Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I really don't think this is necessary, Polnareff," Avdol murmured.

"Nonsense!" Polnareff said, clapping his new ally on the shoulder. "You beat me, fair and square, and freed me from the flesh bud. It's really the least I can do."

"As much as we appreciate the gesture," Joseph cut in gruffly, "We're on a bit of a time crunch."

"I know," Polnareff said with a slight wave of his hand. "But surely you must know how long this journey of yours is going to be. It wouldn't do well for you to set out feeling less-than-refreshed, especially after such a fierce battle between Monsieur Avdol and I." He clapped Avdol and Joseph on the shoulders once more, looking around at the street. "Ah...voila!"

He broke away from the group, planting his feet in front of a scrubby little bar with a small, but obnoxiously bright, flickering white marquis.

"Here we are!" he cried with a flourish. "Possibly the best bar in the district, no, in all of Hong Kong!"

Jotaro squinted up at the brick building, lowering his hat to lessen the glare. He recognized amongst the jumbled marquis the characters for 'jazz', 'bar', and just above it, the words 'The Bauhinia Club' scrawled out in English. Yare yare...this was definitely the kind of place that Polnareff would enjoy.

"Well!" Polnareff shouted, entirely too loud. "In we go!"

Jotaro trudged in behind the rest of the group, lowering his hat further against the cloud of sound trapped inside the little venue. Numerous tables crowded together and pushed up to the wall. A rickety bar dominated the corner to his left, manned by an oddly relaxed bartender. A small stage filled the back of the building, where a small quartet swayed to the music they played. The place burst with patrons talking, laughing, humming and drinking along to the swift harmonies floating above their heads. Polnareff said something else to the group, most likely about getting a drink, to which Avdol and Joseph readily agreed. The latter turned back to the high schoolers.

"Jotaro, Kakyoin, find us a table, alright? You two aren't old enough to drink." And with that, he squeezed himself through the crowd towards the bar.

Kakyoin stuck his hands in his pockets, glancing about the room with only polite interest. He leaned forward slightly, then pointed towards the stage.

"There's a free table right over there," he said. "And it looks like it might fit us."

Unfortunately for Jotaro, Kakyoin was right. The front table had a small gap between it's chairs and the tables around it, much roomier than the sardine can that was the rest of the room. It would be tight, but that was to be expected. Most things weren't engineered with overly bulky 195 cm men in mind.

Grumbling something unsavory, he stalked over to the table, or at the very least, attempted to do so in the space he was given. After much struggle and the shoving aside of several other patrons (all of whose fierce objections promptly died in their throats upon seeing the sheer size of him), the two students settled down in two of the four chairs at the table.

"Hold on," Kakyoin said. "We'll need one more."

"The Old Man can stand," Jotaro said without missing a beat, slouching deep into his seat.

Kakyoin made a face like he was sucking on a lemon. Sighing, he got up and walked over to a table of chatty young women who had been sitting somewhat behind and diagonal to them.

"Excuse me," Jotaro heard him say in perfect English. "But I'm afraid my party is short of one chair. Could perhaps you spare one?"

The girls erupted into a fit of shrieks and giggles. Jotaro grimaced, sinking further into his chair. Good grief. Women were always so loud.

"Well," one of the girls said with a heavy accent, "you could always sit with us." The girls broke out into another fit of giggles. Jotaro wanted nothing more than to wrench the sticks from the drummer on stage and stick them into his ears.

"How very thoughtful of you," came Kakyoin's calm voice. "But we'll be heading out soon, so there's really no need..."

They continued on like that for a while, the girls flirting and hinting heavily how much they would like to spend time with him and "his dark friend over there," (to which Jotaro sat up straight and glared at them, furious to find that it only made them more noisy), and Kakyoin subtly flirting right back. After entirely too long of a time, Kakyoin returned to the table with an extra chair.

"Took you long enough," Jotaro grumbled.

Kakyoin shrugged. "They took some convincing, but they were really quite friendly."

Jotaro looked over at him, then back at the girls, who shrieked again, in disgust. "You call that being 'friendly?'"

Kakyoin pursed his lips. "I don't see what you're so frustrated about. Sure, it took a while, but I got the chair, didn't I? Didn't see you making any attempts to help," he snarkily added.

Jotaro tugged on the brim of his hat. "Yare yare daze..."

There was a heavy clink of glasses as the other men plopped down next to them at the table.

"Well done, you two!" Polnareff said enthusiastically. "You got us the best seats in the house!" He leaned towards them conspiratorily. "And even familiarized yourself with the young ladies, I see," he said with a wink, jerking his head in the direction of the table of girls. As if on cue, they again burst into high-pitched laughter.

Kakyoin gave his usual, tight-lipped smile. "Oh, they were just being friendly." Jotaro rolled his eyes with a snort. Kakyoin ignored him. "Did you get your drinks?"

"Yes, indeed!" Polnareff said with a laugh. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything; they were fresh out of cherry juice."

"This is a waste of time," Jotaro abruptly said, leaning across the table. "How long will we be here?"

"Oh, just until the show ends," Polnareff said, turning to glance at the program, which was written on a chalkboard sign next to the stage in three languages. "It's the final number; and the headliner for the night is leaving for his next tour stop afterward, so I figured we'd catch his last performance here." He turned back to the table. "He's really quite good, you know," he added with a sage nod of his head.

Jotaro glared at Polnareff. They didn't have time for a show; they had to get to Egypt! They had fifty days, less than that now, before his mom would-

"Ladies and gentleman, we welcome back our headliners for the last set of the night," the announcer's voice boomed from onstage. "Our guests tell me that they have had a wonderful time tonight, and that they hope we did as well." The crowd cheered, the building rumbling with the noise. "For their last night in Hong Kong, they've decided on getting the last set going with an old favorite by Mr. David Brubeck, 'Take Five.'" There was an appreciative round of applause. "So, without further ado, I give you the Kujo Jazz Combo."

What?

Did he hear that right?

The world seemed to move in slow motion. The restless audience, the colorful lights, the clinks of glass as toasts were made all seemed to slow to a near-snail's pace, until the curtain parted, and out walked...

Kujo Sadao.

He was dressed in a sleek, silvery suit that seemed to sparkle alive with diamonds. His hair was painstakingly parted and slicked into a neat and tidy style much more fitting for the sixties than 1988. Every inch of him was polished and pristine, from his thick-rimmed glasses to his glossy pair of dress shoes.

He breathed, in and out, then raised a slim forefinger and flicked it out to the side, signaling the band to begin.

The drummer obediently began to rap sharply on the ride cymbal and then the snare, manipulating the base drum and then the hi-hat with the pedals at his feet. The pianist joined in, using that telltale skip of 5/4 time that meant Brubeck was being played. The bassist added in his melodic thrum, and the trumpet and trombone players stood to the side, watching Sadao in anticipation.

Again, Sadao breathed, in and out, then raised the saxophone to his lips.

Color flew from the mouth of the instrument, light sparkled from his fingers. All focus was on him. His eyes were closed and free of tension, but his eyebrows were drawn in concentration. He was toeing the line between bliss and bluster, the line between obliviousness and oblivion. The concentration kept him sharp, kept him on time and in tune, the relaxation kept him free and swinging.

He was playing Take Five.

Then the trombone joined in. It added a layer of rich melody absent from the classic version of the tune, but never took away from the quality of the original. Jotaro had always thought the song was pretty repetitive, even annoying, but this time, with the arrangement that was most definitely coined by his father, if he knew anything at all, was outstanding. The crowd cheered and clapped a little when Sadao and the trumpeter began to sway together, bouncing alternating lines of harmony between the two of them, the saxophone providing the iconic solos, the trumpet and trombone acting as "back-up vocals" and filling in the negative space of the song with lightning trills and climbing streaks of sound.

Jotaro sat there, fuming, but mesmerized all the same. He'd forgotten how much he liked hearing his father play. Keeping himself from marching up there and yanking his father down by the collar took all of his strength...yet also none at all.

"I wanna learn to play just like you, Dad! Could you teach me?"

Sadao laughed and ruffled his son's hair affectionately. Jotaro squirmed a little under the contact, but came back in a burst of giggles.

"Of course, I'll teach you, Jojo. You only had to ask."

Jotaro, as it turned out, was terrible at the saxophone.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, okay?" His dad knelt down to meet his son's eyes. "It takes practice."

"But you can do it so good!" Jojo pouted.

Sadao smiled. "I only got 'so good' after years of practice. In the beginning, I was just like you."

Jojo's pout lessened. He had quite the scowl, that one. But he also had the most brilliant smile. "Just like me?"

"Just like you," his father said back to him. "Would you like to try again?"

Jotaro made a face. "No, I think I like it best when you play." His face brightened. "Could you play something for me?"

"Of course, I'll play for you, Jojo. You only had to ask."

The crowd erupted into cheers. Jotaro's head whipped around, glancing at the people around him. It was a standing ovation.

Polnareff, Kakyoin, and even Avdol were out of their seats, clapping alongside the crowd. Only two people remained sitting.

Jotaro.

And Joseph.

And both of them had their eyes trained on Sadao.

Sadao really didn't understand how he got into this mess.

He was playing his last set of the evening. It was his last night in Hong Kong. The audience had been great throughout the performance, and had even given him a standing ovation on several of the numbers. All except for two burly men sitting at the front table, both of whom were glaring daggers at him, and both of whom were members of his family. He remembered his eyes growing wide with shock when he saw them. He remembered whispering a hurried excuse to his bandmates and the MC, and then rushing off-stage in an attempt to greet his son and father-in-law.

Then, he remembered being dragged outside by his now seventeen-year-old son and slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway.

"What are you doing here?" Jotaro growled at him, or something akin to it. It was a little rough to understand him through his clenched teeth and the throbbing pain on the back of his head.

Sadao quivered against his son's iron grip on his collar, feeling his toes just barely brush the ground. He had never been a particularly short person (at least, not in his country), at the height of 168 cm, but it dawned on him just how much of a giant his son had become.

195 cm. Sadao's face. Holy's eyes. Dark school uniform worn open like a jacket, tailored to an absurd length and a bulky collar. Two belts. Gold chain. Torn up hat.

Scratch that. His son was a monster of a man.

"Jo-grk-Jotaro..." he struggled to say. "What...what are you...d-doing here?" He hissed as his son slammed him against the bricks once again.

"Answer the question," Jotaro snarled. "Why aren't you at home with-"

"Jotaro," a gruff voice cut across. Sadao turned his head feebly to better look at his savior, only to feel his spirits plummet further when he saw the equally grave face of his father-in-law.

"Set him down," Joseph said. Jotaro didn't budge. The man scowled. "Put him down, Jotaro. Now."

Jotaro dropped his father to the ground with a rather unsavory string of obscenities, the most prominent of which being some complaint about not being a 'mutt' to be told to heel. Sadao gasped for air, clutching at his throat and working to see through the hazy pain on the back of his head.

"He doesn't know," Joseph said to his grandson, largely ignoring the discomfort of his son-in-law. "Not even Suzie knows."

Jotaro, outraged, stepped menacingly towards his grandfather, only for Sadao to speak up.

"What do I not know?" he rasped.

Joseph, and by extent, the men standing not far behind him, looked extremely uncomfortable, while Jotaro only deepened his scowl.

"Mom's dying," he spat, venom flying from his mouth.

He continued, drawing closer to the shocked and crumpled figure of his father. "She's dying, and you're here, playing your stupid saxophone instead of taking care of her, abandoning her to run around on tour like some groupie-"

Joseph laid a hand on his shoulder, which was almost immediately shrugged off. He couldn't remember a time where Jotaro had lost his cool so severely. Neither, it seemed, did Sadao.

"How long does she have?" he asked, eyes flicking back and forth between his father-in-law and son.

"Fifty days," Joseph said.

"Less than that," Jotaro snarled.

Sadao straightened up, the pain in his body gone, his head clear.

"I'll be ending my tour here. I'm flying home to Japan tonight," he said. "But what about you two?" he asked Joseph and Jotaro pointedly. "Why are you not home with her?"

"None of your business," Jotaro grumbled.

"You can hardly criticize me for not being present when you're not even there for her," Sadao said softly. "I wasn't aware of her condition until now, but you-"

SLAM.

He was back up against the wall, suspended.

The most peculiar thing was, he wasn't being held up.

As in, there was nothing holding him in midair.

He merely struggled against the wall, quite clearly feeling the grip of a hand around his neck, but quite clearly not seeing a hand around his neck.

"W-what the-"

He was unceremoniously dropped to the ground, his head colliding painfully against the wall for what had to be the tenth time this night. The invisible vice around his neck, however, remained where it was.

"Mr. Kujo," said a voice he didn't recognize. He strained to find the source of the voice, finding the strange red-haired student to be the one who spoke.

