That Day When Suzuki-kun Wasn't the Mob-B! Chapter 475: A New Order and an Uninvited Guest (Patreon)

"Fuh..." 

Suzuki took a deep breath, shifting slightly as Maki slept soundly on his bed, seemingly exhausted yet comfortable. 

Would it cause him trouble? 

If there were a problem, then probably, Mai might bite him to death if she knew of their relationship. 

Still, as Suzuki was in Tokyo to handle several businesses that he had done, and also took the estate of the Gojo Clan for himself, Maki also followed him, under the pretense of returning to Tokyo, as she lived in Tokyo, especially after she left the clan. 

As for going back to everyone, Maki didn't think that it was necessary since, with her current level, especially after she had fully awakened her powers, the Heavenly Restriction, there was nothing that the teachers at Tokyo Jujutsu High could teach her anymore. 

However, Suzuki had to say that, due to her power, it took a long time to satisfy her, but at the same time, he also had to admit that he could somehow grow stronger, at least in terms of physical ability, when he was in a fight with her on the bed. 

Should I evolve? 

Suzuki knew well that others like him from various worlds, whether from Fairy Tail or DxD, had all evolved from their original races, breaking away from their mortality and becoming a new existence under the influence of Suzuki of Tensura, and, frankly, he could do it, too. 

If there was a problem... no, there wasn't any problem at all, since as long as the conditions were met, he could evolve. 

Yet before that, let's just sleep first, since at least, for now, no one could handle him. 

"That Zenin bastard!" 

"How dare he?!" 

"We have to kill him!" 

"But, how?!" 

"Gojo, use Gojo!" 

"Gojo can't do anything." 

"....." 

The traditional sliding shoji screens of the council chambers felt less like a sanctuary and more like a mausoleum.

For centuries, the higher-ups of Jujutsu society had regarded the Zenin Clan as nothing more than their personal attack dogs. Whenever an upstart sorcerer needed silencing or an unsightly political obstacle needed tearing apart, the Elders merely threw a slab of meat into the Zenin pit and pointed a withered finger. The hounds had always obeyed.

Until Suzuki dragged the old guard out by their throats and crowned himself Patriarch.

Now, the dog had not only bitten the master's hand; it had severed the entire arm, pocketed the gold signet rings, and calmly rewritten the terms of the leash.

"Insolent... arrogant bastard!" one Elder hissed into the dim room, trembling so hard his prayer beads clicked like dry bones.

The financial bleed alone was gutting them. In the past, every curse-exorcism bounty dispatched from the upper echelons passed through bureaucratic tollgates where the Elders skimmed generous percentages. Now? The Zenin simply intercepted the contracts through back channels and private syndicates, executing them with lethal, clockwork precision and taking 100% of the payment. Worse still, the non-sorcerer government officials—men who cared only for clean streets and low casualty counts—were singing praises of the "new management."

The Elders had tried to retaliate in the old-fashioned way: branding him a Curse User. A quick ink stroke on an execution warrant was how they usually buried inconvenient geniuses.

Except Suzuki didn't just play with cursed energy. He fought like a modern oligarch. Within forty-eight hours of the warrant being drafted, offshore shell accounts, confidential blackmail dossiers, recorded bribes, and generational scandals belonging to every Elder in the room landed directly on their private desks. He suffocated them with media leverage, civil court filings, and fiscal ruin before a single blade was even drawn.

To top it all off, thirty percent of Japan's frontline sorcery firepower was now fiercely loyal to the Zenin banner—equipped with cutting-edge cursed tools, exorbitant salaries, and modern training. If civil war broke out, the Elders wouldn't just lose; they would be scrubbed from history.

Slap!

A slender white envelope fluttered down onto the low wooden table, snapping the Elders out of their mutual despair.

"Yahallo~!"

A towering figure stepped out from the shadows, white hair glinting in the lantern light, an infuriatingly bright blindfold plastered across his face. Gojo Satoru leaned over them with both hands casually tucked into his pockets, grinning like a fox in a henhouse.

"Gojo...!" an Elder snarled, though his throat tightened. "What is the meaning of this?"

"A sweet little love letter from Suzuki-kun," Satoru chimed, tilting his head with mock sweetness. "The short version? Keep your claws off of Yuji-kun. Because if you touch a hair on his head... well, you won't just have one headache to worry about. You'll make enemies of both the Gojo and Zenin clans simultaneously. Fun, right?"

Silence descended upon the chamber, heavy and suffocating.

