"I've investigated, and I'm certain you acted in self-defense."
Bucciarati looked at the man in front of him, who was continuously stuffing spaghetti into his mouth. His cheeks were puffed out like a greedy hamster, and his body, starved for days, seemed to emit the scent of a vagrant.
"You… fellow," he mumbled, his mouth full of pasta, making it hard to speak clearly, "What exactly do you want from me?"
Bucciarati didn't answer. Instead, he shook a newspaper and continued, as if to himself, "I've read all the reports in the newspaper. If they're true, then you must possess astonishing marksmanship and extraordinary willpower."
"It's impossible for a man like you to have spent five years in Prison, is it?"
"The Prison transformer explosion incident… taking the opportunity to escape was truly something you'd do." Bucciarati looked at him, then continued, "I've taken care of everything for you now. You no longer have to live as an escaped convict."
The man, chewing his pasta vigorously, paused slightly. "Why are you helping me? Do you want me to work for you?"
Bucciarati was silent, then admitted honestly, "If I said I didn't want you to join my team after learning about your abilities and past, I'd be lying."
The man opposite snorted, then continued eating. "My power was given by God. I don't want to waste it on gangsters."
Bucciarati nodded, then said, "Then so be it. Have a good meal. If you don't have money next time, come to this restaurant to eat. They won't charge you."
The man paused, but didn't speak.
"It doesn't seem to be enough," Bucciarati said softly, seemingly no longer concerned about the man's refusal to join the team. "Mrs. Bando, please give me four portions of bruschetta. Oh, make it five. I'll try some this time too."
"Of course, Mr. Bucciarati."
Bucciarati turned his head and found the man silently looking at him, his eyes seemingly wanting to say something.
"Yo, Bucciarati." Fugo, Narancia, and Abbacchio walked in.
The man eating pasta was stunned, his gaze moving between the four people, then he said, "OK!"
"Hmm?"
"I said OK! I can't take it anymore. If I don't join you, then you'll have 4 portions of bruschetta, 4 portions of noodles, and four seats, because there are four of you."
"Because I, Guido Mista, can't stand the number 4 the most."
Bucciarati showed a surprised expression, looking at Mista, not knowing why his mind changed so much, but he still smiled and nodded, "Welcome."
"Bucciarati, is this the partner you recruited?" Fugo said, then naturally sat down in a chair. "You were gone for a day. I thought you were going to find a mercenary squad, but you only got one person? At this slow pace, by the time we recruit enough people, the Assassination Team will have already been caught, won't they?"
"Fugo, a person's will cannot be underestimated." Bucciarati said, "Those who are prepared and know pain are stronger than any army. They can only be killed, but not defeated. Just like the Assassination Team."
"Hmm? What about the Assassination Team?"
"News from noon: a large-scale shooting incident occurred on Valedi Street. The death toll has already exceeded ten. This time, Polpo brought hundreds of men to pursue the Assassination Team, but one member of the Assassination Team took them all down."
"What?!"
Narancia's mouth dropped open in disbelief. He exclaimed, "So strong..."
"Every member of the Assassination Team is a Stand User. To deal with them, we must separate them, understand their abilities, and then defeat them one by one. Therefore, we also need enough Stand Users, because only a Stand User can defeat a Stand User."
"It's okay if we're a little slow. The more people who attack the Assassination Team, the more their abilities and information will become public. For example, it's already been revealed on the intelligence network that there's a Stand that can control temperature, capable of instantly lowering the air to hundreds of degrees below zero."
"That's incredible." Narancia's purple eyes widened. If my Aerosmith encountered someone who could change temperature like that, how would I even deal with him? He fell into thought, and whenever he thought, Fugo would laugh.
"So, in that case," Abbacchio said, picking up a cup of tea and glancing sideways at Mista, "this guy is also a Stand User, then?"
"That's right." Bucciarati nodded. "I found him in the sewers today."
"Haha! How could anyone be in the sewers!" Narancia stopped thinking and burst out laughing. "Ew, no wonder you smell."
"Shut up! That wasn't the sewers, it was a fated meeting place!" Mista retorted loudly, then fell into his own memories. "Although he was severely wounded and pale, I'll never forget his shining golden hair and crimson eyes!"
"..."
Guido Mista entered Prison when he was only fifteen years old, because he couldn't Stand by and watch a woman being sexually assaulted.
At that time, he didn't know what fate was. Before this heroic act, he was just an ordinary small-time thug, living a life that wasn't exactly peaceful for others. He would hit and insult people who badmouthed Monica Bellucci (an idol), cheer for Roberto Baggio's goals in a pub, and threaten the student next door who practiced guitar with a baseball bat.
But like every fifteen-year-old boy, he didn't know where fate would push him.
That year, at fifteen, he finally understood that life seemed to be predestined. Dozens of bullets flew towards him, as if by fate, grazing past him.
There must be a God in this world, otherwise I wouldn't be this lucky.
Life clears a path for those who are prepared; fate is prepared for those who are prepared.
Exchanging brilliant resolve for a glorious life's destiny is the price everyone pays for existing in this world.
After entering Prison, Mista maintained an optimistic attitude, until that explosion happened—
He immediately understood that this was an opportunity given by God. He thought about escaping Prison amidst the chaos and hiding in the sewers. Just as this thrilling escape plan was unfolding, he saw a severely wounded man.
Calling him a man might be inaccurate; he looked fifteen years old. But his femoral artery seemed to have been shot, spurting blood like a fountain. It was unclear if his bone was also hit, but in any case, he couldn't Stand up.
However, he was being supported by some invisible entity, barely moving forward. Mista thought he was seeing things, but it really looked like someone was supporting him.
"Hey!" Mista exclaimed in surprise upon meeting him. He also seemed a bit surprised, and then both of them immediately turned and ran.
It turned out they both mistook each other for pursuers. It was Mista who realized that someone so severely wounded couldn't be a Prison Guard.
"Hey, are you okay!" From the indelible kindness of a young man, Mista believed that doing good deeds would always be rewarded.
He dragged the other person to a drain, while wiping away the blood on the floor, and quietly hid inside. They evaded the guards' search.
"I'm Guido Mista, and you?"
The other person seemed a little surprised, then fell silent, seemingly thinking about something, and finally answered with certainty: "Johnson Joffrey."
—
Stand Panel
Stand User: Ghiaccio
Stand: White Album
Power: A
Speed: C
Range: C
Durability: A
Precision: E
Potential: E
P.S. It's been a while since there was a transition animation. From now on, I'll include a Stand in each chapter for everyone's convenience. For now, let's show the White Album from the last chapter.