"Mr. Kujo," the redhead repeated. "We're working to save your wife with all the urgency it calls for. We're on our way to Egypt, you see."

Jotaro glared at the red-haired boy, and the grip around Sadao's neck tightened proportionally. He felt himself being raised up into the air again. Faint spots danced before his eyes as he tried to make sense of the moment.

"Egypt?" he choked out.

He dropped to the ground in a heap, the force that had been supporting him vanishing.

Sadao's eyes stumbled upward, looking for what had been holding him hostage just moments before. "Wh-what.....how?"

"None of your business," Jotaro said again.

He opened his mouth to speak again, to ask for some sort of answer, when he heard a timid cough from the entrance to the alleyway.

"E-excuse me...?" came the choppy English of a small man Jotaro vaguely recognized as the trumpeter from tonight's performance. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I must speak to Mr. Kujo." He extended a trembling finger, pointing weakly at Sadao, then Jotaro.

"It's most urgent."

The group of men looked rather confused. Seeing that they still didn't move aside, the trumpeter tried again.

"Are...are you with...the g-gentleman at the door?"

Still, the men did not move. One of them, the dark foreigner, spoke up in halting, heavily accented Japanese.

"No..." he said slowly. "We came here alone. Are...these gentlemen....looking for us?"

The trumpeter shook his head. "No....they are looking for him." Again, he pointed at Sadao, whose eyes widened in alarm as he hastily struggled to his feet.

"Gentlemen," he said, addressing his son's odd-looking party with a silky-smooth voice. "Perhaps we can continue our discussion later. It seems that I have other matters to attend to." With that, he gestured the trumpeter forward, and retreated further down the alleyway, his colleague scampering behind him.

Jotaro glared after his father, but was nonetheless surprised at just how much calm and charisma his father was able to summon in the spur of the moment, despite the corner of his mouth bleeding heavily and his entire countenance previously looking as if he had walked through a minefield.

He'd seen this trick before. Sadao, when faced with an urgent situation, could turn on a dime from a shaking, stumbling mess, to the cool, in-control persona he adopted with business opportunities and on-stage performances. Even so, it was always a sight to see, one that captured and held his attention like a particularly engaging magic trick. A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder once more, pulling him back towards the mouth of the alleyway.

"Don't stare," his grandfather muttered under his breath. "They won't speak freely until they're sure we're out of earshot."

Jotaro shoved Joseph's hand away, but remained close to him, ears tuned in to what he was saying.

"Once we step out of the alley, use Star Platinum to listen in," Joseph whispered.

"They're here," the trumpeter said in a flurry of hushed Japanese. "They're at the front, and they aren't happy."

Sadao gaped at him in disbelief, perfectly unaware of the four large spirits hovering overhead. "What? But they weren't-"

"I know," the other man said, cutting him off. "They've gotten impatient. They've even cancelled your flight back home."

Sadao was silent for a moment, then spoke again in a heavy voice.

"What of the rest of you?"

"We're free to go. They've already taken what they wanted from us; Klook's got a black eye to show for it. Don't apologize," he added upon seeing his colleague's look of worry. "He said right then and there that he didn't intend on going down without a fight. We've already explained things to the managers of the bar; said that you've had a family emergency and won't be with us for the rest of the show. But more importantly," he paused, staring at him seriously. "If you've got any place to go, anywhere you can go, I suggest you go now."

Sadao fell silent once more.

"Alright," he finally said.

"We'll try and buy you some time, but I don't think you'll have much more than enough to grab your stuff from backstage and go."

The door to backstage swung open beside them, and a man with a black eye, 'Klook', or whatever he'd been called, stumbled out with a rather large saxophone case in tow. Ignoring them entirely, he rounded the corner sharply and handed Sadao the case.

"I put all your things in there," he whispered. "You need to leave. Now." He gestured at the trumpeter. "Come on. Things aren't looking pretty up front."

The wiry man nodded, then patted his colleague on the back.

"Good luck."

And with that, 'Klook' and the trumpeter shot down the alley and back inside the ugly little bar.

Jotaro recalled Star Platinum, a feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. Kakyoin finished hissing a hurried translation of the conversation to the others just as Sadao appeared before them.

Sadao squirmed under the gazes of the five men towering over him, but he refused to falter. Joseph and Jotaro exchanged looks of disgust and resignation. He quailed under the pressure, but only slightly, as he forced himself to straighten up and look them in the eye. They were his only hope now.

"Egypt, you said?"

Chapter Text

"You're going to continue our journey wearing those?"

Sadao looked weakly over his shoulder at Mr. Joestar standing a meter or two behind him. His father-in-law, however, wasn’t addressing him, but the pair of Japanese students that they were travelling with.

He gulped as he struggled upright, leaning heavily on the handrail to steady himself. Despite the fair weather of the day, he was horribly seasick. Pushing down another mouthful of bile, he clumsily wiped his glasses on the sleeve of his jacket, which he had draped over his arm. Jotaro sat with his hands behind his head in a deck chair, Kakyoin reading a book in the one next to him, unperturbed by Mr. Joestar's incredulous tone.

"Isn't it ridiculously hot?" Mr. Joestar continued, gesturing a little to his own, breezier outfit for emphasis.

"Well, we are students," Kakyoin replied, not looking up from his book. "And students should behave as students. But I suppose that sounds like a stretch..." he trailed off, turning a page in his book. Jotaro merely grunted, and a trickle of dread slithered down Sadao’s spine.

“Jotaro…” he croaked. “Please tell me that you packed something other than your Kikuchi pants.”

Jotaro said nothing.

Sadao groaned. He sank to his knees, laying his forehead on the railing. 20,000 yen, spent on a single pair of pants, down the drain.

….But then again, he shouldn’t have expected anything else of his son. When Jotaro found a style he liked, he’d wear it at every chance he got, rain or shine. Only when it grew too small or too threadbare to be considered proper clothing did he switch it out.

"YEEEEOOOWWCH!!!!"

A scream of pain snapped through the air, and Sadao turned his head so sharply that he cracked his neck. 

A sailor cradled his arm, which sported an angry red bite mark. A small boy in a cap and overalls sprinted away from the man, straight for the edge of the ship.

Splash.

There was a collective thunder of footsteps as everyone aboard apart from the two highschoolers and himself rushed to the starboard side.

"Woah!" Mr. Polnareff exclaimed, an amused sort of expression on his face. "He just jumped right in! What a wild kid."

Kakyoin, who had set down his book at the disturbance, twisted around in his chair to get a better look at the water below. His brows knit in concern. "Is he planning to swim to shore from here?" he thought aloud, stepping over to the railing. Sadao saw Jotaro, who had still yet to move, open his eyes at these words.

"Tch,” Jotaro scoffed. “Just leave 'im." He sat up, pointing at the group. "I'm sure he dove in because he's a confident swimmer."

Sadao frowned at him. He opened his mouth to speak, only for another wave of nausea to sweep through his body. He flopped back over the railing, nearly losing his lunch. There was a gasping noise from below. He opened an eye to peek at the sea.

The boy had finally surfaced, now a good ways away from the side of the ship. He paddled through the water, breathing heavily. Sadao exhaled.

“He seems to be doing alright swimming...” he said to himself. “...But we can’t just leave him...he’s still a kid-”

“So what?” Jotaro was at his side, his immense height casting a shadow over him. His jaw clenched as he glared down at the smaller man from the corner of his eye. “That’s never stopped you before.”

Sadao blinked. He stared up at the stony expression curling over him. He was met only with a cold stare, a resentment that seemed to sever the space between them. It muffled even the sound of the ocean and the creaking of the ship. 

Suddenly, the sailor who had been bitten rushed forward and shoved his way between the two of them, clutching the railing.

"H-hey!" he stammered, his face pale. "Get back here!” he called after the boy in the water. “It's not safe!" All his previous ire seemed to have drained out of him. "Sharks gather around these parts!"

Sadao choked on his own laborious breathing. He had felt as if he was going to lose his stomach only seconds before; now it felt as if it had dropped down into his toes.

"Sharks?" he rasped.

Just as he spoke, an ominous-looking shadow emerged from the depths. The edge of a dorsal fin cut through the surface of the water behind the boy, then turned, dipped down again, and disappeared as it's owner circled back towards the stowaway.

"Hey, you brat!" Mr. Joestar shouted, foregoing politeness in favor of urgency. "Come back!"

The boy pushed on, ignorant of the imminent death that swam beneath him.

"Get back here! It's dangerous!" Mr. Joestar called again, a note of panic in his voice.

"There are sharks!" Mr. Polnareff screamed, bouncing a little on his toes as he leaned over the railing. "Those waters are shark-infested!"

This caught the boy's attention. He turned himself around, his tiny face alight with fear as he saw the dorsal fin grow larger and larger, rapidly closing the distance between them, a strangled, almost girlish scream tearing from his mouth-

CRACK.

The shark flew twenty meters into the air, an odd, circular concave in its throat. It bounced and twisted in the air, each point where it changed direction marked by a sound like a gunshot and another strange divot bruising its skin. As it was flung away from the boy, Sadao squinted to better see the marks.

Each and every one of them was shaped like the print of a massive, balled fist.

His gaze flickered back towards the boy, and his mouth fell open. His son, now dripping wet, was treading water with one hand with his other wrapped around the collar of the stowaway.

He swung his head back in the direction of where the shark had landed, marked by a great deal of blood, and then back again. He blinked, and immediately tried to rub the moisture from his glasses. It simply wasn't possible. But...could Jotaro have...?

Jotaro snatched away the cap from the stowaway's head. A long, tangled mess of dark hair tumbled down the girl's back.

A girl.

His son's disgruntled growl echoed off the face of the water:

"...And a little runt of one, at that."

A loud, bursting, popping sound came from the direction of the shark. He turned.

The shark's bruised and bloodied corpse rose to the surface of the water.

That was...strange.

He had assumed the creature had swam away. Perhaps its beating was even more severe than it had looked.

...But then again, he wasn't certain that the beast had been so bloody when it catapulted into the horizon. He wiped his glasses again, squinting through them once more. He gaped.

The shark had been torn in two.

A strange, sharp ripple of water cut through the mess, as if another dorsal fin had emerged from the deep between the halves of shark. It glided towards Jotaro and the boy-no, girl-at a speedy clip, leaving it's phantom trail swirling behind it.

Sadao saw his father-in-law lean over the railing out of the corner of his eye.

"J-Jotaro! Below you!" Mr. Joestar gestured wildly at the shimmering surface of the ocean. "Something's attacking from under the water!"

Mr. Joestar dashed towards where a life preserver hung, flinging it out towards his grandson. It landed about 10 meters from the side of the ship. The water split even faster in an eerie streak of bubbles.

"It's too fast to be a shark! Hurry, Jotaro! Hurry and swim to the boat!"

Jotaro clawed his way towards the life ring at an uneven, choppy pace, due to the added weight and bulk of the runaway girl in his left hand. The split in the water dissipated, replaced instead by a wider, more diffused current. It seemed that whatever had been cutting through the surf was now speeding through the depths. The strange ripples made a shape like the silhouette of a large, spiny beast.

Sadao struggled to his feet, his head pounding, his heart racing, his body ready to fold over like a house of cards. 

They would never make it.

Was he going to watch his son die?

"I-It's too far," came the despairing voice of his father-in-law. His worst fears, confirmed.

Sadao felt his hands grip the railing, his feet lift up and onto the slippery metal as he prepared to jump.

A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

It was the high-schooler, Kakyoin. The redhead shook his head at him, then trained his eyes back onto Jotaro, whose outstretched hand was less than a meter away from the life ring.

"Leave it to me."

He released Sadao, shooting out his hand with a slight flourish.

"HIEROPHANT GREEN!" he shouted.

Jotaro shot out of the water and into the air in a shimmering arc of stray droplets, suspended in the sky by some unseen hand. Directly below him, the life ring was shredded to pieces. The strange current fully sunk away into the waves, as if it had never been there to begin with.

There was a thud as Jotaro landed back on the deck, the girl breaking out of his grasp and immediately falling to her knees, coughing and shaking.

Sadao stood there, staring at Jotaro with his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded. Jotaro scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. Finally coming to his senses, Sadao stumbled forward and clung to his dripping arm.

"Are you...alright?" he said breathlessly, foggy glasses and fearful eyes scanning for any evidence of injury.

Jotaro shoved him away, forcing Sadao to take a shaky step back.

"I'm fine," he growled.

Sadao gulped. The ship felt eerily quiet right then.

With a shaky nod, he shifted his focus onto the little girl.