"Anyway! Message delivered! Don't choke on your tea, grandpa~!"

With a two-finger salute, Satoru flickered out of existence, leaving the council hall shaking under the chorus of frantic, toothless screams:

"DAMN THEM ALL TO HELL!"

The morning sun filtered softly through the private courtyard of the Zenin estate.

Suzuki paused midway through buttoning his black haori, rubbing the bridge of his nose before sneezing softly.

"Cold?" Maki's voice cut through the quiet. She was leaning against the doorway, a fitted tank top clinging to the sculpted lines of her shoulders and waist, arms crossed over her chest, having to wake up early for her morning workout. Her dark eyes narrowed with genuine suspicion. "Don't tell me you caught something after walking around bare-chested half the night."

"I'm fine," Suzuki chuckled, adjusting his collar. "Someone's just cursing my name somewhere. It's an everyday thing."

"Tell me who," Maki stated flatly, her gaze turning cold and sharp. "They're dead."

Suzuki blinked, dryly staring back at her terrifyingly earnest face. "...Let's stop on the homicide before breakfast, alright?"

"Is it those withered fossils of the Elders again, right?" She clicked her tongue, fingers twitching as if already reaching for a weapon. "They've been plotting ever since you became the head."

"Don't waste your energy on them. They're all bark and no bite," Suzuki said easily, taking a seat beside her on the engawa. "Between Gojo standing guard and the dirt we have on their finances, they know that one wrong move means the Zenin hounds tear through their gardens. More importantly..." He glanced at her, offering an easy smile. "What do you say we ditch clan duties today and go on a date?"

Maki's eyes instantly flashed with fierce excitement. "A sparring date? You finally want to test that heavy-grade spear from the armory?"

Suzuki rubbed his temples in quiet defeat. A date and combat drills are completely different things, woman.

Still, looking at her lean frame, he couldn't help but ponder the ceiling of her Heavenly Restriction. Beyond forging top-tier special-grade cursed tools for her, was there a way to break through the lingering chains on her body and unlock her true potential?

Before the thought could develop, a clan attendant dropped to his knees at the perimeter of the courtyard, bowing deeply.

"Patriarch. Forgive the intrusion, but you have guests awaiting you in the main pavilion."

"Guests?" Suzuki raised a brow. "Did they have an appointment?"

"No, sir... but there are three of them, and one specifically requested an audience with the head of the house. We... felt it unwise to turn them away."

Suzuki's curiosity was piqued. If the seasoned Zenin guards were hesitant to draw their blades, the visitors carried a serious weight. "Fine. Let's see who's bold enough to drop in uninvited."

When Suzuki slid open the heavy cypress doors of the reception hall, whatever stern, authoritative greeting he had prepared dissolved on the spot.

Lounging lazily on one of the tatami mats was a woman who didn't look like any traditional sorcerer he had ever encountered.

Long, golden-blonde hair tumbled down her back in loose, sun-kissed waves, framing an intensely radiant face. Her outfit was an absolute riot against the traditional Zenin aesthetic—a low-cut, snug white biker top that hugged her exceptionally generous bust, leaving the soft curve of her collarbones and a teasing hint of cleavage shamelessly on display. Tight, faded denim jeans clung effortlessly to her hips, outlining long, athletic legs and the kind of full, rounded curves that practically demanded attention.

She leaned back on one arm, arching her back just enough for the fabric to strain across her chest.

"Well, well, well..."

Her voice was husky, carrying a slow, velvety drawl that sent a faint ripple through the air. Rather than sitting properly, she tilted her head, batting her lashes with exaggerated, playful cuteness that was entirely at odds with her lethal aura.

"Look at you. So young and handsome, Patriarch of the Zenin Clan... Or maybe," she purred, licking her lower lip with a slow, feline grin, "I can just call you Suzuki-kun?"

Behind Suzuki, Maki's hand subtly found the hilt hidden beneath her coat, her brow furrowing with undisguised territorial hostility.

The blonde didn't seem to care in the slightest. She shifted her weight, propping her chin on a manicured hand as she leaned forward. The motion pushed her chest forward enticingly, offering a generous, distracting view that made the surrounding guards look anywhere but at her. Her golden eyes locked directly onto Suzuki's, gleaming with mischief and intoxicating confidence.

"Before we talk about boring things, let's break the ice, handsome," she asked, her smile turning entirely sinful. "Tell me... what's your type of woman?"

Suzuki's eyes twitched in utter disbelief. ...Seriously?