Do Not Tell Anyone I'm Your Teacher

Tokyo, Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College.

In Masamichi Yaga's office, the air was thick enough to seem filled with magma.

"Gojo—!!!"

A lion's roar nearly shattered the hallway windows. Gojo Satoru, who had been sprawled on the sofa with his hands behind his head, leisurely blowing bubble gum even while wearing his blindfold, was jolted slightly upright by the blast of sound.

"Sensei, calm down. At that volume, you'll scare innocent cursed corpses bald," Gojo said lazily, blowing another bubble. His flippant tone made people want to punch him in the face.

"Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down?!" Masamichi Yaga slammed several urgent documents onto the desk with an earthshaking bang, pointing at the photo on his phone screen—a picture Mizuki Makoto had posted in the group chat, showing Naoya Zenin beaten into something with a distinctly "flat aesthetic."

"You still have the mood to eat candy?!" Masamichi Yaga grabbed several reports off the desk, looking ready to hurl them directly at Gojo's face.

"First, your personal disciple Mizuki Makoto 'vanished without cause' a month ago and still hasn't returned to school! Second, second-years Hakari Kinji and Hoshi Kirara sent a Jujutsu Headquarters liaison flying in Kyoto. Without filing for leave, they've now also 'vanished from the face of the earth'!"

"Oh my, young people these days always have a few days when they want to seek poetry and distant horizons..."

"Distant horizons my ass! Complaint letters from the Zenin Clan are piled on my desk!" Veins bulged on Masamichi Yaga's temples as he pointed at the widely circulated photo on his phone, the one of Naoya hanging from the ruins. "Mizuki Makoto turned the Zenin Clan's heir into an 'art piece' and posted the picture everywhere! Now all of Jujutsu Society knows you raised a lunatic who specializes in stomping on the Three Great Clans' faces! Gojo Satoru! At this rate, are you planning to recruit the 'King of Curses' into your class as a student next?!"

Gojo Satoru was slightly stunned by the yelling, and the bubble gum he had been blowing popped and stuck to the tip of his nose. But he was not reflecting on his actions.

If Masamichi Yaga had been closer, he would have heard the "strongest" muttering under his breath:

"Sukuna? If he were willing to put on a school uniform and obediently hand in his homework, that might actually be pretty fun."

"This photo really was taken well. The lighting, the proportion of blood to figure, the composition—it has such aesthetic appeal... As expected of Makoto. No, as expected of a disciple I taught."

Masamichi Yaga's spittle flew everywhere, baptizing Gojo Satoru from every angle without a single blind spot.

Having spent these past days cleaning up after his disciples and sitting through boring debate meetings, Gojo Satoru's already fluffy white hair looked even wetter and smoother than usual under the lights... likely due to the lustrous sheen imparted by the principal's saliva.

"Oh, I've got quite the headache too." Gojo Satoru tugged his blindfold down slightly. There was not the slightest hint of remorse in those sky-blue eyes; instead, an exceptionally malicious grin flashed through them. "Makoto tearing off Naoya's hand was indeed wrong. At the very least, he should have broken the other one too—that would have made it symmetrical. As for Hakari and Kirara... they probably went to Kyoto to scout the route for their 'study trip' ahead of time?"

"So, how do you plan to settle this?" Masamichi Yaga took a deep breath, trying to suppress the dizziness brought on by his soaring blood pressure. "The Zenin Clan demands that Mizuki Makoto be handed over for trial, and Jujutsu Headquarters demands that Hakari Kinji be expelled."

"Handing him over is impossible. Not in this lifetime."

Gojo Satoru finally pulled down his blindfold. An extreme arrogance and chill flashed through eyes as blue as the heavens. "Makoto was merely helping the Zenin Clan clean house. After all, 'the weak are unworthy of calling themselves strong'—that's the Zenin Clan's family creed. As for Hakari... that guy might be a gambling addict, but his pursuit of 'passion' is utterly sincere."

He rose to his feet, smoothed the wrinkles on his uniform, and curled his lips into a wicked smile.

"Since they're having such a great time in Kyoto, let them stay there. The Exchange Event is about to begin anyway."

"What are you plotting now?"

"Nothing." Gojo Satoru turned around and waved at Yaga. "I was just thinking, when the Exchange Event comes around, if Utahime finds out that they'll be facing not only Okkotsu Yuta, but also Mizuki Makoto, who just crippled Naoya Zenin..."

"That scene will definitely have a great deal of artistic flair, won't it?"

"Get out!! Bring them back immediately!!!"

Meanwhile, on the training grounds.

"Heave-ho—"

Maki was swinging her naginata, drenched in sweat. Every whistle through the air carried the vicious force of someone wanting to pin somebody down and choke them.

"Maki, you seem especially fired up today." Okkotsu Yuta stood awkwardly nearby with a sword bag on his back. Gojo Satoru had just summoned him from the dorms, and he still looked utterly lost, as if asking, Who am I? Where am I?

"No shit." Panda slung an arm around his shoulders and turned his phone screen toward him. "Makoto crippled Naoya Zenin, then sent Maki a message taunting her, saying, 'Since you don't even want that surname anymore, I'll help you collect this inheritance while I'm at it.' That kind of bullshit."

Okkotsu Yuta looked at the miserable Naoya Zenin in the photo, the corner of his eye twitching slightly. "Um... Mizuki really did hit him pretty hard. But Makoto wasn't hurt, right?"

"Him?" Maki raised an eyebrow. "That guy is currently living it up in Kyoto with Hakari and Kirara from the second year. Panda says they've already started discussing how to split the spoils."

"...The person in the photo looks like he's in a lot of pain." Behind Okkotsu Yuta, a massive shadow swayed faintly.

"Yuta, don't worry about that scumbag." Maki took up her stance again, unprecedented fighting spirit blazing in her eyes. "That blindfolded bastard said you're going to Kyoto for this Exchange Event too. When the time comes, you handle those Kyoto Jujutsu High losers. I'll drag that foul-mouthed bastard back here—and make him swallow the words 'your Zenin Clan' one by one!"

In the infirmary.

Shoko Ieiri exhaled a weary ring of smoke as she looked at the message Mizuki Makoto had sent her: [Miss Ieiri, the beef in Kyoto is delicious. I'll bring you back some souvenirs.]

"Souvenirs, huh..."

Shoko murmured with a smile before looking out the window.

"A madman who wouldn't care even if he tore down the Zenin Clan, plus a monster even a 'death sentence' couldn't kill. Satoru, are you trying to make Utahime so angry she ascends on the spot?"

Meanwhile, in distant Kyoto, Mizuki Makoto was in a private room at a barbecue restaurant, directing Miwa Kasumi to massage his lower back when he suddenly shuddered for no reason.

"Makoto, did you catch a cold?" Kirara asked with concern.

"No." Mizuki Makoto adjusted his glasses and looked expressionlessly at the hand-drawn picture Gojo Satoru had just sent him, depicting a little blindfolded figure holding shackles. "I merely sensed an aura known as 'Gojo Satoru's resentment' crossing a thousand miles toward me... Order another serving of beef tongue for me. I need to build up my strength first, so I can argue my case—no, 'explain myself'—when it's time to stand trial."

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