She was a small, unruly thing, one that couldn’t be too much older than eleven. He knelt down beside her, hesitantly stretching out his hand to pat her on the back. She hacked again, more violently this time, a stream of sea water spilling from between her teeth. She looked over at him with the exhausted, fearful expression of an injured animal.

“Are you hurt?”

The girl shuddered as she gulped down more air, but still managed to shake her head no. Sadao tried his very best to give her a comforting smile as he rose to his feet and backed away. The girl’s shoulders slumped a little in relief. 

"I-it disappeared!" the voice of the Frenchman exclaimed, turning the attention of the group towards him. Mr. Polnareff was peering as hard as he could at the water. He looked back at the group, his eyes wide. "It's a Stand! That thing is a Stand!"

A what?

Stand?

"A seafaring Stand..." mused Mr. Avdol's deep voice. "I don't believe I've ever even heard of such a thing."

Sadao glanced over at his son. Jotaro glared back. He turned to his father-in-law.

"What's a Stand?"

The five other men exchanged wary looks. A sort of silent debate passed between them all, flicking back and forth among them, none of them quite making eye contact with him.

The stowaway took this opportune moment to begin hacking and coughing once more. All six of them turned to stare at her. He felt the others stiffen around him in the same way as one who had just been made aware of a snake coiling around their feet. As if the girl were a threat.

The girl was still doubled over on the deck, spitting out a great deal of sea water and breathing heavily. She lifted her round, brown eyes to theirs, glaring at them.

"What's with you jerks....all glaring at me like that?" she panted angrily. Sadao immediately tried to make a decidedly less rude expression. The others made no such change, instead still glowering at her with cold, calculating indifference.

She struggled to her feet, digging around in her pocket. “I don’t know what’s going on, but…” she retracted her hand, revealing a switchblade in her clenched fist. She flicked it open, pointing it at them. “You looking for a fight?” She slashed the air once, twice, gritting her teeth, squeezing one eye closed as she mocked aiming the knife at them. “Don’t you underestimate me! I’ll take you on! One-on-one!” She beckoned them closer. “Face me, one-on-one, you freaks!” she shrieked.

The group remained silent. Sadao was about to speak when-

“Tell me,” rumbled Mr. Avdol, cutting Sadao off. “How is Dio doing?”

The girl wrinkled her nose at the Egyptian. “Dio?” she parroted. “What the heck is that?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know, you little brat!” Mr. Polnareff snapped.

“You stupid punks!” she screeched back. “Do you want to talk to me, or do you want to get stabbed? Which is it?!”

When the group said nothing, she raised the handle of the knife close to her ear, leaning into it as if it were the receiver of a payphone. She spoke again, in a harsh and raspy tone that she clearly thought to be menacing. “This demon’s blade is telling me that it wants the blood of it’s 340th victim already.”

They stared at her, completely dumbfounded. Kakyoin snorted.

The girl faltered. “W-What’s so funny, you stupid grunt?” she barked.

“Grunt?” Kakyoin quoted back at her. He turned to the group, eyebrows raised in amusement. “You know, I really don’t think it’s her.”

Mr. Joestar grunted in acknowledgement, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, but-”

“So is this girl our stowaway?” came an imperious voice from behind them. 

Mr. Joestar dropped his hands to his sides, staring with some level of suspicion at the speaker.

“Captain.”

Sadao turned to see a blond, muscle-bound man with weatherbeaten and deeply sunburnt skin marching towards them. In a flash, he was behind the girl, his gloved and meaty hands gripping her shoulders. The girl gave a squeak of fright that elongated into a whine of pain as the man gathered her up and started painfully twisting her arm that held the knife.

“I’m pretty harsh when it comes to stowaways,” the captain said flatly, not an inch of sympathy in his face. He twisted the girl’s arm ever further as she struggled against him. Her little face, screwed up in pain, pushed Sadao to speak.

“Aren’t you being…” he said timidly, his voice wavering. “A-A little....severe?”

The captain looked up at him, his cold, blue eyes emotionless and unforgiving as rock.

“If I remember correctly,” he began, yanking the girl’s arm even more fiercely for emphasis, “you weren’t even meant to be on this ship, and were only brought along at the last minute by Mr. Joestar.”

He bit his tongue. Jotaro gave a derisive scoff from behind him, which was followed by the metallic click of a lighter. Out of the corner of Sadao’s eye, he saw a long thin cigarette dangling from his lips, but as he opened his mouth once more to scold him, the captain began speaking again, prompting him back to attention.

“Besides,” said the captain, now addressing the stowaway. “You may be a girl, but if I go easy on you, we’ll just get more and more stowaways.”

The knife clattered to the deck, sliding a little across the slick wood. The girl dangled from where the captain now held her by the wrist with one hand, kicking and screaming like a small child. Unperturbed, the captain went on.

“We’ll hold you in one of the rooms below the deck until we get to port.”

“Captain.”

Mr. Joestar cut in, looking uncharacteristically serious. “I’d like to ask you something.” The captain did not look at him, but gave a nod of his head all the same. “You’ve verified the identities of all ten of your men on board, correct?”

“Of course,” the captain said, looking over at him from where he and two other sailors were now restraining the girl. “All of them are veterans who have been on this boat for ten years.” Handing the girl off to his men, he straightened up. Impassive as ever, he walked slowly and languidly towards him. “I’m not sure why you’re so worried about that.”

“Oh, and by the way,” he added in a loud and ringing voice.

With a single flick of his hand, he snatched the cigarette right out of Jotaro’s mouth, holding it high in the air.

The captain flung down his arm, the lit end of the cigarette hovering a few inches away from right between Jotaro’s eyes.

“I request that you refrain from smoking on this ship,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “What did you plan to do with the ashes and butt after you were done?” He looked down his nose at him. “Were you planning on throwing it into the beautiful ocean?” 

He threw an admiring glance back at the water, a look that seemed much too soft for his demeanor. His eyes flicked back to Jotaro, contempt carved into every line of his face. “You’re a guest on this ship, but I’ll have you follow her rules, Mr. Outlaw.”

With that, the captain smudged the end of the cigarette against one of the many pins on Jotaro’s hat, smoldering ashes fluttering off of the brim.

The look of pure disbelief on Jotaro’s face was astonishing. Sadao winced at what was sure to happen next.

Not bothered in the slightest, the captain took one of Jotaro’s pockets and dropped the now-put-out stub inside, pointing an accusing finger in his face. Sadao was sure he could see the hint of a smirk play across his lips.

“Got it?” 

And with that, he strode away.

Sadao blew out the air he had been holding in. 

That was close.

Angry as he was at the captain’s callousness, he was relieved that Jotaro hadn’t done anything in retaliation.

“Hold it.”

He’d spoken too soon.

Jotaro put his hands in his pockets, his eyes closed with muted exasperation, the kind one would get from a disappointed teacher frustrated with a struggling pupil. He exhaled from between his lips like a horse.

“If you’re going to put it out, just put it out. Don’t be a condescending jerk about it, jackass.”

Sadao gave a strangled cry.

“Jotaro!” he sputtered.

Jotaro glanced over at him, staring blankly.

“Jotaro! Don’t be rude to the captain!” Mr. Joestar shouted. “You’re the one at fault here!” 

Jotaro scoffed. “I know I’m being rude, old man.” Both Mr. Joestar and Sadao opened their mouths to speak, outraged, but he cut them off. “I just figured it out. He isn’t the captain.”

“He’s the Stand User.”

“WHAT?” crowed the other men. Sadao looked quickly from face to face, hoping to get some sort of indication of what a Stand even was.

The captain looked over at Jotaro, his face blank.

“Stand?”

He turned to face them.

“And what might that be?”

That’s what I want to know.

Mr. Avdol rushed forward. “That’s….inconceivable, Jotaro. Captain Tenille was recommended and verified by the Speedwagon Foundation. He’s someone we should trust.” 

Speedwagon Foundation.

Now there was a name he actually recognized.

The Speedwagon Foundation had been working with Mr. Joestar for years. From what he’d seen and what Holy had told him about it, they seemed to be involved in all sorts of scientific research and charity work. What sort of scientific research, he hadn’t the slightest idea. But he was certain that there wasn’t a single time when either Mr. Joestar or Holy had mentioned anything about Stands, whatever those were.

Mr. Avdol shook his head, gesturing at the very bewildered-looking Captain Tenille. “There’s a 0% chance that he’s a Stand User.”

“Hold on, a Stand? I have no idea of what you’re talking about…” Tenille mumbled, trailing off at the end.

“Jojo, random guesses will only make things more confusing!” Mr. Polnareff cried exasperatedly.

“Do you have any proof, Jojo?” asked Kakyoin.

Jotaro sighed.

“I’ve found a way to differentiate Stand Users from regular people,” he said boredly. He raised a finger to his nose. “If a Stand User inhales even a bit of cigarette smoke, a vein pops up on the tip of their nose.”

Everyone in the group’s hands immediately flew to their noses.

Everyone except for Sadao and the girl.

He hadn’t seen any vein pop up. Perhaps he’d missed it? Or maybe his glasses were just a little foggy again...he tugged them off and began scrubbing the lenses with the corner of his sleeve.

“You can’t be serious Jotaro!” Mr. Polnareff wailed and ran up to him, one hand firmly pressed over his nose, feeling for something that, as far as Sadao could see, wasn’t there.

“Yeah, I’m lying,” Jotaro said casually. He scowled. “But it looks like we’ve found the idiot.”

Captain Tenille made a strangled sort of sound, as everyone turned to see him holding his own nose.

The gutteral noise he’d made turned into an ugly little giggle.

Tenille swayed a little on the spot, slowly taking off his hat and lowering it to his chest in a sort of salute. His eyes rolled back into his head as he began to chuckle even louder.

“Jotaro,” came his father-in-law’s voice, garbled and tangled. “How did you know he was suspicious….?” The rest of the conversation trailed away as Sadao found his feet rooted to the deck. 

A horrible feeling crept up the base of his neck. A cold sweat broke across his forehead as the captain, with his horrid, blank eyes and horrid, blank smile continued to chuckle and sway.

He had never felt so close to death in his life.

The horrible feeling grew stronger, colder, as if a great and terrible monster drew itself up to its full height behind him-

A clammy, scaly hand grabbed his ankle.

He froze, all of the life draining out of him.

There was a scream.

He was dangling in mid air, arms pinned to his sides as a vice closed around his chest, squeezing all the air from his lungs. His shoulder was crammed painfully against the head of the little girl, similarly situated in the air.

It was as if the two of them were being held tight in the grasp of an invisible monster.

He tried to kick, but his legs felt like jelly. He tried to struggle, but was only gripped tighter. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. Spots danced before his eyes as his glasses slipped down his nose and onto the railing directly below his feet. In a blink of an eye, they slid over the side of the ship.

He was vaguely aware of Captain Tenille, or rather, the Imposter Captain Tenille, speaking, evidenced by his mouth moving and indistinct sounds coming out of it, but the ringing in his ears kept him from hearing a word.

His son was also speaking, or at least he assumed he was, since he heard similar grunts coming from his direction, but his vision was so blurred that he could hardly see his face. He gagged as the world flipped over itself, and he plunged backwards and headfirst towards the waters above.

His body violently jerked around at breakneck speed as whatever was holding him was yanked back in the middle of freefall, and then began shaking as if it was rapidly slamming into something. He felt his captor’s grasp loosen on the two of them, and then fall away.

There were two loud splashes beneath him.

He felt a hand, not the clawed, slimy one of the monster, but a strong, human one, grab his wrist. He looked up, but saw no one, only the railing of the ship. He saw the girl out of the corner of his eye, her arm similarly outstretched above her head, the print of a hand pressed into the folds of her sleeve, but no hand to go with it. He realized, with a start, that they were floating, just as Jotaro had earlier.

Sadao’s body didn’t know what else to do with that information besides to immediately reject the contents of his stomach.

“Eugh…” the girl muttered, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Sadao weakly lifted his head, sloppily wiping the bile from his lips with his free arm.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

As if his stomach needed any more excitement, the two of them fell about two feet lower before being pulled to a standstill again. Sadao reflexively looked up again, even though he expected to see no one. But this time, he saw Jotaro leaning over the railing with his arms outstretched, scowling at them.

Sadao quailed under his gaze, feeling sheepish.

“Jotaro, what’s the matter?” called Mr. Joestar, voices and sounds now becoming sharper. “Hurry and pull them up!”

A drip of sweat slipped from under the brim of his hat to land on Sadao’s thumb.

“What’s wrong, Jotaro?” Mr. Joestar’s voice asked again.

Jotaro’s jaw worked furiously, chewing the inside of his cheek as his fingers began to shake-

Sadao screamed. 

