Johnson Joffrey had blond hair and clean, bright clothing. When he wasn't speaking, he exuded a calm and dignified aura that suggested he preferred to be left alone, making him seem like a rich man. However, after a brief conversation, Johnson unreservedly told him that he was the one who blew up the Prison. Mista was incredibly surprised because Johnson looked to be about the same age as him.
"Hey, your leg is still bleeding? Are you alright?" Mista looked at Johnson Joffrey's thigh. The blood was gushing out like a fountain. A normal person in this situation would have fainted, right?
Besides, the skin and flesh on his hand were almost gone, revealing the bone, yet he seemed to feel nothing.
"Aren't you in pain?" Guido Mista asked, twitching his mouth.
Johnson Joffrey looked up at him, his red eyes like a tranquil lake, and calmly said, "It hurts like hell."
Hearing this, Mista was stunned. What a man of resolve! This man was a true tough guy.
He seemed to be pondering something important. After a while, he said, "Can you help me get some rats, insects, plants, or anything with life, preferably?"
Although he didn't know why, he immediately went.
Rats were hard to catch, but there were many in the sewers. Surprisingly, there were even fish. He put all these things into his hat, and in less than ten minutes, he had a full hatful.
Johnson Joffrey looked at those things. In a short while, the hat began to shrink, and then everything inside disappeared.
"Are you a magician??"
"I am a Stand User."
Mista: "?"
Then, the blood stopped flowing from Joffrey's leg. After he caught a few more piles of things, and they also disappeared, Joffrey's body was almost completely healed. Mista pressed Joffrey for an explanation, and he said:
"This is the choice of fate. One day, you will understand that those who arbitrarily interpret fate will ultimately be toyed with by fate."
Mista: "!"
What a powerful man! For some reason, Mista's admiration for Johnson Joffrey soared. After so many years of claiming to live a life with no regrets, he suddenly realized he had lived in vain. A young man his age possessed such resolve and extraordinary experiences; fate would surely pave a bright path for him.
He, who usually loved to talk, involuntarily closed his mouth and sat quietly to the side.
After a while, Johnson Joffrey seemed to fall asleep. Mista heard footsteps again, so he carefully dragged Johnson Joffrey closer to the drain. As he moved, something wrapped in a package suddenly fell out of his bag, revealing a golden glow. Mista quickly went to pick it up; it seemed to be an arrowhead, and he accidentally cut himself.
At this moment, Johnson Joffrey woke up, saw the injured Mista, and after a long silence, finally said, "This is the choice of fate."
"How was it? Very touching, right?" Mista looked at the four expressionless people, feeling a bit puzzled, so he asked again, "Not touching? This is the choice of fate." With that, he stuffed a piece of pizza into his mouth.
"Not touching. What I'm more curious about is that Johnson Joffrey seems to possess a Stand that can absorb energy," Bucciarati calmly analyzed.
"Ah? You know this great benefactor?" Mista clasped his hands together and asked excitedly, "Please, you must tell me his address. I want to visit him to express my gratitude."
"No, our team is preparing to kill him," Bucciarati said.
Mista's eyes widened, and then he immediately said, "Hey, if you're going to kill him, I'm not doing it!"
"He blew up the Prison to kill the gang's executives. It can be said that he bears a great responsibility for the current chaos in Italy. So, it must be said he is a great villain."
Mista frowned, pursed his lips, and turned his head away, as if he couldn't be bothered to listen to Bucciarati speak ill of Johnson Joffrey, and at the same time, he fell silent.
"Mr. Bucciarati!" The restaurant owner quickly ran over, "Someone is looking for you."
Bucciarati nodded. The area he was responsible for, unlike other districts, had no conflicts or chaos caused by the Assassination Team's antics and the struggle for territory after Polpo's death. His extraordinary management skills had made this place one of the few peaceful havens in Naples. Everyone here respected Bucciarati.
Bucciarati naturally walked out, assuming it was someone asking for his help, but what he saw was a teenager.
The teenager stood on the steps at the entrance of the restaurant, backlit by the sun. Bucciarati looked up at him. The teenager had blond hair tied into a braid at the back, which swayed with the Naples wind. He wore a rose-colored suit that accentuated his tall figure, seemingly radiating a golden light. Through his clear, emerald green eyes, Bucciarati saw himself.
Bucciarati was stunned at first. Years later, when he recalled it again, he couldn't help but sigh, as Mista had said, this was a destined encounter, and no matter how many obstacles there were, it would always return to this point.
The teenager slowly spoke, interrupting Bucciarati's thoughts, his voice a pleasant youthful tone.
"Are you Mr. Bruno Bucciarati?"
"Damn it!"
A fist smashed towards the flickering computer screen, but stopped abruptly just before making contact.
At noon today, the Assassination Team officially rebelled and had already dealt with a wave of his subordinates. Now, they were immediately heading to the Naples airport.
Outside, the sun was bright, and the tall clock tower chimed the thirteenth hour. On the closed windowsill, two Egyptian-style stone statues rested quietly. The dark room emitted the smell of disinfectant powder and a sour, decaying odor.
Diavolo was wrapped in a black cloak, his bare feet treading on the soft carpet. He suddenly fell into deep thought: why was the Assassination Team so confident in their rebellion? Had they gotten information about him?
Impossible!
It's impossible for me, Diavolo, to leave any traces!
But they were so openly heading to the airport. Where exactly were they going? The computer screen suddenly lit up again, and a message came from someone with the ID 'Persephone'.
Diavolo couldn't help but pull his thoughts back, frowning.
"The data deciphered from the 'Heaven's Whisper' files shows..."
"Sardinia"
Seeing those four words, Diavolo's eyes widened, and his strange double pupils trembled involuntarily. How did this guy know?!
Could this 'Heaven's Whisper' that had been circulating in the black market all this time actually be real?! Did it really record the destinies of those who would change the world?!
It was a long time before he realized he had been trembling, his back soaked in cold sweat… That 'Heaven's Whisper' wasn't complete; it was scattered all over the world. But was this bastard named 'Persephone' getting my page and trying to decipher it?
Emperor is me, Diavolo! As Emperor, he must also be someone who changes the world and destiny! What if my story is also recorded in this data?!
Impossible! Besides my Epitaph, it's absolutely impossible for anyone else to possess the ability to interpret the future, an ability only granted to the chosen ones!
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Stand Panel
Stand User: Guido Mista
Stand: Sex Pistols
Power: E
Speed: C
Range: As far as the bullet travels
Persistence: A
Precision: A
Growth Potential: A
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