The essence of striking first — playing the victim before the other side can make a move — boiled down to a single sentence: push the blame out before anyone pushes it onto you.
Otherwise known as: being completely unreasonable.
The fact that she had barged into the juvenile detention center and thrown Kenjaku's plans into chaos — that was simply true. She couldn't deny it, and she couldn't pretend it hadn't happened. So rather than wait for him to open his mouth, the better play was to get there first — to define the starting point of the problem as Kenjaku's fault.
For example:
Why didn't you tell me you had something planned at the juvenile detention center?
If you'd told me in advance, I wouldn't have gone barging in, would I?
The argument had holes in it. Pick at it for more than two seconds and it fell apart entirely. But that was never the point of this tactic. The point wasn't whether the logic held — it was about getting there first. Whoever spoke first held the power to define the situation.
Right. Completely unreasonable. That was the whole idea.
As for whether Kenjaku would actually swallow it... well. She'd say it and see what happened.
So Mahiko stood there with both hands planted on her hips, looking down at Kenjaku where he sat lounging in his chair, riding the wave of a vague but undeniable momentum — and waited.
Kenjaku's smile didn't shift a single millimeter. His tone was perfectly easy. "My, my... and how did you know that was my experiment?"
"Under normal circumstances," Mahiko said, curling her lip with the air of someone stating the obvious, "a juvenile detention center — a place that holds underage offenders — wouldn't have a finger of Sukuna's just sitting around inside it for no reason. Someone snuck it in there deliberately. And when I went through every person who could possibly have done it, you were the only one who made sense — after all, it was you who gave Yuji Itadori the last finger, wasn't it?"
She paused, tilted her head, and put on a look of theatrical suspicion. "Or am I wrong?"
"No, no, no — you're not wrong at all." Kenjaku gave a small, satisfied clap. "That was indeed placed there by me. Sharp as ever — to think you'd figure that out on your own..."
The shameless old schemer proceeded to bury her in a landslide of flattery.
Then he shook his head, just slightly.
"That said — I didn't deliberately keep it from you. It was simply... unnecessary to mention. Who could have predicted you'd suddenly decide to go and play around inside a juvenile detention center?"
His tone remained perfectly tranquil — and, incredibly, carried just the faintest note of concession. Mahiko was genuinely surprised by it.
"This time, the fault was mine," he said. "My oversight caused an unexpected complication. From here on, whatever I have planned, I'll inform you in advance. Consider this a lesson learned on my end."
Huh. He apologizes fast, doesn't he.
Mahiko raised an eyebrow.
He'd capitulated so quickly that she hadn't even gotten to enjoy it properly. She curled her lip, kept her hands on her hips, and maintained the posture of someone who was absolutely not done being aggrieved.
"That's it? That's all?" She fixed him with a stare. "Do you have any idea that the Special Grade Cursed Spirit you arranged in there nearly killed me yesterday? Who plants a landmine and doesn't even give anyone a heads-up about it afterward? I seriously suspect this was deliberate — that you were actively trying to get rid of me — and you owe me an explanation."
"I know, I know — and haven't I just apologized?" Kenjaku looked at her, and blinked.
Mahiko's mouth twitched.
Hold on. Did this ancient schemer just... act cute at me?
He actually did.
...Good grief.
Absolutely shameless.
"Or — if you're truly, deeply, profoundly unhappy about this—" Kenjaku's tone curled into something that was almost a smile. "Then. What sort of compensation would you like?"
The moment those words were out of his mouth, Mahiko knew the old fox had read her completely.
Because she had come here with a purpose. She'd wanted to test the waters — see if she could squeeze something out of this cunning old schemer while she had the opening.
Since he'd already seen through her, there was no point in keeping up the act.
"First — money." Mahiko kept one hand on her hip and extended the other directly toward him, palm facing upward, right in front of his face. "I have needs. Food, entertainment, the basics of a life worth living. And second," she continued, "give me some stronger cursed spirits. The kind that have techniques."
The money was, obviously, to be extracted from Kenjaku free of charge.
Simply put: it was an employer's fundamental duty to pay their employees enough to maintain a reasonable standard of living. She was well within her rights to ask.
The second request needed no explanation either. More cursed spirits with techniques meant more Cursed Energy, more soul volume, and more techniques to learn. For her, that was exactly what she needed.
"Ahh... that is truly unfortunate. Those cursed spirits are rather precious to me — I'm afraid I can't simply hand them over..." Kenjaku said, still smiling. "However — however — since you're able to learn the techniques of others, I happen to have something else on hand that might be of considerably more use to you."
Mahiko narrowed her eyes slightly. "Like what?"
"Some of the jujutsu passed down through the three great clans — the Big Three Sorcery Families." Kenjaku's smile held steady. "Each of those families carries secrets buried over hundreds of years — technique scrolls that have never once been shown to outsiders. I've accumulated quite a few of them. You might find something that interests you."
The moment he finished speaking, he raised one hand slightly.
Something stirred in the shadows.
A low-grade cursed spirit crawled out from the darkness — a thing that looked like a bloated, thick-bodied worm, its skin folded and creased, its surface slick and wet. It dragged itself to Kenjaku's feet and opened its mouth.
Splat. Splat. Splat.
One after another — leather scrolls, cloth scrolls, bamboo scrolls — an assortment of aged, time-worn cylinders came heaving up out of the creature's throat in a wet, cascading stream, clattering and tumbling across the floor until they formed a considerable pile.
Mahiko stared at the pile with her mouth hanging open.
...What an absolutely disgusting storage method.
But...
Her gaze drifted over the heap of scrolls, and she started to think.
The cursed techniques available to jujutsu sorcerers fell into two broad categories: innate and acquired.
Innate techniques — the kind etched into bloodlines and genetics, like the Ten Shadows Technique or Cursed Spirit Manipulation — those were the born-with-it variety.
Acquired methods were different. They were more like skills and approaches for manipulating Cursed Energy — things like defensive arts against Domains, or the various technical disciplines of barrier construction...
Not particularly overwhelming, honestly.
The truly fearsome stuff was always the innate techniques.
Still... for where Mahiko currently stood, they weren't exactly useless either.
These scrolls didn't carry the once-in-a-generation scarcity of innate techniques — but for someone whose combat style depended entirely on adaptability and improvisation, every additional trick was another road available to her, every new skill was another degree of breathing room. One more option in a tight spot could make all the difference.
And who knew — there might even be something genuinely strange and wonderful buried in there. Techniques that had never appeared in the original story. Things no one had ever seen.
For her, these really were excellent gifts.
"So you've got something else you want me to help with, haven't you?" She didn't reach for the scrolls immediately. Instead she looked up at Kenjaku. "Is it related to our plan?"
The old schemer was being cooperative. Something was definitely up.
"You guessed correctly — it's... related to our plan, more or less." Kenjaku's smile remained warm and unreadable. "But the thing I need your help with is something you yourself will be absolutely, without any doubt, extremely interested in. I am completely certain of that. So — will you accept my request?"
Mahiko raised an eyebrow and extended one finger.
"Fine. But I have one additional condition."
"Oh?" A faint light came into Kenjaku's eyes. "And what condition is that?"
Mahiko's expression went flat. She pointed her finger downward — at the pile of scrolls on the floor, and at the gleaming, glistening, viscous layer of cursed spirit saliva coating every single one of them.
"Get someone to clean these." Her voice was saturated with undisguised revulsion. "They are absolutely filthy."
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