Multiple jets of blood spouted from all over Jotaro’s hands. Mr. Joestar and the others finally came into view as they rallied behind him, tugging on him to try and keep him from falling in. There was a dry, crackling sound from below him. Sadao watched in horror as a thick wave of crusted grey barnacles began spreading over the side of the ship, down into the water. The further they went, the lower he and the girl drooped.

“Jotaro!” Mr. Joestar huffed, his voice quaking with exertion. “Bring in your Stand!”

“I can’t,” Jotaro growled, fighting to keep his head up as he was pulled further and further over the railing. “Which is why I’m sweating way more than I want to right now!”

Sadao felt the force holding him up go slack, watching in horror as his son tumbled over the railing towards him.

“Jojo!”

Sadao felt himself catapult further into the air as his son flew by him. Jotaro crashed into the waves just as he felt another hand grip the back of his shirt. He landed in a heap on the deck, his wrist folding awkwardly underneath him with a sharp crack.

He scrambled to his feet, hissing in pain. He stumbled blindly in the direction of the railing, tripping over his own feet as he did so.

His face, rapidly approaching the hard wood of the deck, was thankfully saved from any more abuse when he felt a pair of hands close around his upper arms and catch him from falling. These hands, he could actually see as well as feel, and they happened to belong to the Egyptian.

“Careful, Mr. Kujo,” Mr. Avdol spoke in his deep, rumbling voice. “You should sit down.”

“But, Jotaro-” he began, craning his neck to see over the shoulder of the much taller man.

“Will be alright,” Mr. Avdol finished for him. “Your son is remarkably capable; he’ll be surfacing any moment now.”

“I can’t see him! He still hasn’t surfaced!” Mr. Joestar cried.

Mr. Avdol, looking thoroughly annoyed and much less sure of himself, hastily forced Sadao to a sitting position and hurried away.

So now he was back to where he started.

He rolled over onto his knees and crawled towards the side of the ship with his uninjured hand. 

“A whirlpool! There’s a giant whirlpool!” Mr. Avdol exclaimed.

Sadao rose up on his knees, reaching out to grasp the railing.

“Where the heck is Jojo?!” Mr. Polnareff screamed.

Sadao peered over the edge. His son was indeed nowhere to be found.

“Let’s go and save him!” Kakyoin shouted.

But the men made no move to jump over the side. Feet planted firmly on the deck, Mr. Avdol held his arms in front of his chest, holding his palms upright and parallel to each other, Mr. Polnareff squared his shoulders, and Kakyoin once again flicked out his arm.

What on earth were they doing?

There was a shallow splash and a gasp of pain. Kakyoin examined his hand, now sporting several thin cuts similar to the ones that had been on Jotaro’s.

“Scales.”  

He turned to his companions, his resolution slipping. “Th-that guy’s Stand has scales as sharp as razors!”

“There are countless scales swirling in the whirlpool!” Mr. Avdol drooped, looking to the others in despair. “He wasn’t bluffing when he said he could beat all five of us. It’s like a watery ant lion pit!” The Egyptian’s knuckles turned white in his balled fists. “It’s very possible that we could all die if we dive in.”

Sadao squinted at the water.

What was he talking about? What scales? There’s nothing there!

And then it clicked.

Scales.

A scaly hand grabbed him by the ankle. Scaly arms held him aloft, crushing the air out of him. A scaly beast had torn the shark to shreds and pursued Jotaro and the girl. A scaly whirlpool whipped around below him. He couldn’t see any of them, but the others, the ones that instinctively grabbed their noses, the Stand Users, as Jotaro had called them, could.

That had all been a Stand.

The hand that had held him by the throat in Hong Kong. The hand that had pulled Jotaro and the girl to safety. The hands that had caught him and the girl and pulled them up as Jotaro was pulled down.

Those must have been Stands, too.

Mr. Avdol slammed his fists onto the railing, his head bowed. “C-Curses...It’s too reckless to act…”

Sadao’s knees buckled under him and he sank into himself, his head sticking out dangerously far from between the railing.

This Stand, this invisible monster, was preventing them from being able to save his son. And if these others, these Stand Users, couldn’t save him, what hope did he have?

“JOJO!”

He had screamed, but another voice had screamed alongside him.

“I can see Jojo in the water!”

The voice of Hope. Kakyoin.

“He was completely limp!” cried Mr. Polnareff.

The voice of Desolation.

He hadn’t remembered fainting.

But a gasp of air brought him back to life.

But it wasn’t his own.

“Jojo!” he rasped, light flooding his vision.

His head snapped up, slamming directly into the bar of the railing that he had been peering between with a painful clang. He ignored it.

“Jojo!” he cried again.

His son was alive.

Even from this distance, he could hear Jotaro snort at his dishevelment as he began to tread through the water. The battle had been won.

“That’s my grandson for you!” his father-in-law boomed.

Sadao couldn’t agree more.

“Well done, Jotaro!” Mr. Joestar continued, cranking back his arm to throw out a life ring. “Hurry and come up-”

BOOM.

Billowing gold clouds tore through the ship, filling the air with smog and dust.

A pair of hands wrenched Sadao off the ground, leaning his body against their owner’s side to support him.

“Th-that captain-He planted bombs after all!” Mr. Polnareff hefted the much smaller man over his forearm, snatching up his bag and Sadao’s case in the other. “Dang it!”

The rest of the conversation was drowned out in the cracking and snapping of the ship, and then in a rush of water that collapsed over him.

Sadao bobbed up and down like a ragdoll in the clumsy fingers of the Frenchman treading water beside him. He was pulled along, slowly, in some unknown direction as the sky and sea spun haphazardly around his head. There was a ringing in his ears as he felt his body, as if he were experiencing it all secondhand, be hefted up into a creaking lifeboat.

The world still spinning, he did his best to look up at his saviors. His eyes watered and flowed over as he crossed them to try and better distinguish the vague, pale blob that was Mr. Polnareff.

He opened his mouth to speak, to thank the Frenchman for grabbing him and his belongings and jumping to safety.

With a belch, he promptly expelled all that was left of his stomach contents directly onto the pale blob, rolled over, and passed out.

Avdol studied the unconscious Mr. Kujo lying next to him, thinking.

He’d been out for a few hours. The sun was now beginning to dip beneath the horizon. Apart from the muttered whines of Polnareff, now shirtless, fruitlessly trying to scrub out the stench of vomit in the ocean, the world was silent.

The voice of Mr. Kujo still echoed in his ears.

“What’s a Stand?”

How were they going to explain all of this?

As if on cue, Sadao stirred awake, coughing a little into his hand. His eyes, bleary and unfocused, widened as he seemed to realize where he was.

“Good evening,” Mr. Avdol said calmly.

Sadao started, halfway rising to his feet, but quickly settled back down upon recognizing who was speaking to him.

“G-good evening,” he choked out.

Mr. Avdol tilted his head at him. “Are you feeling better?”

He nodded. “Very much so.”

“Good,” Mr. Polnareff cut in from where he was sitting across from Sadao. Sadao wrinkled his nose at the smell. This only agitated Mr. Polnareff further.

He shoved his now-sopping wet shirt in Sadao’s face, whipping Jotaro in the face in the process. Jotaro gagged, the cigarette he had been in the midst of lighting slipping from his fingers. It fizzled out in a puddle of murky water sloshing around at his feet. Mr. Polnareff, in his ire, missed this. This proved to be a mistake.

“See this?! I’ve been trying for hours just to get the smell out of it! You-” He suddenly doubled over, clutching his stomach as if he had been punched.

The group followed Mr. Polnareff’s gaze onto Jotaro. He hadn’t moved an inch, and regarded them with a stony expression. He stared back at Mr. Polnareff, unblinking, and took a drag from a new, perfectly dry, cigarette.

“Put that out.”

Without thinking, Sadao spoke in Japanese.

Jotaro locked eyes with him, taking an even longer drag on the cigarette.

“Or what?”

“Jotaro.” It was Mr. Joestar who cut in, speaking in his own, clumsy Japanese. “That’s enough.”

Jotaro scowled, tossing the cigarette in the puddle and squashing it with his heel. He folded his arms and glared out over the horizon.

The group was quiet after that.

Mr. Polnareff coughed, turning back to Sadao. “Don’t ever throw up on me again,” he mumbled, his heart clearly no longer into it.

Sadao’s eyes went wide once more, and he promptly laid his forehead against the damp floor of the boat.

“My deepest apologies,” he choked out, his voice quivering. “Please, let me replace the shirt. How much does it cost?”

Mr. Polnareff blinked, taken aback. He and Mr. Avdol exchanged glances. Travelling alongside Jotaro had made it easy to forget how typically polite the Japanese were.

“Er...uh...don’t worry about it.” Mr. Polnareff scratched the back of his head. “It should come out after a wash. I-I’ll just clean it when we get to a hotel.” He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his stomach.

Sadao nodded weakly, settling back as well. He sighed, bringing his hand over his eyes, then winced as a dull pain flared up in his wrist. He brought his injured hand to his face, squinting to try and better discern it. Things were a little blurry at the moment, but he could tell from the angry red discoloration and swelling that he had sprained his wrist.

With a jolt, he realized that he was missing his glasses. He feverishly turned from side to side, rummaging in his pockets.

He stopped, dropping his hands to his sides. The ocean continued to rock the boat beneath them. Stars began to subtly peek out from the darkening sky, shadows beginning to slink towards the sides of the boat. Right. His glasses had fallen over the side of the boat. He slumped back in his seat.

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Avdol asked him.

“Oh, uh...nothing." He tried his best to cover his swollen wrist with his fingers, massaging the tender flesh. "I just...lost my glasses, that’s all.”

The fortune teller hummed in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps we can find you some new ones when we reach shore.”

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat. “Oh, um. But….well, maybe there is something you can help me with.”

Mr. Avdol politely dipped his head at him and folded his hands in his lap, his fingers intertwining.

“Yes?”

He gulped. Now was as good a time as any. “I think I have an idea of what it is but...what exactly is a Stand?”

The air shifted uncomfortably, and even the shadows seemed to waver, as if unsure of themselves.

Mr. Avdol’s gaze flicked over to Mr. Joestar at the end of the boat. Mr. Joestar glanced down at what Sadao hadn’t recognized to be the dozing figure of the runaway girl. Slowly, he looked up, but still said nothing. Eventually, he nodded.

Mr. Avdol took a deep breath, and began.

“Can you see it?”

Sadao blinked. “What?”

“Can you see it?” Mr. Avdol repeated. He lifted a finger, pointing slightly to the space above his shoulder. 

Sadao strained his eyes to see what exactly he was talking about, but could find nothing.

Mr. Avdol lowered his hand. “Just as I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“You could not see my Stand. Meaning, you are not a Stand User.” He raised his hand to silence him. “I’ll explain.”

“A Stand is, in the most general sense, the projection of one’s own willpower. The form that it takes varies from person to person. Most commonly, Stands will take a humanoid form, but they can also have the appearance of an animal or an object, or a conglomeration of the three.”

He looked up at Sadao. “Do you understand so far?”

Sadao only nodded. He figured it was best to let Mr. Avdol finish explaining himself before asking any questions.

The Egyptian continued. “Stands, however, do not have physical forms. This means that they cannot be seen nor heard by non-Stand Users. At least, not usually. The cases in which they do have physical forms, however, are fairly rare. Despite the typical condition of not having a physical form, Stands have the ability to affect their physical surroundings. For instance, if I were to use my Stand to attack you, you would feel his attacks, but not know who was behind them.”

He looked up again, asking for permission to continue. Sadao could only nod again, goosebumps erupting on his entire body. The darkness of night seemed to creep up and into the boat, up the sides of his neck.

You would feel his attacks...but not know who was behind them.

The invisible monster.

“The only way to hurt a Stand,” Mr. Avdol pushed on, “is with another Stand. Stands can affect physical forms and other Stands alike, but are in turn only affected by other Stands. A man might be shot or punched in the face, but his Stand will be able to continue to fight. Only when a User sustains a more serious, permanent injury, will it manifest on the User’s Stand.”

“However, due to the bond between Stand and User, whatever a Stand experiences, the User will feel also. Any injury sustained by a Stand will appear on the one controlling it. A man who is shot will see no wound on his Stand, but if the Stand were to be shot, assuming that there is a Stand with such an ability, both Stand and User would suffer the wound.”

The whirlpool. The scales.

“To obtain a Stand…” Mr. Avdol lowered his voice, looking very solemn. “There are one of two ways. One.” He lifted a finger. “You are born with it. It may take some time before the User fully “realizes” it, which is when the Stand will fully manifest itself, but until then, the Stand will lie dormant inside of its User.” He lifted a second finger. “The second way is for it to be given. ”

He paused, taking a shaky breath. When he spoke again, it was in little more than a whisper.

