The Trouble You'll Cause Later

"Wait, you crippled one of the Zenin Clan heir's hands and even sent out photos like that?" Mai abruptly raised her head. After the successive mental blows of "violent criminal," "gambling addict expelled from school," and "cross-dressing senior," the absurdity of all those forces colliding was like a basin of ice water, forcibly reconnecting her nearly burnt-out sanity.

She stared fixedly at Mizuki Makoto. Deep in her eyes, that sense of awe toward the Zenin Clan, toward order and authority, surfaced once more. "The Zenin Clan won't let you go, Mizuki Makoto! They're one of the Three Great Families, the pinnacle of Jujutsu Society! Although Naobito fears the Gojo Clan, he'll never allow the scandal of 'Naoya being crippled by Gojo Satoru's student' to happen. He'll use every political means—"

Mizuki Makoto reacted swiftly, picking up a piece of plump, sizzling Kobe beef freshly dipped in egg and precisely stuffing it into Mai's chattering little mouth before she could hit her next high note.

"Mm! Mmm!"

"Eat more meat and worry less, Mai. Starting to fret over political struggles at your age will give you wrinkles."

Mizuki Makoto withdrew his chopsticks and casually pointed at Hakari Kinji beside them, who had his brows furrowed as he tried to "smuggle" the last beef short rib off the grill.

"You heard that just now too, right? This dead gambling addict sitting in front of you beat those conservative higher-ups so badly on Kyoto Jujutsu High territory a while back that they're still breathing oxygen." Mizuki Makoto revealed an exceedingly sinister smile. "By Zenin Clan logic, this macho man should've been sunk to the bottom of Lake Biwa to feed the fish by now. So how is he still sitting here, fighting me over the 'ownership' of this steak?"

"Makoto! This piece of 'meat' has reached the peak of its 'passion'! It belongs to me!" Hakari Kinji let out a bold roar, his two thick chopsticks whipping through the air in afterimages and even kicking up gusts of pressure.

"You bastard, you used me as your shield and still want to shortchange me. I've put up with you for a long time... Watch me smash your face in!"

Mizuki Makoto snorted. Although the sharp pain from his battered lower back had turned his face pale, the hand holding his chopsticks remained steady as a rock. They launched an extremely childish yet high-frequency "war" above the narrow grill, their chopstick tips scraping violently enough to throw off sparks.

The instant Hakari Kinji exposed an opening while defending the meat, Mizuki Makoto shoved up his monocle with his other hand and spoke as casually as if discussing tomorrow's weather.

"Mai, the Zenin Clan is one of the Three Great Families. They have deep roots. Beating up their heir means endless trouble, and perhaps even Secret Execution by those old men at Jujutsu Headquarters... That's what you wanted to say, right?"

He directly abandoned the "chopstick war." Just as Hakari Kinji was about to sweep away the meat, he flicked the bloodstained black-and-gold card that had once belonged to Naoya Zenin from the table straight at Hakari Kinji's broad forehead.

Smack!

The crisp sound silenced the noisy private room for a second.

"But you got one thing wrong." Mizuki Makoto turned his head and gave Mai, whose mouth was still stuffed with beef and whose face was full of shock, the same utterly nasty smile Gojo Satoru wore.

"I'm Gojo Satoru's disciple."

He paused, seemingly to let those words fully ferment in the air.

"Even if I hadn't beaten Naoya, even if I did absolutely nothing, those ancient bastards at Jujutsu Headquarters still wouldn't like me as long as I carried the title of 'Gojo Satoru's disciple.' Since they'll target me either way, why shouldn't I enjoy beating him up? As long as I'm not caught red-handed, as long as the 'tallest and strongest' is still standing over me, all they can do is smash a few cups in the conference room, suppress my grade, or at most let me 'run into' a Special Grade cursed spirit during a Grade 2 mission."

Watching Hakari Kinji skillfully catch the black card, his gambling addict eyes gleaming with wildly excited green light, Mizuki Makoto leisurely took a sip of green tea.

"And let me repeat: I'm that Gojo Satoru's disciple. As long as that blindfolded bastard isn't dead, as long as he's still eating sweets in that Tokyo Jujutsu High office, the Zenin Clan can write complaint letters as high as Mount Everest and still only have to hold it in while listening to me feast here. At most, they can pull some strings with mission assignments. That's what they call the benefits of having a famous teacher. Got it?"

"You know Okkotsu Yuta, right?" Mizuki Makoto mischievously added an even more impactful example. "He has a [Secret Execution] sentence personally handed down by Jujutsu Headquarters hanging over him. Yet not only is he alive, he'll soon be swaggering back here. Mai, do you know why?"

Through the rising steam, Mizuki Makoto said softly, "Because Gojo-sensei said, 'Don't forget, I'm on Yuta's side.' So that verdict can only serve as toilet paper for those old bastards."

W-Wait! Was Tokyo Jujutsu High actually some kind of international crime syndicate, and was Gojo Satoru really the sort of mafia godfather who would destroy the world whenever he was in a bad mood?!

