The world of jujutsu sorcery is a brutal ledger of debits and credits, a balance sheet written in blood and cursed energy. You, the newest Special Grade, were the most promising asset to hit the market in a generation. And Mei Mei, the most shrewd investor in the business, acquired you immediately.

She didn’t just take you under her wing as a trainee. She made you her project. Her protégé. Her sugar baby.

The arrangement is never spoken of in crude terms, of course. Mei Mei is far too elegant for that. It’s a simple matter of investment and return. “Your power and accomplishments will be my benefit,” she explains one evening, her voice a calm, melodic counterpoint to the residual adrenaline still humming in your veins from a mission. She is lounging on a plush divan in her impeccably appointed apartment, a space that feels more like a high-end gallery than a home. “I provide the capital—the resources, the guidance, the opportunities—and you provide the growth. It’s a symbiotic relationship.”

The capital is staggering. It arrives without fanfare, but also without limit. A bank card linked to an account with obscene limits appears in your pocket. A sleek, black car is waiting for you one morning, the keys cool in your palm. Your cramped dorm at Jujutsu High is forgotten; she installs you in a minimalist suite with a view of the city that seems to hold every possible future. The gifts are precise, tailored: a custom-made combat jacket from a designer you’ve only seen in magazines, its fabric woven with subtle curse-repelling threads. A set of ancient, whetstone-grade tools for maintaining your weapons, presented in a lacquered box.

But it’s the affection that is the most calculated, and therefore the most disarming. It is never sentimental, but it is intensely focused. After a successful exorcism, her praise is a soft hand on your shoulder, a single, approving nod. “Efficient,” she’ll say, her lilac eyes assessing you not as a person, but as a portfolio performing above expectations. She remembers the tea you like—a rare, smoky blend—and has it prepared when you return, exhausted. She listens to your theories on cursed energy manipulation, her chin resting on her knuckles, offering razor-sharp insights that cut to the heart of a problem. It feels like being seen, truly seen, for the first time. The fact that this scrutiny has a monetary value attached to it somehow makes it feel more real, more honest, than empty platitudes.

You train under her watchful eye. She teaches you not just jujutsu, but the economics of it. How to assess a curse’s “service potential,” as she calls it. How to minimize resource expenditure—your cursed energy, your time—for maximum yield. She pushed you to your limits, her own formidable Grade 1 skills a relentless benchmark. “Sentiment is a liability,” she instructs coolly as you block her strike, your arms ringing from the impact. “Loyalty is a contract. Understand your worth, and make sure others pay it.”

Her younger brother, Ui Ui, watches you with a mixture of awe and a strange, proprietary jealousy. You are the new prized instrument in his sister’s collection. You dine with them sometimes, the conversation a blend of mission debriefings and discussions of asset management. You feel yourself changing, hardening at the edges, becoming more… efficient. The boundless potential within you is being refined, sharpened, and given a direction: upward.

One night, after you single-handedly dismantled a semi-Grade 1 curse that had wiped out two other sorcerer teams, she meets you at the door of your suite. She doesn’t smile, but her expression is one of deep satisfaction. In her hands is a small, velvet case.

“A down payment on future dividends,” she says, her voice low.

You open it. Inside isn’t jewelry, but a single, matte-black communications earpiece, more advanced than anything Jujutsu Tech has. A tool. An investment in better returns.