That Day When Suzuki-kun Wasn't the Mob-B!

”Did you really just teleport into my courtyard without an appointment?” Suzuki asked, staring flatly at the tall, blindfolded man strolling toward him.

”Of course~!” Gojo grinned goofily, entirely unbothered by the tension in the air. ”I’m the strongest, so I can teleport wherever I want! And you wouldn’t dare refuse a visit from me, right, Clan Head Suzuki? By the way, can you teleport too?”

”No, I cannot. My technique is fundamentally different.” Suzuki let out a heavy, exhausted sigh before turning to the terrified servants frozen at the edge of the courtyard. ”Prepare tea and sweets for our guest.”

”Ooh, sweets?” Gojo tilted his head, his grin widening.

”Would you rather not have any?”

”I want them!”

The rest of the Zenin Clan stood in absolute, paralyzed silence. No one dared to interrupt the bizarre interaction between the two monsters. They quickly scrambled to obey Suzuki’s orders, rushing to prepare the finest tea and pastries to appease the strongest sorcerer alive.

A few minutes later, the two men sat across from each other on the veranda.

”Did you come straight here after finishing a mission?” Suzuki asked calmly, taking a slow sip of tea to soothe his throbbing headache.

”I did,” Gojo sighed dramatically, tossing a high-calorie pastry into his mouth. ”The Elders are completely useless, you know. If it weren’t for me doing all the heavy lifting, this country would have been wiped off the map by curses ages ago.”

Even as he complained playfully, Gojo’s hidden eyes locked onto Suzuki. A suffocating, terrifying pressure suddenly leaked from his body. It was a subtle flex of dominance—a silent threat checking to see if Suzuki planned to slaughter the Elders next.

”I am not a bloodthirsty barbarian,” Suzuki said, remaining perfectly calm. He didn’t sweat, and he didn’t flinch under the crushing pressure of Gojo’s aura. ”I’m not as simple-minded as you are.”

”Eh? Me? Simple?” Gojo dropped his goofy act, looking genuinely baffled and slightly insulted. ”What is that supposed to mean?”

”Isn’t it obvious?” Suzuki looked at Gojo with pure exhaustion. ”Your only solution to fixing the Jujutsu world is to use your god-like power to bully the system. You show up here, flex your aura, and silently threaten to kill me if I do something stupid. Honestly, Satoru Gojo... what is the actual difference between you and the corrupt Elders?”

”...”

Gojo stopped chewing.

What was the difference between Satoru Gojo and the Jujutsu Elders?

Fundamentally, there wasn’t one. Both of them relied entirely on absolute power to force society to bend to their will. Gojo was the strongest physical force in the world, allowing him to get away with whatever he wanted. The Elders were the highest-ranking political force, allowing them to order everyone around despite being physically weak.

Sure, Gojo was handsome, likable, and tried to protect his students. But in the end, he couldn’t actually solve the core issues of Jujutsu society. The system remained a broken meat-grinder where isolated outcasts were forced to risk their lives fighting Cursed Spirits just to earn a living. Gojo just ignored the root of the problem to focus on punching the biggest monsters.

”You and the Elders are exactly the same,” Suzuki continued ruthlessly. ”You both think that just by sitting at the absolute top, you can magically change the world. Your grand master plan is to just wait for the current Elders to die of old age so your students can replace them. But what happens when your students grow old? What happens when their children take over? Power corrupts. Eventually, your new system will rot and become exactly like the current one.”

”...”

Gojo wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Suzuki’s logic was entirely flawless. Gojo might trust his immediate students, but what about the third generation? The fourth?

”Well, if my plan is so bad, what exactly are you going to do?” Gojo frowned, leaning forward. He was waiting to hear if Suzuki planned to violently usurp the Elders and declare himself the dictator of the Jujutsu world.

”I’m not going to do anything,” Suzuki replied, taking another sip of tea.

”.....” Gojo blinked. ”Huh?”

”Do you honestly think I want to sit in the Elders’ seats? Don’t make me laugh,” Suzuki scoffed. ”I do not have the patience to be humanity’s customer service department.”

”.....”

”C-Customer service?” Gojo repeated, entirely thrown off by the corporate phrasing.

”Isn’t that what they are?” Suzuki sighed. ”People like you constantly demand they be fair, complain about their decisions, and threaten to murder them. The Japanese Prime Minister demands they clean up the country. The civilians complain about the collateral damage. Being an Elder just means you are a punching bag for everyone’s problems.”

Suzuki pushed his glasses up his nose. ”When you look at it that way, my path is infinitely easier. All I have to do is manage my own family, make infinite money, and legally ruin anyone who disobeys me. Why on earth would I volunteer to become an Elder and deal with constant headaches like you?”

”.....”

Gojo was speechless.

Naturally, Gojo wasn’t the only one listening. Maki, Mai, Naobito, and the surviving elite guards were hiding just out of sight, listening to their Clan Head’s ideology. They were all completely stunned, but they also felt a profound sense of relief. Suzuki didn’t have some crazy, heroic idealism. He didn’t want to conquer the world; he just wanted to control it comfortably.

In Suzuki’s eyes, the Elders were like the President or the Prime Minister. They were the public faces. If the economy crashed or society failed, the politicians were the ones who took the blame and got destroyed by the media.

Suzuki didn’t want to be the President. He wanted to be the Shadow Governor.

He wanted to be the untouchable billionaire who owned the infrastructure. As one of the Big Three Families, the Zenin Clan controlled one-third of the entire Jujutsu economy. If the Elders tried to cross him, Suzuki could simply move all his wealth into offshore bank accounts and completely collapse the Jujutsu economy by next week.

To control the Jujutsu world, Suzuki didn’t need to be as strong as Satoru Gojo, and he didn’t need the political title of an Elder. He just needed economic leverage. With enough money holding the system hostage, whoever sat at the top would be forced to submit to him anyway.

It was a flawless, terrifyingly practical mindset.

But Satoru Gojo was still Satoru Gojo. Since he couldn’t win the philosophical or economic debate, he defaulted to the one thing he was actually good at.

”Anyway...”

Gojo suddenly stood up, stretching his long arms high above his head with a wide, dangerous grin.

”I feel a bit stiff from sitting down all day. You don’t mind helping me work up a sweat, right, Suzuki-kun~?”

”...” Suzuki stared at him, fully realizing the peace talks were over.