“Stands can only be given by a particular artifact known as the Arrow... this is the artifact that DIO used to awaken his Stand.” He looked up at Sadao. “But I suppose you don’t know who DIO is, either.”

Sadao shook his head.

“DIO...is the one who killed my grandfather.” It was Mr. Joestar who spoke.

He met Sadao’s gaze, his face awash in a quiet anger.

“A hundred years ago...my grandfather, Jonathan Joestar, lived with his adoptive brother, a man called Dio Brando. Jonathan’s father, George, had obtained a strange artifact...a Stone Mask.” He paused, checking to see if Sadao understood. He nodded, still silent.

“This Stone Mask had the power to transform human beings into...well, vampires.”

“E-excuse me?” Sadao sputtered.

“Yes, vampires,” Mr. Joestar repeated, looking slightly annoyed, but not necessarily surprised. “But they aren’t exactly what you might think of when you hear the word. They consume blood and are weak to sunlight, yes, but they have significantly increased strength, speed, and durability. They can heal wounds and regenerate their cells extremely quickly. They have complete control over their bodies, even being able to freeze their own blood, or completely reattach body parts.”

“They can transform living things into zombies, and revitalize the dead in this form. They can graft the bodies of different organisms into one creature, creating their own versions of Frankenstein’s monster. All of which are under their command.”

“And,” he looked Sadao dead in the eye, leaning forward as he said this. “They can take control of the minds of others by implanting a parasitic piece of their own flesh into the forehead of their victims.”

He sat back in his seat and squared his shoulders, asking, daring Sadao to interject, to not believe him.

Sadao remained silent.

“Well?” Mr. Joestar said savagely.

Sadao chewed his lip, then spoke:

“Well...I suppose it’s not any more difficult to believe in than Stands,” he said with a weak chuckle.

Jotaro made a noise of disdain, but said nothing, only tugging the brim of his hat over his eyes.

“But…” Sadao faltered, eyes flicking over to his son. “What does this have to do with Dio?”

“All that I’ve told you about the abilities of vampires,” Mr. Joestar replied, “all that we know, comes from DIO. He took the Stone Mask and used it to become a vampire. With his newfound powers, he murdered hundreds and raised an army of zombies, aiming to rule the world.”

Mr. Joestar puffed out his chest a little. “But my grandfather, Jonathan, stopped him. With the help of his friend, a man named Robert E. O. Speedwagon,” he nodded at Sadao’s dumbfounded expression, “yes, that Speedwagon, and the training of his teacher, a man named William Zeppeli, he fought Dio, and was able to defeat him.”

His face darkened.

“It was not without sacrifice. Jonathan’s father George, his teacher Zeppeli, and even Jonathan himself, were killed. But Jonathan used his sacrifice to bury Dio in the sea, defeating him for once and for all.”

“Or so we thought.”

“Dio, somehow, has managed to survive. In his final battle with Jonathan, he had been reduced to nothing more than a sentient head.”

Sadao made a sound of disgust. “How…?”

“Vampires are not living, the way humans are,” Mr. Joestar replied. “They do not need all of their bodies to survive, but only their brains. Oxygen is not necessary for them to survive. The only thing that truly keeps them moving is their own willpower; their spite for the living world.”

“So, Dio, as a head, was not only able to survive, but kill my grandfather, and, as we have found out, take his body and use it as his own.”

Sadao choked. “Disgusting,” he hissed. Again, he had reflexively spoken in his mother tongue.

Regardless, his father-in-law seemed to catch his meaning. “Very. And now, using the body of my grandfather, he has returned, once again to try and conquer humanity.”

The air was thick and silent. Sadao cleared his throat.

“But...how does this relate to the Arrow, or whatever it’s called? Or Holy?”

Mr. Joestar’s hands balled into fists on his knees. Mr. Avdol spoke up for him.

“DIO has used the Arrow to give himself a Stand. Stands, however, are not just bound to souls, but to bodies as well. So, while he has awakened his own Stand, he has also awakened the Stand of Jonathan Joestar, on account of him inhabiting his body.”

“Because of this, every living descendant of Jonathan Joestar has also received a Stand.”

Sadao blinked. What?

Mr. Avdol indicated Mr. Joestar. “Mr. Joestar has gained a Stand because of this.” He pointed to Jotaro. “Your son has also gained a Stand because of this.” His face clouded over. “Your wife has gained one as well,” he said softly.

Both Jotaro and Joseph stiffened significantly, their countenances darkening. Sadao shuddered, despite feeling no chill in the air. The last light of the dying sun extinguished itself, leaving them in suffocating darkness.

Mr. Avdol took a deep breath. “The Arrow…” he paused, taking another breath. “...gives those struck by it, along with all of their living descendants, Stands. But...Stands, when given to a Stand User, rather than when the User is born with one...tend to fight...against their User.”

“F-Fight?” Sadao whispered.

“Stands...require forceful handling,” Mr. Avdol said quietly. “They are a largely militaristic unit, since they are quite literally a manifestation of the User’s will to do battle. If...a User is not strong-willed enough...or is unwilling to fight…then the Stand will reject them.”

“The User...will die.”

Sadao’s blood ran cold.

“Holy.”

Holy Kujo was the gentlest creature Sadao had ever met. She was the sweetest wife, and the sweetest mother. If there was one thing that she would never do, it was to wish harm on someone.

Holy's Stand was killing her.

“However…” Mr. Avdol’s rumbling voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to earth. “There is a solution.”

“Since DIO, using Jonathan’s body, is the one to have awakened the Stands in Jonathan’s descendants, he is the source of Holy’s illness. In order to rid one of their Stand, one must kill it’s source. Which is why we are travelling to Egypt. To kill DIO, once and for all, thus freeing Holy from her Stand.”

Sadao slumped over his knees in relief, rubbing his eyes. They were going to save Holy.

After a moment, he looked up again, knitting his brow as a question formed in his mind. “But then...who was the Stand User who attacked us today? The fake captain?”

“That was an agent of DIO,” Mr. Avdol replied. “An assassin sent by DIO to keep us from reaching Egypt. Yes,” he added, nodding at Sadao’s fearful expression. “He knows where we are. He knows that we are coming. Dark Blue Moon was only the beginning of his forces.”

The eyes of the entire group bore down on him, blasting him like ten spotlights directed into his face. The light of the barely-risen moon shone on his face and across the waves, faint, unfeeling, and cold.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I understand.”

Chapter Text

"Jojo!" Holy cried.

Jotaro looked up from where he was crouching on the rocky beach, pant legs rolled up to his ankles, hands clutched around a wriggling crab. Even from a distance, Sadao could see his face awash in sheepishness and excitement.

Holy hurried down the uneven ground, Sadao close behind her. "It's 32 degrees out!” she panted. “You'll get a heat stroke!” She seized his face upon reaching him, tilting it this way and that, inspecting him for some nonexistent sign of injury.

“And if you're going to go swimming," she said breathlessly, "...wear your swimsuit!"

“But I wasn’t swimming," ten-year-old Jotaro said simply, squirming a little as his mother attempted to wipe his face. "I was coming right back in, anyway."

He shifted his gaze over to Sadao, his eyebrows raised. His countenance smiled at him. “So what's the point of changing clothes?”

Sadao blinked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The sky was grey and muddled, reflected by a grey and muddled sea. 

Stretching, his hand felt out beside him for his night table. He instead felt the slick wood of the rim of the boat, and startled upright, letting out a little gasp of pain as he did so.

Right, he thought to himself. No night table.

He rubbed his wrist ruefully.

And a sprained wrist.

The group was in varying degrees of sleep, with only he and the girl seemed to be fully awake.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither making a sound.

“Good morning,” he said gently, his throat cracking from the salty air.

She stared at him.

He coughed awkwardly into his hand. “Did you sleep well?”

The girl shook her head slightly, still silent.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll admit, a wooden lifeboat isn’t exactly comfortable.” He chuckled weakly. The girl remained quiet, as if afraid to speak. 

He cleared his throat again, more forcefully this time. “What is your name?”

The girl did not answer immediately, but after a moment of hesitation, breathed out: “Anne.”

“Anne,” he repeated. She nodded. “That is a nice name,” he nodded back.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

No sound but the rocking of the boat.

Suddenly, the girl spoke up. “What about you guys? What are your guys’ names?”

He screwed up his face in overexaggerated concentration. Anne wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes, but let out a little laugh all the same. He smiled. 

Quite different from yesterday’s bravado.

He gestured at the collapsed forms of the group around them, pointing at each one in particular as he went.

“The gentleman you’re next to is Mr. Joestar. And here, right next to me, is Mr. Avdol. Across from me is Mr. Polnareff, and on your other side is Jotaro…” he faltered. Giving himself a little shake, he went on. “And right there at the end is Kakyoin.”

She nodded, her lips moving slightly as she recited the names back to herself. She tilted her head inquisitively at him, pursing her lips. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing.

“Ah.” He found what she was looking at. He rested the peeling, black leather case across his knees with almost reverence, the pain in his wrist forgotten entirely. He bent back the latches, wincing at the sharp snap each of them made as he did so. Opening the lid, he turned it around to face her so she could get a better look.

It was a shining gold, with a handsome cut and painstakingly-maintained reed, each of the little valves and keys polished and oiled to perfection. An alto sax, well-loved and meticulously cared for, which Sadao’s fingers glided across as smoothly as a fish through water. He smiled, the heavenly glow of the instrument reflected in his face, then looked up at her.

“Would you like me to play you something?”

Before she had a chance to answer, a voice growled: “Forget it.”

Jotaro turned over from where he had been lounging, his eyes a little bleary but very much awake. Apparently he wasn’t quite as asleep as Sadao had initially thought.

“Some of us are trying to sleep.” His voice was groggy, even bored, but it was clear that he was not to be challenged on this front.

He gulped. With a nod, he shut and latched the case with another snap.

One by one, the rest of the group stirred awake in the following hour. First, Mr. Avdol, who gave a great sneeze from which Sadao was positively sure a few puffs of steam flew out, and shortly afterward, Mr. Joestar, who gave him a stony glare. Next was Jotaro, who sat up to dig inside his pockets for a cigarette, and, when finding that there were no more that weren’t positively soaked, slumped back with a highly irritated expression. Kakyoin yawned beside him, somehow making the action look graceful, and finally, Mr. Polnareff stretched out with a long, drawn-out groan, rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes, and immediately fell back asleep.

The boat was once again silent.

Mr. Avdol pulled a bizarre-looking deck of cards out from the many folds of his robes and busied himself with them, shuffling and laying them out across his knees, then reshuffling them into the deck with a sigh and a shake of his head.

Kakyoin, as if by magic, pulled out a book from under his arm and began reading.

Jotaro lounged back on the side of the boat, puffing out his cheeks slightly and releasing the air trapped inside, his eyes shut.

Mr. Polnareff grumbled in his half-sleeping stupor and readjusted himself.

Sadao coughed into his hand.

He searched desperately for something of note on the murky sea. He realized, with a jolt, that there was a lifeboat nearly identical to theirs sloshing alongside them on the waters, filled to the brim with sailors from the Speedwagon Foundation ship.

At least they made it out alright, too.

They were too far to make out their expressions clearly, especially without his glasses-his glasses! His hand flew to his pocket, only to sink back to where he’d been holding it in his lap. Right. No glasses. He could have sworn he heard Jotaro snicker at his confusion. He ignored him. All the same, it was probably safe to say that their sailor counterparts weren’t enjoying themselves any more than they were.

He coughed again.

Mr. Joestar had begun speaking to Anne in a gentle voice strangely familiar to him.

...When had he heard him speak like that? It couldn’t have been too long ago…

It sounded like how Mr. Joestar would speak to Holy. Right, that was it. That calm, comforting voice of father to child. Goodness, he hadn’t seen the two of them together in at least a year or two. 

….Or had it been four?

“You said you were trying to get to Singapore to see your father, yes?” His tone was inviting and friendly. “Does he know that you’re coming?” Anne shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. The boat was quiet.

Anne promptly started into a coughing fit, eyes darting back and forth from behind heavy lids.

Sadao’s fingers nervously drummed against his worn leather case. Jotaro shot him a glare, and he folded his fingers in his lap.

Mr. Joestar only smiled sympathetically. He rummaged around his feet for a small, silver canteen, and, unscrewing the lid from it, handed it to her.

“Have some water.”

She took it.

“We’ve sent signals for help, so someone should be here for us soon.”

Anne glanced sideways at Jotaro’s hunched figure to the other side of her. She scooched a little closer towards Mr. Joestar. Her fingers tapped the sides of the canteen similarly to the way Sadao’s had. She spoke in a husky, guarded voice.

“I don’t know what in the world is going on…” she paused, her eyes flickering around the group. She lingered slightly on Sadao, then looked up at Mr. Joestar, an eyebrow raised. “But just who the heck are you people?”

