Punishment for the Unruly Disciple

Just as Mizuki Makoto had pissed Zenin Mai off to the point of nearly exploding on the spot and was about to hum a little tune while treating his artistic soul to a kaiseki meal, Kyoto Jujutsu High's administrative building issued its final ultimatum.

Utahime Iori sat behind her broad desk, clutching the "Exchange Event roster" that had just been airlifted from Tokyo. The veins on her usually gentle, kind face were visibly bulging with savage fury.

"Mizuki-kun." Utahime took a deep breath, struggling to suppress the urge to flip the solid wood desk directly into his face. "During your time at Kyoto Jujutsu High, aside from occasionally drawing bizarre manga and occasionally flirting with underclassmen, your manners and conduct... uh, have barely qualified you as a normal person."

She paused, then slammed the transfer order bearing Gojo Satoru's arrogant signature onto the desk, her voice trembling slightly.

"But that white-haired, sunglasses-wearing bastard Gojo just sent an emergency transfer order. He added your name to the official Tokyo Jujutsu High Exchange Event roster—right alongside Okkotsu Yuta."

"Huh?!" The smile on Mizuki Makoto's face instantly froze.

Tokyo Jujutsu High? The Exchange Event? Didn't that place have Yuta, who could single-handedly steamroll all of Kyoto Jujutsu High? Gojo Satoru, you bastard... You didn't get a vacation yourself, so you couldn't stand seeing your prized student enjoy his life, could you?!

(Somewhere, Gojo Satoru was eating Kikufuku: Prized student? Is that supposed to mean he drew me getting railed in a doujin and sold it like hotcakes?)

"Gojo's exact words were—" Utahime read aloud from the voice-to-text on her phone without expression. "'Since Makoto-kun has already stolen all the girls' hearts in Kyoto, he must have learned Kyoto people's elegance too. It's time for him to return as Tokyo Jujutsu High's secret weapon and give those stubborn old geezers a tiny little shock~️.'"

After reciting that skin-crawling message, Utahime elegantly clapped her hands.

The office doors opened at once. Miwa Kasumi, wearing a stiff, sympathetic smile, and Ultimate Mechamaru, whose expression could not be read at all, stood outside on either side, carrying all of Mizuki Makoto's belongings, art supplies, and even the bedsheet printed with the "Gender-Swap Jujutsu High" logo.

"Sorry, Mizuki-kun... These are orders from above." Miwa apologized softly, her eyes darting away.

"Luggage packed. Mission complete." Mechamaru's voice was cold and metallic as he precisely piled the luggage in the middle of the hallway.

Before Mizuki Makoto could even argue for severance pay, Utahime neatly launched a kick, sending both him and his bedding flying out through the school gates as though she were disposing of non-recyclable trash.

"So, Mizuki-kun, you're no longer qualified to take on any Kyoto Jujutsu High assignments. Roll up your bedding and get back to that perverted white-haired bastard immediately!"

Half an hour later, Mizuki Makoto stood on Kyoto's quaint streets with bags in both hands, experiencing unprecedented poverty.

That "first-generation scumbag," Gojo Satoru, had not only transferred him back, but also cut off every one of his side gigs, calling it "letting an artist's soul ascend through hunger."

"Tch. Do you even have a heart, you blindfolded bastard?"

Mizuki Makoto glanced at the little money left in his account and pushed up his glasses.

First-generation scumbag, your timing was awfully precise. Can your Six Eyes even peek at bank balances?

Since Tokyo had become a pit of fire—meaning Maki's rage—and Kyoto had cut off his food supply, then now... should he go seek refuge with Big Sister Mai or Big Sister Mei Mei and try selling his body for a soft life? Or perform on the streets by drawing Gojo Mai doujins? Or inherit the fine traditions of the Gojo Clan and, whenever trouble arose, persecute Nanami first?

"My Brother! I knew destiny would bring us together at the summit!"

A series of footsteps powerful enough to trigger a localized earthquake thundered closer. Then, the muscular wall known as Todo Aoi planted himself directly before Mizuki Makoto. Todo waved the freshly printed roster in his hand, his eyes so fervent they seemed capable of setting the entire stone-paved road ablaze.

"To face each other as destined rivals at the Exchange Event—is that not the finest definition of youth?!"

Without another word, Todo threw an arm around Mizuki Makoto's shoulders with such force that he nearly squeezed the latter's soul out through the top of his skull.

"Brother! I saw your name on that festival roster! Promise me that on that grand stage, you and I will have an upright, one-on-one private duel with fists pounding flesh! No one else may interfere. That is the vacuum domain belonging to brothers!"

"Wait, Todo. My current financial situation might not last until the Exchange Event, and Okkotsu should be more your type..."

Mizuki Makoto tried to explain, but Todo was clearly immersed in his own hot-blooded background music, perhaps using his 530,000 IQ to fabricate some more "memories that never existed." He suddenly clapped both hands together, and powerful Binding Vow fluctuations rippled through the air.

"Since this is a fated battle, let us place a wager!" Todo's eyes sharpened. "If you lose to me at the Exchange Event, Brother, you must use your connections in Tokyo to get me the supreme VIP ticket for Takada-chan's Tokyo stop on next month's national tour! The kind that comes with a handshake ticket!"

Mizuki Makoto pinched the bridge of his nose, a sinister gleam flashing behind his lenses.

—There was no getting rid of Todo. Even if he refused, the guy would definitely charge straight at him during the Exchange Event. And that white-haired bastard had surely given Yuta some private instructions too...

"Deal. But if you lose, Todo—"

Mizuki Makoto lowered his voice, his tone carrying the distinctive darkness of a "second-generation scumbag." "You have to contact your mentor and arrange a 'deep interview' with Miss Tsukumo Yuki for me. I've already prepared the outline, including but not limited to private questions such as 'what brand of underwear she wears,' 'her views on sexual positions,' and 'whether, as a Special-Grade Sorcerer, she has considered shooting a set of artistic nude photos.'"

"Oh! What an evil yet enticing challenge! I accept!"

Todo burst into wild laughter, his burning enthusiasm nearly shaking every petal off the roadside cherry trees. He swaggered away after patting his butt, leaving Mizuki Makoto standing there in the wind with his luggage.

All right, the wager had been set, and the death match decided.

Now the most urgent question was this: as a bankrupt artist kicked out by his school and cut off from income by his teacher, where exactly was he supposed to mooch meals for the next month?

Mizuki Makoto glanced back toward Kyoto Jujutsu High, then looked toward distant Tokyo. Maki-chan was surely sharpening her blade right now, Gojo-sensei was surely enjoying the show, and Mai...

He remembered that "slightly snug" uniform.

(Come to think of it, if he drew a collection featuring the sickly beautiful boy Okkotsu and the muscle demon Todo Aoi, surely some rich ladies with peculiar tastes would pay for it?)

For the moment, the urge for artistic creation—slanderous fabrication—suppressed the survival crisis.

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