap for the future of humanity. Nobody is allowed to disturb her!"

On official Jujutsu High letterhead, Shoko exhaled a contemptuous ring of smoke and scribbled flamboyantly:

Utahime, this is my newly acquired mobile ashtray. His brain doesn't work too well, but he can take a beating, and he's exceptionally good at dealing with that "white-haired nuisance." I'm lending him to you for a few days. No compensation needed if you break him.

Carrying this "contract of sale" purchased with his soul, Mizuki Makoto set foot on this ancient land, filled with longing for beauty and freedom.

Kyoto Jujutsu High had an entirely different atmosphere from Tokyo. Everything here exuded an aged, oppressive, rigidly rule-bound antiquity. The wooden corridors smelled of decaying timber, and even the air was thick with the scent of "old fossils."

Mizuki Makoto had barely stepped through the school gates, before he could even admire its cultural heritage, when a cold gunshot that tore through the air whistled past his hair.

Bang!

A target a hundred meters away was instantly pierced through.

A girl with neat short hair slowly turned around. Her features bore a seventy-percent resemblance to Maki's, but her aura was darker and more twisted.

Zenin Mai.

She held a smoking revolver steadily in her hand, her gaze moving between the letter of recommendation and Mizuki Makoto's somewhat slender face. Finally, she revealed a malicious sneer.

"Someone from Tokyo Jujutsu High? Has that useless Maki fallen so low that she has to be classmates with some loser I could kill in one punch?"

Mizuki Makoto could feel the nearly tangible hostility. As a seasoned doujin artist, he instantly understood the subtext in her eyes—a story called Sisters in Love and Hate. You were someone by Maki's side. You accompanied the person I wanted to see but could not. So I hated you.

"It's Mai-chan. Well, Maki-chan really is pretty useless when it comes to serving as doujin material." Mizuki Makoto pushed up his glasses and calmly activated [Limitless Mode].

"But when it comes to caring about her little sister, she complained to me plenty of times—'Will some idiot little sister at Kyoto Jujutsu High get bullied because she's too weak?' Though she always ended with, 'It'd be better if that girl just died,' that tsundere tone of hers was honestly perfect reference material for my new work."

Mai's pupils trembled violently, and the fingers gripping her gun tightened sharply.

Just as she was about to give this "Tokyo scumbag spouting nonsense" a bullet, the stone paths throughout Kyoto Jujutsu High seemed to tremble faintly.

Boom—!

A Grade 2 cursed spirit was casually slapped against a wall like a fly by an enormous fleshy palm, its blood splattering across the old red bricks.

The massive man, bare-chested and built with muscles like rock, did not even turn his head.

Todo Aoi.

He held a limited-edition Takada-chan portable music player in his hand. Lively idol music leaked from the earphones, and the extreme contrast instantly froze the air.

Mai reined in her hostility and took a wary step back.

Todo Aoi turned around, and his scarred eyes locked tightly onto Mizuki Makoto's face. He did not look at the recommendation letter or care about his identity. Instead, with the solemnity of a religious judgment, he slowly spoke.

"Hey, Tokyo boy. Before you introduce yourself, I have a question for you. Your answer will determine whether I beat you half to death."

Even the wind seemed to stop.

"What kind of woman do you like?"

Mai showed a pitying expression, the look one gave a dead man.

Todo Aoi's soul-searching questions had never cared whether your answer matched conventional beauty standards. What he cared about was "the truth of the soul." If you tried to lie or gave an ordinary answer, he would not hesitate to dismantle you into parts on the spot.

Mizuki Makoto fell silent for three seconds.

The PUA in his brain began overheating again—if he answered "someone with a good personality" or "as long as she's pretty, I'm not picky," Brother Todo Aoi would most likely punch him away as a boring ordinary man or a lying fraud.

Meeting Todo Aoi's oppressive gaze, he slowly took out a drawing tablet and stylus from his bag. His tone became even more solemn than Todo Aoi's.

"Todo, regarding this question, I think we first need to establish a standard."

Mizuki Makoto pushed up his glasses, and a sharp glint flashed across the lenses.

"Generally speaking, my preference is women around 170 centimeters tall, with a waist-to-hip ratio of 0.65 to 0.7, and a bust-to-waist difference of twenty-five centimeters or more. But from an artistic perspective, are you asking about a pure, translucent-looking girl in a [cel-shaded style]? Or a mature woman full of sensuality and tensile strength in a [painterly style]? Todo, appearance is merely the threshold. For a man like me, it is the soul of the self that truly intoxicates."