Mr. Joestar didn’t seem the slightest bit offended at her rude phrasing. “We’re people hurrying along a journey, just like you are. Though you’re on a journey to see your father, I’m on a journey for my daughter.” He smiled again. Anne flushed and turned away, taking a swig from the canteen. It hadn’t been for more than a second when she suddenly spewed out the mouthful of water like a fire hose.

“Hey!” Mr. Joestar cried, for the first time raising his voice at her. But even now, it was a tone of concern rather than exasperation. “That’s our precious water! What’d you spit it out for?”

“N-no...it’s not...e-every- everyone!”  

“LOOK!”

And they looked.

A towering shadow fell over the tiny lifeboats, and yet the water grew still. A dark, impenetrable mass, taller than a ten-storey building and thrice as long, emerged from the fog, silent as the grave. A collective gasp escaped from their mouths.

“A freighter!”

“I didn’t see it at all!”

Neither had Sadao. He regarded the ship with distaste. He didn’t like the look of it at all. It was a perfectly fine-looking ship, certainly. Perhaps a little old, but that was of no concern to him! It most certainly had the capacity to carry them all. He should have been excited, overjoyed! They were saved! 

…Weren’t they?

There was something about it, something that was just...off. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Jotaro was feeling the same way. His shoulders were more squared than usual, his brows more drawn together. To the untrained eye, this would have gone unnoticed.

“Jotaro, what are you concerned about?”

Apparently, Mr. Joestar was not an untrained eye. He tried not to feel slighted by this.

“Do you think that there might be another Stand User on this freighter, too?” his father-in-law asked.

“No, I was just wondering why no one’s shown themselves, even though the ramp’s down.”

The ramp was indeed down. But how? He hadn’t even heard it creak. Could it really be another Stand User, just when they had escaped the last one? He shuddered at the thought. 

The tip of their boat bumped into the side of the steps, and Mr. Polnareff bounded out. “They came this far to rescue us!” he said irritably, looking back at them. “There has to be someone on this boat!” They made no reply. He scowled. “Even if they’re all Stand Users, I’m getting on this boat.” And with that, he stomped up the ramp, slipping on the fifth step as he did so.

They looked at each other, gave a collective grunt, and heaved themselves up. This wasn’t the smartest plan, as their combined bulk made the little lifeboat careen violently underneath them. They all gripped onto the nearest arm to steady themselves, Mr. Avdol and Kakyoin knocking foreheads with a solid thunk.

Rubbing his head, Mr. Avdol stumbled up the steps, followed by Kakyoin, who did his best to remain upright, only to slip on the same fifth step as Polnareff had. 

Holding his case for dear life, Sadao stretched out a toe onto the slick metal, but ended up pushing the lifeboat away with the other, stranding himself in the splits.

He wrenched his right leg up to join it’s twin, dragging the boat along to close the distance he had created. His arms pinwheeled as he rocked on his toes, threatening to fall right back onto the boat. He was mercifully shoved forward by Mr. Joestar.

Doubled over on his hands and knees, still clutching the case to his chest with one hand, he crawled up two, three, four steps, his free hand clasping the railing as he reached the fifth to prevent the same blunder as Mr. Polnareff and Kakyoin. He looked over his shoulder, expecting his son to be right behind him, scowling contemptuously down at him, but saw that he and his grandfather were still only on the first step, trying to coax the girl out of the boat.

Jotaro extended a hand to her. “Grab on. I’ll help you up.”

Sadao couldn’t help but smile. Jotaro could put on as many airs and graces as he liked, but that old politeness, that quiet consideration that he and Holy had seen from his early years and worked to cultivate, would always still poke through.

It didn’t do him much good here, though. Anne stood there, silently, staring up at them with blank, brown eyes, before launching herself out of the boat and into the arms of Mr. Joestar. He was sure he heard her blow a raspberry back at Jotaro as she did so.

“Good grief.”

The ship was much less quiet aboard than it was below. Every hinge of the doors, every piece of the deck, every bolt of its many cranes creaked and groaned in a loud, metallic cacophony, no quiet to be found. And yet, it was silent. Oddly silent.

There was neither a soul to be found, either.

Nobody, no one, nothing.

“What’s with this boat?” Mr. Joestar finally exclaimed when they reached the bridge of the deck. “There’s no captain in the pilothouse! There’s no operator in the radio room. There’s no one anywhere! And yet, look!”

He gestured at the various instruments in the room, examining the one closest to him gingerly, touching it only with his fingertips. “All the meters and machines are working properly!”

Mr. Polnareff shrugged. “Maybe they’re all in the bathroom with a bad case of diarrhea,” he said with a grin.

Nobody laughed. Mr. Joestar ignored him. “HEY!” he shouted. “Isn’t anyone around?!”

Silence still.

Sadao looked out into the hallway behind them. No one made an appearance.

Anne gasped, pointing into a door that stood ajar in the back of the pilothouse. “Everyone, come over here!”

It was a small, dingy room, the only light coming in through the door. Pushed up against the wall and still taking up the majority of the space, was a massive cage, occupied by-

“A monkey!” Anne looked up at them expectantly, as if they were the ones behind it being there. “There’s a monkey inside that cage,” she repeated.

Calling it a ‘monkey’ was an understatement. It was an enormous, hairy, smelly, ape, rippling with muscles and with hands the size of dinner plates. It bared its teeth at them in an almost-grin, a greeting. Its bulbous, glassy, black eyes slid over each of them, bored and disinterested, until they landed on Anne. The eyes darkened with a misty, almost drunken haze that brought bile to his throat.

“An orangutan,” Kakyoin muttered, sounding much too thoughtful for such an obvious observation.

Mr. Joestar squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation. “Who the heck cares about a monkey?! Let’s split up and find whoever’s been feeding it!”

Sadao’s grip on the handle of his case tightened, his knees weak. His gaze hadn’t left that of the monkey’s for an instant, unable to discern but unable to look away. 

The ape’s eyes sharpened and sparked to life, growing calculating and clear. They ran back and forth over the group as they obediently stepped out, single-file, as if the orangutan were counting them, measuring them, sizing them up.

He was about to leave himself when he saw that Anne was still standing in the doorway, looking back. Not at him, but at the ape.

The ape looked back at her with the same, ugly, haunting haze from before. She spun back around and jogged out after the rest of the group. 

Still, Sadao stayed. Watching those horrible, marble-like eyes roll in their sockets and land on him once more, he stayed and could only stare. The ape blinked at him and bared its teeth once more. All the color drained from his face. He stumbled back. The ape’s teeth grew even more prominent, looking for all the world a twisted smirk. Sadao turned tail and rushed out of the room.

Down the steps, round a corner, out of sight of the others, he pressed himself against the wall, finally allowing himself to breathe. 

There is something wrong with that monkey.  

About its eyes, about its smile, about how they looked so dangerously, eerily, hauntingly familiar. Like the eyes and smiles of lank and sleazy men who hung outside his shows, watching girls come and go with hungry, hungry faces and hungry, hungry eyes. Those eyes.

They were the eyes of a predator.

There were shouts and a scream that most certainly belonged to Anne. He spun around and rushed out onto the main deck, tripping over a seam in the deck and landing on his face.

“Good grief,” Jotaro grumbled. He was holding his hands over Anne’s face, shielding her eyes. “A welcome like this is a bit much for a girl.”

It was a bit much for himself.

A sailor dangled from the sky, the hook of a crane torn straight through his face, blood dripping down his white pressed pants and shoes.

He gagged, burying his face into the floor once more.

The sailors burst into frenzied, fearful sputters.

“But…no one was touching it…”

“I saw that crane move, even though there was no one operating it!”

“That crane impaled him on its own!”

“Be careful!” Mr. Joestar shouted, cutting through the crowd. “There’s someone here on this ship! Don’t touch any of the machinery! If it moves or runs on electricity, don’t lay a finger on it!”

The sailors edged away from the crane. Sadao scrambled to his feet, mistaking a nearby rope for a cable.

“If you want to live, follow my orders,” Mr. Joestar finished gravely. “Don’t leave the cabin down below until we say it’s okay!”

The sailors lingered, murmuring, then shuffled down into the belly of the ship. Anne hesitated, but followed them all the same.

Sadao awkwardly shifted his weight, tapping the side of his saxophone case again, but keeping quiet. Did he stay or did he go? It wasn’t as if he could really be of any help to them….but still…

The Stand Users huddled up together, thankfully not noticing that he was still there.

“Did anyone see even a glimpse of a Stand just now?” Mr. Joestar asked.

“No…” Mr. Polnareff said.

Kakyoin shook his head.

Jotaro stayed silent.

“My apologies…” Mr. Avdol mumbled, holding a hand to his mouth. “I was the closest to the crane, yet I felt nothing.”

“Alright,” Kakyoin said. “I’ll send Hierophant Green to have a look around.”

Sadao shivered as what felt like a snake seemed to slither through the floor beneath his feet. He looked down, but saw nothing. Right. Stands were invisible to non-Stand Users. He looked up again, only to find the rest of the group staring at him.

He blinked. They stared.

“What’re you still here for?” Mr. Polnareff asked loudly. He flushed.

“I was…” They glared at him. He flushed again, and turned away. “I’ll just…be down in the cabin then.” He hurried off. 

As he approached the door to the downstairs, he found Anne still lingering there. She shrunk a little as he approached. He smiled in his usual, apologetic way.

“Come on,” he said gently. “It’s for the best that we stay in the cabin. We’ll be safest down there.”

“Just a minute,” said Mr. Joestar.

He approached them, the others still glowering behind him. He squatted down to look Anne in the eye.

“I have just one bit of truth for you,” he began in a serious voice. A smile immediately cracked through his stern face.

“We are on your side.”

And Sadao knew that it wasn’t directed at him, but he couldn’t help but stand up a little straighter, feel a little braver. They are on our side.

“Make sure you stay with the others.” Mr. Joestar stared up at Sadao, looking stern again. “Mr. Kujo will be looking out for you.” His eyes flicked back down to Anne, and they softened again. “Got it?”

Anne nodded.

“Got it,” Sadao echoed.

The cabin seemed darker, more sinister now that the Stand Users were separated from them.

Every shadow grasped at his ankles, every creak was the groan of a monster, every exposed pipe and sharp edge were fangs, poised to eat him. It felt as if the ship itself were alive, and that it might at any moment swallow them all whole. He shook himself and focused on just following the girl ahead of him, being her chaperone without the slightest care of where she was even going.

With a jolt, he realized that they were back in the pilothouse. Anne crept over to the heavy iron door that was still open, if only by a hair, and pushed it inward.

They were back with the monkey.

Sadao wrinkled his nose at the smell, trying to replace his overall uneasiness with disgust. It didn’t prove very successful.

Watchful as ever, its lips curled back over its yellowed fangs, and it rattled the bars a little. Sadao took a shaky step back, and the ape grunted in what sounded like a derisive laugh.

Turning its attention to Anne, it grunted again, and gestured at her to come closer. With its other hand, it reached up through the bars and tapped at one of the heavy, metal locks that kept the cage latched shut. 

Anne tilted her head inquisitively at the monkey. “You want me to open the cage?”

She took a step forward, before Sadao grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her back.

“Careful. Orangutans are said to be five times stronger than a human. It could easily hurt you.”

Anne looked up at him, her eyes going a little wide with fear. She nodded, then looked back at the monkey, giving it an apologetic sort of smile.

“I can’t. I don’t know where the key is, and you’re so big.”

The ape huffed and retracted its arm. A second later, it stretched out its hand again. This time, it held half of an apple.

Anne’s eyes went even wider. “Y-you’re giving me an apple?” She looked back up at Sadao, who stood protectively behind her, hands on her shoulders. “But it doesn’t make sense…” She pointed.

“Look, it’s been cut with a knife, but the color hasn’t changed yet…It was just cut.”

So there was someone else here.

Anne turned back to the monkey, with a considerably brighter disposition. “Hey, so there is someone somewhere on this boat, right? Do you know where the person who feeds you is?”

Sadao cracked a smile. It was charming, how this little girl spoke to the monkey as if it could understand-

Scratch.

The dingy cage sparked up with a newly lit match. A match held by the monkey. With it, it lit a slim white cigarette that dangled from its black lips.

His grip on Anne’s shoulders tightened.

“Y-you’re a pretty smart monkey, aren’t you?” Anne’s voice wavered.

Sadao turned Anne around to face him. “We should go back to join the others.” He gave her a gentle push towards the door, trying to get her moving. “Let’s leave this monkey alone, alright?” He forced a smile. “Who knows, next he might try and offer us a cigarette,” he joked.

She rolled her eyes at him, but still smiled back. “Right, right. Cigarettes are bad for you, and all that.”