Mai finally swallowed the beef, but the fragrance of its fat could no longer soothe the desolation in her heart.

She turned to Miwa Kasumi. The "only conscience of Kyoto Jujutsu High" was currently leaning beside Kirara with a worshipful expression, humbly asking for tips on keeping makeup primer from cracking.

So what kind of life was Maki living over there? Were the rumors about the Asura Princess not exaggerated at all, but some kind of conservative documentary literature?!

"Don't look at me like that, Mai." Mizuki Makoto watched her through the steam.

"Utahime-sensei is nice, gentle, and far more meticulous and reliable at teaching than that blindfolded bastard. It really is enviable to have a teacher like her... But she lacks a little [vision]. As for the profession of jujutsu sorcerers, that blindfolded bastard once taught us this—"

Mizuki Makoto pointed toward Kyoto's ancient streets sinking into darkness beyond the window, then at Hakari Kinji, who was figuring out how to launder the black-and-gold card. His tone became somewhat profound.

"At the end of the day, jujutsu sorcery is an individual competition."

He set down his teacup, his voice carrying a decadent allure.

"Even in a team match, if even one person drags everyone down, they'll all sink into the mud. Conversely, as long as you're strong enough, Jujutsu Headquarters' rules and family traditions... Ah, you definitely can't do that, so forget I said anything. But Maki, for example, is living freer than anyone now. She's already fighting her own individual match instead of fighting for that boring Zenin Clan."

Mai fell silent.

Something like 'freedom' was too luxurious—so luxurious that the weak could only look up at it.

Within the Zenin Clan, she had grown accustomed to meekly enduring everything because of her low status. Naoya's mere appearance could even make her tremble instinctively.

But among this table of scumbags, gambling addicts, cross-dressers, and Miwa Kasumi, the air called "freedom" seemed like something she could breathe in too.

"...Since you say it's an 'individual competition.'" She suddenly raised her head. A trace of resolve flashed in her eyes, a rebound after years of suppression finally being led astray. "Then I want to prepare some prize money for my own 'competition' too."

She looked at Hakari Kinji, her voice trembling slightly but firm. "You want to set up that underground casino in Tokyo. The greatest obstacle isn't money, but Jujutsu Headquarters' 'surprise inspections' and 'shutdowns,' right?"

Hakari Kinji raised a brow, stopping mid-peel with the shrimp in his hand. He glanced at Kirara beside him.

"Oh? Does Mai have some brilliant insight?"

"Though I have no status in the Zenin Clan, I'm still 'a Zenin Clan member at Kyoto Jujutsu High.' Kyoto usually receives advance word of Jujutsu Headquarters' operational orders against troublemakers like you." Mai clenched her fists, her knuckles turning slightly white. "I can be your informant in Kyoto. As long as Jujutsu Headquarters takes action against your casino or any of you personally, I'll tip you off in advance. In exchange—"

She drew a deep breath and looked at Mizuki Makoto. "I want a share of the money in that card just now as an 'informant fee.' It doesn't need to be much, but it must be enough for me to survive without relying on the Zenin Clan."

The boiling atmosphere in the private room seemed to have its sound switched off, abruptly freezing solid.

Hakari Kinji stopped peeling the shrimp. Those predator-sharp eyes of his narrowed slightly, sweeping across Mai with an indifferent scrutiny. Kirara also put down the eyebrow razor. Though a sweet curve remained on their lips, their eyes held a cool sense of distance.

Hey, hey, what kind of troublesome brat did Makoto bring over? This Grade 3 Sorcerer from Kyoto Jujutsu High who reeks of "honor student" actually wants to join us?

Kin-chan, you really are an idiot.

They exchanged a quick glance. Then Hakari Kinji burst out laughing even louder than before. "Ohoho! Mai! You felt that 'burning passion' too? Using the Zenin name to bite back at the Zenin Clan—now that's some incredible passion! Fine! I approve this 'security consulting fee'!"

Kirara leaned over as well, smiling sweetly as they took Mai's hand with the intimacy of sisters reunited after years apart. "Oh my, since you're someone Makoto likes, we'll be counting on you for Kyoto's 'weather forecasts' from now on, Mai. If you do well, the interest will grow so much you won't be able to sleep~"

Mizuki Makoto smiled as he leaned back in his chair, though it hurt terribly. He watched Zenin Mai already skillfully exchange contact information with Hakari Kinji through an encrypted line, while Miwa Kasumi learned how to trim her eyebrows from Kirara.

It was a certain perverse delight known as "accomplices."

Dinner was drawing to a close.

He took out his phone and looked at the last text Gojo Satoru had sent. It was a sticker of a little figure in sunglasses crazily shaking its butt, followed by a line of text.

[Mi-zu-ki-kun. Old man Naobito was so angry just now that he smashed his treasured tea set. To appease Jujutsu Headquarters, your teacher had no choice but to work an extra hour every day for the next week. So, as "compensation," after you return to school, I'll prepare a thirty-thousand-word "self-criticism" for you as extracurricular homework. Love, your teacher~️]

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