Todo Aoi's brow rose slightly, and the muscles that had been poised to strike relaxed a fraction.

"Oh? Individualism?"

"That's right." Mizuki Makoto adjusted his glasses again, a sharp chill flashing across the lenses. "What has true allure is a woman who wears an elegant or indifferent mask, who sees the world as her hunting ground and lives only by her own creed. She does not need anyone else's understanding, because that ultimate, fiercely aggressive 'self' within her is the ultimate sex appeal."

He paused, his stylus drawing a sharp arc across the screen.

"Even if she simply stands there, you can sense a dangerous yet alluring sexual tension, as if she is trying to break free of some restraint. That arrogance, that strength, and the mystery that makes you want to peel away her disguise and mask... that is the ultimate art I want to draw into my doujins!"

The air was dead silent for a full five seconds.

In truth, the model for Mizuki Makoto's passionate "preference declaration" was entirely Mei Mei—that black-hearted beauty whose eyes held nothing but the balance of her bank account, whose every breath exuded elegance and coldness.

Yet Zenin Mai, standing beside them, suddenly wore an extraordinarily complicated expression.

Mai froze in place, the knuckles of the hand gripping her gun turning slightly white.

"An extreme self... wearing an indifferent mask... living only by her own creed... the tension of breaking free from some restraint..."

Those words spun wildly through her mind. In the end, the image they assembled was Maki—the rebellious and strong-willed girl who had decisively left the Zenin Clan to prove herself.

At the same time, deep in her heart, the version of herself who had learned since childhood to arm herself with elegance and mockery, who truly only wanted to slack off within that disgusting family, also seemed to be subtly stirred by those words.

Is this guy... looking at Maki through me? Or has he seen through even more?

Mai bit her lower lip and glared fiercely at Mizuki Makoto. Amid her original killing intent was now a twisted emotion called embarrassed anger. Even her ears had reddened slightly. "P-Pervert! Where are you looking?!"

Just as Mai was about to explode, a huge shadow fell over Mizuki Makoto.

Todo Aoi suddenly stepped forward. The huge hand capable of crushing a cursed spirit's skull slammed heavily onto his shoulder with enough force to nearly kill Mizuki Makoto on the spot.

Ignoring Mai's embarrassed fury, Todo's pupils shook violently. An utterly terrifying fanaticism filled his voice.

"This analysis that strikes at the essence of the soul... this aesthetic instinct that can strip 'arrogance' and 'obsession' down into art... You, could you be the brother from different parents whom I have searched for all these years, lost somewhere on the streets of Tokyo—my brother?!"

Todo, was that 530,000-IQ brain of yours rendering another "memory that never existed"?!

Yet Mizuki Makoto did not retreat. Instead, he stepped forward and patted the draft of Gojo Mai in his bag—the very thing that could make Gojo Satoru hit him with an "Unlimited Void." In that instant, the Limitless aura around him vaguely carried the mad fervor of a martyr.

"Who do you think I am, Todo Aoi? I am the man who, carrying the resolve to have that white-haired bastard publicly display my browsing history in front of the Jujutsu High cafeteria, drew the Gojo Mai series!"

"...!!!"

Mai's revolver fell to the ground with a clatter. She no longer looked at Mizuki Makoto as though he were a madman, but as though he were some freak who had crossed the line between life and death and broken completely.

After staring blankly for two seconds, Todo Aoi burst into wild laughter powerful enough to blow the roof off the school building.

"To dare challenge the altar known as 'Gojo Satoru'... such courage to challenge the strongest... such purity in never lying about one's own preferences!!"

He suddenly hooked an arm around Mizuki Makoto's neck, and his immense cursed energy instantly became the blazing heat of finding a soulmate.

"Brother! You really are my true brother from different parents!"

Laughing loudly, Todo Aoi dragged him toward the school with an extremely forceful grip that allowed no refusal.

"Come! To my room! Since you possess the courage to turn even Gojo Satoru into doujin material, you must understand the sanctity of Takada-chan that transcends dimensions! We shall discuss everything, from 'the mechanical beauty of the skeleton' to the reshaping of the soul!"

As he was dragged away, Mizuki Makoto glanced back at Zenin Mai, whose worldview had completely shattered, and let out a long breath inside.

(—Success! I don't know who she imagined, but I caught that telepathic connection between perverts! Todo Aoi, hand over Tsukumo Yuki's information already!)