“Exactly!” Edging her in front of him, he turned to close the door behind them. Illuminated by the glow of the cigarette, the face of the ape peeked out of the shadows. It gave him a very disinterested glance and then returned to the magazine it was reading-magazine! It was reading a magazine! He squinted to see what it was reading. The thin beam of light emitted from the half-closed door bounced off large, acrylic letters that spelled out PLAYBOY.

Sadao stumbled back with a noise of absolute disgust.

“What’s the matter?”

He gulped, then spun around to shield the interior of the room from the little girl's view. The ape snickered at him.

“N-nothing. Nothing’s the matter.” He closed the door behind him and rushed out into the hallway, pulling Anne along with him.

“Just a gross monkey.”

“Well?” An agitated sailor with tired eyes gripped the back of his compatriot’s chair, leaning forward to get a better look at the feebly blinking radio on the desk in front of them. The sailor at the chair shook his head in defeat.

“It’s no use. I can’t get a connection.”

“Well, try one more time!” the first sailor snapped, a quaver in his voice.

Sadao glanced up at them from where he was leaning against the wall, then back to the floor with a sigh. They had been trying for a solid thirty minutes, at least. But no matter what dial they turned, which way they tilted their heads and closed their eyes, listening intently for some crackle of life on the other end, the radio refused to bring them anything other than garbled static, and even that was a rarity.

He tapped his fingers against his saxophone case once again. He was anxious. Anxious to be playing. Anxious to be off of this boat. Anxious to be back home again-Home! And he frantically opened the case as he remembered what he carried with him in his case. He lifted up the instrument and found, with a sigh of relief, that yes, all of his things were still there, and didn’t look to be too damaged, despite the less-than-gentle ride they’d so far had.

He looked back up at the sailors. They were busying themselves with the radio again. He pulled the saxophone all the way out of its case and closed the lid. He really was anxious to be playing. He brought it to his lips. Surely, they wouldn’t mind if he just-

“Oi! Play that thing somewhere else!” The sailors were twisted around from their huddle, all glaring at him.

He flushed. 

I hadn’t even started playing anything!

He rose to his feet and strode out of the room, trying to not look too pathetic while he did so.

Out in the hall, it was deadly quiet. A drip of sweat ran down the back of his neck, but he nonetheless brought the saxophone to his lips.

He had only played a few notes when another thought came to him.

Where is Anne?

His blood ran cold. He thought of the ship, and its horrid, slimy interior, and the horrid monkey who was passenger, captain, and crew. The thought of Anne being alone on the same ship as that thing… he shuddered. He peeked back into the radio room, clumsily shoving his saxophone back into its case. There was no sign of her. He cleared his throat.

“Has anyone seen Anne?”

The sailors paid him no attention. He’d be taking this mission solo, it seemed. Sure, he could run back up to the deck and tell the others, but by the time he got them all down here something terrible might have happened. No, he had no time to lose. He had to find her.

There was a strange, hissing sound. He tilted his head, then turned towards the direction of the noise. It sounded like…running water? He took a few steps forward, and the sound grew louder. There was a door on the side opposite to the radio room, with a small porthole that was filled with steam. He opened it, and listened.

There was a small, cheerful humming coming from the room. He stepped inside.

It was a bathroom, the walls lined with showers. Most of them were open and unoccupied, the shower curtains caked with mold. One, however, was closed, and from this came the humming and the sound of running water.

“Anne?” he called.

The humming stopped.

“Y-yes? Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Mr. Kujo. Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah. Everything’s fine…” she sounded confused, even a little worried. “Did something happen?”

“N-no. Just…checking in. I’ll just be outside.”

He turned to go, only to find himself face to face with a 200-kilogram orangutan.

He didn’t think. He only moved.

CLANG.

Almost as if it were done by instinct, he smashed his saxophone case as hard as he could into the beast’s face, which buckled under the blow with a crunch. It spun around and stumbled backward, giving him the opportunity to see past it into the radio room. He gaped.

The sailors’ bodies lay in twisted, bloody ruins, ripped to shreds. Streaks of gore spattered the walls, and a pool of their blood ran across the floor.

“Anne!”

She yelped in response.

“Get out of here! You need to get out of here! It isn’t safe!”

But the monkey was not waiting for them. It snarled at him as it heaved itself up again. Gingerly, it prodded its shattered nose and winced. Its eyes flashed and it gave a terrible yell. With a single swing of its massive arm, the ape sent him flying across the room, crashing into one of the empty showers. His vision went fuzzy as he tried to stand.

“Anne!” he yelled again, dragging himself to his feet.

He stumbled forward, bracing himself on one of the walls of the shower. His eyes were dark and spotty, with blinks of light crossing in front of them. He saw the monkey yank back the curtain to the sole occupied shower with a horrible, drunken grin.

He lunged forward, grasping wildly for the ape’s arm in a bid to pull it back, but found himself dragged back by a metallic noose. He gasped and clawed at his throat, feeling the shower head and pipe wrap around him, suffocating him.

He saw the monkey give another yell and pounce towards Anne. There was another scream, even more shrill than the last.

“Oi.”

The ape turned.

A thick, metal lock swung across its face, knocking it to the ground. The shower head slackened around Sadao’s neck, and he fell to his knees, gasping for air.

“Jojo!” cried Anne.

The beast scrambled away towards the door on all fours.

Jotaro turned. “Here’s your lock!” he barked, tossing the lock like a Frisbee. It hit the ape in the back of the head and sent it crashing into the opposite wall.

Sadao rose to his feet, shaking as he used his saxophone case as a crutch. With a wince, he noticed the large dent in it from where it had struck the monkey.

“Oh dear…”

He shook himself, his vision growing spotty once more. He managed to take a step, and then another. He tripped over a bundle of clothes. Deeming them to be Anne’s, he snatched them up and hobbled over to her. She was huddled against the corner of the shower, a towel hastily wrapped around herself.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he handed her the clothes.

She could only nod.

He turned away so she could have some privacy, and saw the ape grip Jotaro by the lapel of his jacket and propel itself upward with a mighty kick directed at his face.

The leg was stopped in mid air as if it had slammed against an invisible brick wall. 

Jotaro’s Stand.  

There was a sharp ring of metal and pop of electricity as the ceiling fan ripped itself off and hurled through the air towards Jotaro.

“Jotaro! Behind you!”

The fan spun to a stop as it dug itself deep into Jotaro’s shoulder, blood spurting out of the cut. The monkey laughed.

“Is he the one that removed the fan?” Jotaro muttered, looking only slightly bothered. He looked over at his father. “This ape’s a Stand User.”

Jotaro faced the ape again. “But where’s the Stand?”

“Why can’t I see it?”

“You can’t see it?” Sadao sputtered.

“That’s what I just said,” Jotaro snapped, reaching for the fan. The blades curled back and bent as if made of putty, one of them smacking his hand away.

“What? The steel propeller bent on its own?” As if to answer him, the blade stretched around and smacked Jotaro square in the face, and he shot backwards into the door. He and the door landed in the hallway.

“Jojo!”

The ape leapt up and down for joy, cackling with laughter, then launched itself out of the room after him in a single bound.

Sadao dashed into the corridor in time to see a porthole burst out of the side of the wall and fly towards Jotaro like a stream of daggers. They were once again stopped by Jotaro’s Stand. The glass shards, bundled together in a fist, flew after the monkey.

The monkey only laughed as it seemed to phase throuhh the metal of the wall, sinking into it as if it were water. The glass shards shattered against the wall, leaving a massive, punch-shaped dent where the ape’s belly used to be. It bared its teeth at them as it waved goodbye, taunting them as it sunk further into the wall, and then disappeared.

Sadao gaped and pointed, inarticulate sounds falling from his lips. Jotaro looked over his shoulder at him. 

“You saw that, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Get Anne and stay close. Things are getting bizarre.”

“I’m right here,” Anne whimpered, appearing between them, fully clothed but still very shaken. The boat creaked, and Anne gave a little cry of fear, grabbing onto Jotaro’s arm.

The boat creaked again, louder this time. The walls seemed to bend and strain inwards, as several pipes burst out and-

“The freighter is the Stand!”

Jotaro was dragged back and tied to the wall, the pipes coiling around him, his feet a few inches off the ground.

“Jotaro!” Sadao sprinted over to him, hefting his case to slam it against the pipes. Another pipe popped out of the wall and wrapped itself around his ankle, yanking him away and suspending him upside down.

The ape’s face poked out of the wall, howling with laughter instead of pain.

“Crap…” Jotaro hissed.

The face retracted, then reappeared as the entire monkey stepped out of the wall, dressed in a ship captain’s shirt and hat. It was even holding a pipe in its teeth. Digging in its pocket, it pulled out what looked like a dictionary and flipped through it. It held it open, up to Jotaro’s face.

“Strength.”

The ape nodded, puffing out a wisp of smoke from its pipe. It stowed away the dictionary and reached into a different pocket, pulling out a puzzle cube. Casually, it twisted it in its hands, still smoking its pipe. It seemed to have forgotten all about them for a moment, becoming completely transfixed on the toy.

There was a screech of metal as one of the pipes was wrenched away from the wall. The ape glanced up, and two more pipes stretched out and over the arm of Jotaro’s Stand in place of the first. 

The orangutan laughed again, his chuckle sounding like the bray of a donkey. 

“This ship, the entire thing, is my Stand!” He seemed to say. “You’ve completely lost!” He spat out his pipe at Jotaro, the wood and tobacco bouncing off his nose. “You can’t do anything!”

And the ape was right. What could they do? If even Jotaro was unable to beat him, what chance did any of them have?

With a self-satisfied smirk, the orangutan turned the last row of the puzzle cube into place, finishing it. He held it in its open palm, showing it off to them, before balling his fingers around it and squeezing, crushing it.

He stood there on his hind legs, lingering for a moment, before turning to face Anne. He breathed heavily, licking his lips and flashing his yellowed fangs. Anne gave a squeal of fright and edged towards Sadao. The ape chuckled again and made grabbing motions at her.

“H-Hey…” Sadao gasped. It was becoming very difficult to speak through the blood rushing to and out of his head. “You-you keep away from her!” And somehow finding the strength despite the pounding in his skull and the ache in his hand, he managed to curl halfway upright and throw the saxophone case at the ape. 

The orangutan caught it against his stomach, doubling over. He snarled, tossing the case over his shoulder and taking a threatening step forward.

There was a small, metallic ping, and the orangutan went as stiff as a board. A small button bounced to the ground with a series of smaller pings.

The ape turned around, slowly, scratching the back of its head.

“That button’s not part of your Stand,” Jotaro said.

The monkey held up the button, its expression first dull and uncomprehending, the gears in its mind slowly turning, before it was struck with a bolt of realization, its eyes flashing, its hand trembling.

Jotaro scoffed. “You mad? I guess it wounded your pride, since you thought you’d already won.”

The ape growled, beginning to shake violently.

“No, it’s not hurt…” Jotaro murmured. “Because apes don’t have any pride!”

The monkey howled and jumped high into the air, reaching for Jotaro with clawing fingers and a face distorted with rage.

Jotaro lifted his head in defiance, looking the ape in the eye. “That’s exactly what makes you an ape.”

“What’s going to hurt… is your head!”

The button, still pinched between two of the ape’s fingers, was knocked out of its grip and launched into the ape’s forehead. It whimpered, blood pouring from its eyes, until it let loose the most horrible screech of pain that Sadao had ever heard. It fell back onto its back, rocking back and forth and clutching its face.

The pipes around Jotaro burst, and he stepped forward. Sadao was dropped to the ground, landing directly on his head.

“Good grief.”

The ape, still crying blood, slid itself over to the wall and propped its back against it. It ripped open its captain’s shirt to expose its underbelly, bloody fingerprints left behind on the white fabric.

Jotaro only blinked.

“I’ve heard that, when frightened, animals show their stomachs to signal that they’re giving up.” He narrowed his eyes.

“So you’re asking me to forgive you?”

The ape nodded vigorously, holding its bloody hands up, next to its shoulders.

Jotaro’s face darkened. “But you’ve already broken the rules of being an animal.”

“So I don’t think so.”

And just as what happened to the shark the day before, the ape’s body jolted and twisted as a thousand mach-speed punches hammered at its frame, shattering bones and tearing tissue with a rapid-fire CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK.

With a final, sweeping punch, Jotaro’s Stand sent the monkey flying down the corridor, where it crashed through the door, landing solidly on its back with a final CRACK.

“I-I can’t believe it!” Anne pointed over the edge of their lifeboat, back at the freighter, which twisted and crumpled into a tiny skiff. “The ship’s shape is changing-it’s turning into such a shoddy little boat…”

“Unbelievable…” Mr. Avdol whispered. “So that monkey used its own Stand to get this far into the ocean. What terrifying power.”

