Humans, as a species, are born with an artistic sensibility encoded somewhere deep in their DNA — every last one of them.
Sometimes you go through life convinced you have no artistic bone in your body, no aesthetic drives whatsoever. But that's not because the gene isn't there. It's simply because you haven't yet encountered the domain that speaks to you — haven't stumbled across the thing that sets your imagination ablaze.
Before her reincarnation, Mahiko had always believed she was one of those people. Completely devoid of artistic feeling.
It was only after she reincarnated that she discovered the truth — she, too, harbored great artistic aspirations.
As it turned out, this world contained things that could send her thoughts racing and her blood roaring with creative inspiration.
"That is NOT a flaw! That's the dragon's eye! The strawberry on top of the strawberry shortcake! The single most essential, quintessential detail!!" Mahiko jabbed a finger at Jogo's nose and screamed with righteous indignation.
So infuriating. So utterly, completely infuriating. This tasteless, uncultured Jogo!
Did she think Mahiko had increased Hanami's range of Cursed Energy manipulation — and correspondingly reduced her close-quarters combat capability — for no reason?
One reason was obvious, of course: Hanami's wood-manipulation abilities naturally shone brightest at a distance, where she could leverage the full scope of her power. But the other reason — the more important reason — was that it perfectly aligned with Mahiko's XP.
A willowy, delicate figure was so much easier to sweep off her feet!
And a build ill-suited to physical exertion naturally called for the mage archetype — did she not understand the most basic logic here?!
Mahiko had poured so much of herself into her art, and this woman stood here doing nothing but trash-talking, trash-talking, trash-talking — she was absolutely hopeless!
"Tch. Whatever, I have no idea what you're on about." Jogo clicked her tongue, too lazy to deal with Mahiko's meltdown, and glanced aside. "Hey, so — you paid for them, right? I can wear the clothes now?"
The shop attendant nearby nodded frantically. "Yes, yes, the payment's already gone through — you can wear them whenever you like!"
The attendant had absolutely no idea what these people were doing. They just felt like a few very strange, very dramatic girls, and the sooner they were out the door, the better.
"Alright, I'm changing then." With that, Jogo raised both hands and, completely naturally, began stripping off her clothes right where she stood.
The shop attendant's expression changed instantly. She lunged forward and grabbed the hem of Jogo's hoodie with both hands.
Jogo looked down at the hand gripping her hem, frowned, and said with considerable impatience: "Now what?"
The attendant was sweating at the forehead, her grip white-knuckled on the fabric. "G-guest! You can change in the fitting room!"
Jogo tilted her head, frowning. "Why?"
The attendant gestured frantically at the surrounding space. "Because — because this is a public area!"
Jogo scanned the room. Her red pupils held nothing but genuine incomprehension. "Does that make a difference?"
The attendant opened her mouth. Closed it. "Well… this…"
Jogo batted the hand away. "Don't get in my way."
And she moved to keep undressing — while the passersby around them began turning their heads to stare.
Mahiko shot forward in an instant and clamped her hand over Jogo's.
Jogo had barely opened her mouth to ask what she thought she was doing when Mahiko was already hauling her by the arm toward the fitting room.
Bang.
The fitting room door swung open. Mahiko shoved Jogo inside.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Mahiko planted her hands on her hips and hissed from outside the door, keeping her voice low. "My works of art are not for the eyes of random ordinary people!"
Jogo leaned against the wall inside, arms crossed, frowning. "When did I become one of your works of art?"
"When did you stop being one?!"
You absolutely are, obviously! A curvy golden-haired elf big-sister type AND a short-haired sporty cool girl slash rock chick — of course both of those are my XP!
XP isn't something that can be boxed in, after all.
XP is vast and all-encompassing — because beauty itself cannot be defined!
Anything beautiful, humans will love! That's the universal truth!
If you don't even understand something that simple, what kind of New Human are you supposed to be? You useless creature!!
After pushing Jogo into the fitting room, Mahiko didn't follow immediately.
She turned, her gaze sharpening, and fixed it on a corner of the ceiling.
Something was up there — an impossibly tiny insect, clinging to the surface. Its body was covered densely in eyes, a dozen miniature eyeballs rotating in unison, all of them staring directly this way.
A surveillance-type Cursed Spirit.
Kenjaku's monitoring device.
"Shoo. Get lost." Mahiko waved it off like a fly, her expression cold, her voice low. "Girls are changing. Avert your eyes."
Then she raised her hand. A thin thread of Cursed Energy flicked from her fingertip and struck the tiny eye-covered insect with pinpoint precision.
Plop.
The insect dropped from the ceiling, hit the floor, and went still.
Far away, in the Cursed Spirit base, Kenjaku — who had been lounging in a beach chair soaking up the sun — opened his eyes. He turned the situation over in his mind at length, and ultimately could only let out a helpless, rueful laugh.
"Really now… just because my current body is male, does that mean my original gender gets completely ignored…" He sighed. "…Ah, youth…"
Bang!
The fitting room door was pulled shut firmly.
Mahiko stood with her hands on her hips inside the cramped little space and looked Jogo up and down from head to toe.
