At noon on March 17, 1999, Risotto Nero arranged for his nephew, Johnson Joffrey, to undergo Polpo's assessment. However, he still felt a sense of unease, suddenly recalling a letter his cousin had written to him after going to America.
"Johnson is a good boy. I hope he can become a lawyer in the future."
Tsk, Risotto Nero couldn't help but pat his head. Looking at his team members who were carelessly watching the football match in front of the TV, the unease in his heart continued to grow.
"What the hell is Dino kicking?! He's bringing shame to all italians!!!" Ghiaccio took off his shoe and threw it at the TV.
Formaggio couldn't help but frown and say, "Ghiaccio, don't throw things around. You've already broken one."
Risotto started blaming himself again. Originally, the plan was for Johnson to go home after the assessment, and he had even arranged an italian teacher for him.
Illuso returned from outside, looking thoughtful and about to speak, but hesitating. Finally, he said, "Just now..."
"You're so slow, Illuso. The match has already started," Ghiaccio said.
"No!" Illuso said decisively, "Johnson, Johnson, he..."
"What happened to Johnson?!" Risotto quickly asked.
"I just went downstairs and saw fire trucks and ambulances. The Third Prison exploded," Illuso analyzed. "The Third Prison is Polpo's home! Wasn't that kid Johnson going for a test today? I've always felt that kid isn't simple and is very likely to do something out of line."
"I just guessed, could it have been that kid?"
"Don't talk nonsense, Illuso," Prosciutto said from the sofa. "This isn't a joke. If Johnson really did it, would we still be so leisurely watching the football match?"
As soon as Prosciutto finished speaking, a heavy silence fell upon the air.
"..."
Everyone felt cold sweat trickle down their backs. That kid didn't talk much, but just by his appearance, he seemed like someone who would stir up trouble.
If he really caused trouble, then it would be the entire Assassination Team's responsibility.
"Don't... don't joke, Big Brother," Pesci pulled his gaze away from the TV and looked at Prosciutto. "What you're saying is really scary."
Silence enveloped the entire Assassination Team. They all seemed to start worrying. Johnson was a member of the Assassination Team, and the Assassination Team had just been warned by the boss with human body slices. Yet, today, Johnson Joffrey was sent to join the gang, mainly as a gesture of goodwill. After all, the captain's nephew was sent, which also expressed trust in the organization.
Just as the air became still, and everyone began to exchange glances, starting to feel a subtle worry—
An urgent knock on the door sounded.
Everyone's hair stood on end, their gazes falling on Illuso, who was closest to the door. Illuso looked at everyone in surprise, then reluctantly went to open the door—
Johnson Joffrey, wrapped in a long black trench coat, walked into the room. He took off his black hat, revealing his golden hair, and his crimson eyes were calm. He was completely unharmed.
A barely audible sigh of relief escaped the room.
Johnson Joffrey's red eyes scanned the room. His italian was still not good, only enough for daily phrases and a few curses. He swallowed and slowly began to speak:
"Uncle, I think I killed Polpo."
"..."
Another silence.
Melone suddenly widened his eyes, clutched his chest, took a huge gasp, almost couldn't recover, and shouted in a distorted voice: "Santo cielo!"
"What did you say?!" Prosciutto and the others finally reacted.
"Say it again, you American hooligan!"
"We're dead."
"Well done!"
Amidst everyone's angry questions, Ghiaccio's 'Well done!' seemed a bit out of place, but he was always a weirdo, so no one paid any attention. Formaggio suddenly stood up, a cat meowed as it fell to the ground, and he grabbed Johnson Joffrey's collar: "You brat, what good deed did you do?!"
"Quiet."
Risotto's voice suddenly came from the corner of the room. At his command, everyone fell silent, even Formaggio had to put Johnson down.
"Johnson Joffrey, explain things clearly."
Johnson Joffrey's italian was not good; he simply spoke a few words.
Such as: 'Polpo wanted to kill me.' 'With a handgun.' 'I killed him.' 'Explosion.'... At the same time, he added a few English sentences, and to everyone's dumbfounded expressions, he finally made things clear.
Risotto was silent for a long time, then said: "At this point, nothing more can be said."
"Johnson, although it was self-defense, you have already killed someone, so there are only two paths you can take: either surrender to the organization, or run away."
Risotto explained the situation clearly without any favoritism towards his nephew.
"But since Polpo wanted to kill you, it shows that the organization no longer wants our Assassination Team at all. Even if I tell you to surrender to the organization, it would be suicide." Risotto analyzed rationally, then continued: "If we run, it will be difficult to get rid of PASSIONE, and we don't even have any information about the boss. We will live our entire lives being hunted."
Risotto's words sent shivers down everyone's spines.
Suddenly, he spoke, his tone softened, and a rare display of emotion appeared in his eyes, "Johnson, you are my nephew. I cannot let you go to your death, so I will take you to leave Italy completely. The others can leave; the Assassination Team is disbanded from now on."
The atmosphere in the room was a bit heavy for a moment. Johnson didn't understand much, not knowing italian was a real drawback, but he could feel that this uncle, whom he had completely picked up, was truly good to him.
So he decided to follow Risotto's arrangements.
"What are you saying, boss!"
Risotto lowered his eyes and continued: "You should also know that our team has always been hated by the boss."
The room fell silent again.
After a long while.
"Hey..." Ghiaccio, who had been silent, suddenly spoke. This person usually had no brains, acting purely on impulse, and was the least like an assassin. "Have you forgotten Gerard and Sobel?"
"The one who was supposed to become an executive was Risotto. Shouldn't Polpo die?" Ghiaccio said to himself. Just then, the cheers of a goal came from the TV, and he kicked the TV, shattering it.
"I always wanted Polpo to die, but that guy Polpo was taken out by a newcomer like you, which really annoys me."
"So now I have a higher goal: I'm going to take out the Boss."
One minute later, there's another chapter.
I've carefully considered the idea of Rong Rong's gender-bend, and I've decided against it. My intention is to write a story about an ordinary person in Jojo. There might be some fanon elements, but Rong Rong's gender-bend is too much fanon; it's practically not GIOGIO anymore. You're making it difficult for me, Old Dean Joffrey.
So, I refuse!
Besides, the thing I, Dean Joffrey, am best at, is saying no to readers who ask me to arrange the plot!