Jogo's clothes were indeed in tatters from the battle. Over them, however, she wore a drape of fabric resembling a cloak — something Hanami had apparently fashioned on the spot using Cursed Energy to give her some semblance of coverage.
But looking closely, compared to normal human clothing, it fell utterly short on every front — aesthetics, comfort, you name it.
"Hold still."
Jogo crossed her arms and frowned. "Why would I move?"
"Good. Then don't."
Mahiko reached out, ready to help Jogo change.
That was fine right up until the moment her hand actually made contact. The instant she touched Jogo — especially when she lifted the torn clothing and her fingertips accidentally grazed the skin just below Jogo's hem —
Jogo recoiled sharply, as though she'd been electrocuted.
"——!!!"
Mahiko stared. "Didn't you just say you wouldn't move?"
Jogo held her flinched-away posture, back pressed against the fitting room wall, both hands raised instinctively in front of her, eyes wide. "I… "
She didn't know either.
She genuinely didn't know why she'd flinched.
She hadn't intended to. But the instant she was touched, her entire body went itchy — like a current had shot through her from the point of contact. It was far stranger than being struck by a jujutsu attack. An indescribable, inexplicable feeling. Something she had never experienced before.
"Stop flinching." Mahiko clicked her tongue.
Jogo lowered her hands, took a slow breath, and nodded. "Not flinching."
Mahiko reached out again.
Her fingertips grazed the skin at Jogo's side —
Jogo flinched again.
"…" Mahiko raised an eyebrow. "Are you doing this on purpose?"
Jogo herself was baffled, her red pupils swimming with confusion. "I'm not deliberately trying to dodge, it's just…"
Just what?
She couldn't explain it herself.
She even felt the tips of her ears growing hot. She had no idea why.
Her body generating heat… was her Cursed Energy or her Technique activating on its own? No, that couldn't be right — she wasn't running anything.
Then why was she hot?
Human bodies… were far too strange.
The fitting room mirror reflected Jogo's face back at her. The tips of her ears had gone distinctly red. She stared at her own reflection, genuinely dumbfounded.
"This is such a hassle." Mahiko had run out of patience. "Bear with it. Hanami's waiting outside — don't keep her waiting too long."
She decided to resort to forcible measures.
A flick of Cursed Energy — a rabbit shot out of her palm. The moment it landed, its body rapidly stretched and reshaped itself into a fluffy rope, which launched upward and wound around Jogo's wrists, yanking her arms above her head and leaving her suspended.
"You — ?!" Jogo had barely begun to raise her voice —
Snap.
Mahiko snapped her fingers.
A second rabbit burst out, transformed mid-air into a small wad of cloth, and stuffed itself neatly into Jogo's mouth.
Mahiko regarded the suspended white-haired girl with a completely expressionless face, her tone carrying just the faintest edge of a threat: "Consider this a warning — do not mobilize your Cursed Energy. If you want that plan to proceed smoothly, suppress every last urge to resist."
"Mmph — mmph — !!"
Jogo didn't know what was happening to her.
She was a Special Grade Cursed Spirit. She had just gone head-to-head with a monster like Satoru Gojo. And yet here she was — strung up by her wrists in a fitting room — trembling, eyes squeezed narrow, a bead of moisture gathering at the corner of each eye.
Every avenue of resistance had been cut off.
She was utterly, completely helpless.
And so all she could do was watch as Mahiko's hands reached toward her, moving freely up and down, while she produced nothing but weak, pitiable little "mmph" sounds.
The tattered clothes on Jogo's body were, by this point, barely holding together — even if she tried to keep them, they were beyond wearable. Mahiko stripped away the shredded fabric in one clean motion and began dressing her in the new sportswear.
............
Outside the fitting room.
"Mmph — mmph — mmph —"
"Stop resisting."
Riiip — the sound of fabric tearing.
"Mmph!!"
Riiip, riiip — more fabric tearing.
The shop attendant stood at the fitting room door, holding a clothes hanger, her expression progressively freezing over.
A few female customers who had been browsing nearby also stopped what they were doing and exchanged glances with one another.
Hanami, meanwhile, stood quietly against the wall beside the fitting room — golden hair cascading over her shoulders, blindfold over her eyes, expression serene — looking for all the world as if she could hear absolutely nothing.
One of the attendants worked up the courage to sidle over to Hanami and murmur: "Um… your friends… are they… alright in there?"
Hanami tilted her head slightly. Her vivid green eyes glanced over at the attendant from behind the blindfold.
A puzzled tilt of the head.
"They sound… like they're having fun?"
Huh?
The attendant and the onlookers exchanged another round of bewildered looks.
Having fun?
What was coming out of that room sounded like a crime scene…
Was the youth of today really this extreme?!
............
Inside the fitting room.
Mahiko suddenly had the distinct feeling that something was off.
She hadn't looked directly, but based on experience alone, her brow furrowed sharply.
Wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Mahiko scouted around obliquely to confirm her suspicions.
And then — without having looked directly — she confirmed it.
"Wait." Mahiko was stunned. "Where's your underwear? How are you going commando?"
She was pretty sure she had given Jogo underwear at the start.
Where on earth had it gone??
____
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