“That was the first time I’ve ever encountered such energy.”

“We were completely overwhelmed.” Mr. Joestar said darkly. “If Jotaro hadn’t figured it out, we would have been done for.”

Sadao nodded. Jotaro ignored them, instead attempting to light a ruined cigarette. Kakyoin somehow pulled out a comb and began running it through his hair. Mr. Joestar plowed on, oblivious to the rest of the group tuning him out.

“But are we going to encounter even more Stands with unknown powers from now on?” he mused.

Mr. Polnareff tapped him on the shoulder, holding up a slim silver packet. “Want some gum?”

Mr. Joestar ignored him.

“So we’re going to be drifting again,” Mr. Avdol said with a sigh.

“Good grief. My cigarettes are soaked,” Jotaro muttered, finally putting away his lighter.

“There’ll be plenty of sun and time for them to get dry, Jojo,” Mr. Polnareff grunted, cracking his neck. "Hey, even my shirt doesn't smell so bad now!" he added with a grin, scooching closer to Jotaro and bringing a pinch of the fabric towards his face. One look from Jotaro had Mr. Polnareff sitting back in his seat, nervously chomping on a stick of gum.

“We’ll just have to pray that we get rescued and reach Singapore safely,” Mr. Avdol said, ignoring the both of them. He crossed his arms, sighing again.

“It’s been four days since we left Japan…” Kakyoin added. “Meaning-” he caught sight of Jotaro’s expression, and fell silent.

Sadao looked from his son, to Kakyoin, to Mr. Polnareff, to Mr. Joestar, to Mr. Avdol, to Anne. Such somber, tired, faces, particularly Anne’s.

Anne. Poor Anne.

The poor girl had had a long, very rough day. She stared off into space with absent, fearful eyes, randomly shuddering at any sudden noise.

He sighed. There had to be something he could do.

Click. Click.

He opened his case, his sprain forgotten entirely. The saxophone inside was dented, certainly, but relatively unharmed. He’d have to replace it, that was for sure. But would it play…? He raised it to his lips and blew into it. Sound came out as normal. He felt the eyes of the group turn on him, and he knew that he was working with a time limit. He only had so long to start making music instead of noise, otherwise he’d be told to stop.

He played a scale. So far, so good. He slung the strap around his neck, feeling the metal for any breaks. The dent was in the bell, so his lower notes wouldn’t quite be as good, but what about something light, cheerful, not too complex? What was something he knew…

“Sadao! Could you play something for me?”

A twenty-five-year-old Sadao Kujo blushed as Holy Joestar beamed at him. They had been on three dates so far, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was, managing to meet and attract someone like her. He couldn’t understand why; she was bright, cheerful, energetic, beautiful, kind, and friendly, and he had trouble keeping up with her. He really couldn’t see why someone like her would settle for someone like him.

Holy smiled, winking at him.

“Well~?”

He gulped. 

“U-uh…sure.”

And so he played. He'd always liked the song, but she'd made it special. He'd already begun to make it his closing number for all of his performances.

Mr. Polnareff bounced up and down in his seat, waving his hands around like a madman.

“Aha! I know this one!” He cleared his throat, and began to sing in a voice that was not very in-tune:

“La mer

Qu'on voit danser

Le long des golfes clairs

A des reflets d'argent

La mer

Des reflets changeants

Sous la pluie ”

He looked around at them, expectantly, beaming.

“Oh come on! Don’t tell me you don’t know this one! 'La Mer!'”

Mr. Joestar guffawed. “Of course I know it!” he said gruffly. "But it's not 'La Mer'; it's 'Beyond the Sea!'" And then, much to Sadao's surprise, he began to sing, as well.

"Somewhereeeee-"

"'La Mer' came first!" Mr. Polnareff interjected. "Charles Trenet wrote it-" Mr. Joestar ignored him entirely, instead continuing to sing only louder, the quality of his voice, while already leaving much to be desired, dropping considerably.

"-beyond the seeeeea~"

"-and sang his first recording of it-"

"She's thereeee~"

"-IN 1946, LONG BEFORE-, ah, ça m'énerve!" Mr. Polnareff shook his head, cleared his throat, then warbled back: "A des reflets d'argent~"

And together, or rather, against each other, the two of them sang in their own tongue, neither of them particularly on-key.

Anne began to giggle. And then, she began to laugh. It was music to Sadao’s ears.

Mr. Joestar and Mr. Polnareff kept going. Anne laughed and chimed in where she could, both of the men seeming to try to convince her to sing their lyrics, instead of the other's. Sadao nodded deeply as he played, doing his best to lead them into a somewhat uniform rhythm.

Eventually, begrudgingly, Mr. Avdol joined in, his deep and melodic voice sounding so out of place next to Mr. Polnareff and Mr. Joestar’s scratchy wails. Kakyoin bounced his foot to the rhythm, lips pressed together in a looser version of his tight-wound smile as he hummed along. Jotaro pulled his hat over his eyes, but could not mask how his hand twitched up, down, up, down, sideways and along with the beat.

The sound of their song and laughter carried away and over the waves, out into the starry night.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

He was vaguely aware of the shouts of his father-in-law and Mr. Avdol behind him, but he didn’t dare look back. He needed to get to the train station, and fast. If he hesitated, they were sure to stop him with their Stands. He couldn’t let that happen. Jotaro was out walking, alone, with Anne and Kakyoin, who, according to what he had just heard, could very well be an agent of DIO. He didn’t doubt Jotaro’s fighting ability, but if he wasn’t warned…something terrible could happen.

He didn’t bother with the elevator. He practically flew down the stairs, the signs for each floor flashing by his eyes. Eleventh floor, tenth floor, ninth floor, eighth. He could feel the wounds reopening on his ankles as he whirled around each flight of stairs, blood trickling into his shoes. He ignored it. Fourth floor, third floor, second floor-

He burst out into the brilliantly-lit lobby with a gasp of air, eyes searching for the nearest exit. There was one directly next to him. Without much thought, he pushed through it.

He blinked multiple times, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the even harsher light. Without his glasses, things were hazy and unclear, exacerbated by the strong sunshine.

He was in the hotel grounds, by the pool, with various winding paths connecting to different gardens and then onto the street itself.

And directly in front of him, he was dismayed to see none other than Kakyoin himself.

The teenager, stretched out on a beach chair with a book in his hand, blinked when he saw him.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Kujo?”

He remained silent and stepped past him, head on a swivel for some indication of Jotaro and Anne. Kakyoin followed his line of vision.

“What are you looking for?”

He said nothing still, until finally asking:

“Where are Jotaro and Anne?”

“They went to the train station to get tickets for tomorrow.” Kakyoin said nonchalantly. “I was going to go with them, but…” he gestured around himself. “They left without me.”

Sadao hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. “And how…” he swallowed. “How can I know that you’re telling the truth?”

Kakyoin stared at him, shutting his book. “Telling the truth? Why wouldn’t I tell the truth?”

Sadao swallowed again, feeling a bead of sweat run down the side of his face. How had it gotten so humid out? He screwed his eyes shut, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“I overheard…the others…talking about how you were DIO’s servant…and would betray us,” he mumbled.

He readied himself for the inevitable Stand attack, where this servant of DIO would ensure that he kept his silence…but it never came.

He peeked over at Kakyoin, surprised to see the high schooler looking supremely put-out.

Kakyoin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Would you care to take a walk, Mr. Kujo?”

He blinked, taken aback. “I-uh…I don’t have-” But the redhead wasn’t waiting for an answer, and, swinging his legs over the side of his chair, started off down the sidewalk, deeper into the winding outdoor gardens surrounding the hotel. Sadao jogged to catch up with him, the cuts in his legs flaring up in pain.

“You weren’t here to see this, but…” Kakyoin began in a soft voice. “Back in Japan, when I first met the others, I was their enemy. I was indeed working for DIO back then, but it was against my will.” He looked over at him. “Do you remember what Mr. Joestar said about vampires, back on the boat? About their ability to control others?”

He racked his brain, but came up empty. Kakyoin saw this, and continued:

“Vampires like DIO can insert pieces of their own flesh into the foreheads of others to control them, to ensure that they are completely obedient. I had one such flesh bud in my head, and was thus completely brain-washed into attacking Jotaro and Mr. Joestar. It was Jotaro who extracted the flesh bud out of my head.”

He stared at Sadao, eyes sharp and challenging. “I would have thought that the fact that I needed such a precaution to be taken by DIO would be proof that I wouldn’t ever willingly serve him.”

He stepped back towards a side entrance to the hotel, a hand on the door handle. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask the others when we get back to their room.”

Sadao’s eyes went wide, and he suddenly bolted, trying to get away. He felt Kakyoin’s large hand grip his upper arm, pulling him back.

“Where are you going?”

“I….I-uhm…” he stuttered, his lower lip quivering.

“You’re in no condition to go anywhere, Mr. Kujo,” Kakyoin said firmly, pulling him back into the lobby. The door closed directly in Sadao’s face, mocking him, closing him in. “I didn’t say anything, but the legs of your pants are soaked in blood.”

He looked down. It was true. Not only that, but there was a faint, bloody footprint from where he was standing.

“You can’t be thinking about going after them,” Kakyoin said bluntly. “Jotaro is remarkably capable, and will be able to handle this fight, whatever it may be. Even if he couldn’t, you are neither in any condition to fight nor in possession of any way to fight. These are dangerous, highly-trained Stand Assassins that we’re dealing with. We’ll go back up to the room, tell the others the situation, and get you some rest. Jotaro will-” But he suddenly stopped speaking when he heard the sound of quiet sniffling coming from the direction of Mr. Kujo. He tilted his head to get a better look at the man.

Mr. Kujo scrubbed at his nose, the sniffling only growing louder. He looked up at Kakyoin, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

Kakyoin hastily released the smaller man, taking an unsteady step back.

He’s…he’s crying.

“I-I’m sorry,” Mr. Kujo choked out, sniffing again. “I-It’s just…I can’t just leave him.”

“Even if he doesn’t need me,” he continued. “Even if I’d just be getting in the way…I can’t leave him to die.”

“Jotaro won’t die-”

“I know,” Mr. Kujo uncharacteristically cut him off, wiping his nose once more. “My apologies. But I can’t just stand to the side and do nothing when the life of my son is in potential jeopardy.” He straightened up, eyes still watery, but now sharper, harder. It was reminiscent of how he had behaved in front of his colleague back in the alley in Hong Kong. “So please,” his voice, which had strengthened in timbre for a moment, wavered again. “Let me go.”

The two men stood there in silence, staring at each other.

Finally, Kakyoin released his arm with a sigh.

“There’s a bus station a block away from here,” he said quietly. Sadao blinked, taken aback. Kakyoin pointed the direction out to him.

“Jotaro and Anne left for the train station on foot,” he continued, still in the same soft voice. “Before they left, we had discussed taking a cable car to the train station, since it would be quicker than walking the entire way. Even so, it takes a considerable amount of time to walk to the nearest cable car platform from here. If you take the bus, you’d probably be able to cut them off before they board.” He opened the door back outside, holding it for him. Sadao hesitated at first, but walked through.

“I’d recommend finding something to stop your bleeding,” the high-schooler added casually. And with that, he let go of the door and headed towards the elevators inside the lobby.

He stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, until his watch beeped, reawakening him, telling him that it was already midday.

He took off in a blind sprint, out of the garden and onto the sidewalk.

He had no time to lose.

“Hey, Jotaro.” 

Jotaro looked over to see Kakyoin approaching him, pointing at the ice cream cone that he was holding. 

“Are you going to eat that cherry?” Kakyoin asked. “If you’re not going to eat it, give it to me. I’m starving.”

Without letting him respond, Kakyoin plucked the cherry off of the top of his ice cream. But instead of eating it right away, he thrust out his other arm and shoved Jotaro over the edge of the balcony that they stood on.

“Uh oh! Look out, Jotaro!” Kakyoin jeered.

“Jojo!” two voices screamed.

Anne had screamed, but so had…

“Jotaro!” And there was Sadao Kujo himself, leaning over the railing and tugging on his arm, trying to hoist him up. By the way his arms shook and chest heaved, he was exhausted and in no condition to lift him up.

“Kidding!” Kakyoin laughed. “I’m just kidding, dear Jotaro.”

Sadao and Jotaro shot him matching glares. With a little help from Star Platinum, Jotaro clambered back over the railing.

Kakyoin paid them no attention, instead popping the cherry into his mouth. And, disgustingly enough, he began to lick the cherry, the fruit bouncing around on his outstretched tongue. Sadao recoiled, instinctively reaching out to cover Anne’s eyes.

“Rerorerorerorerorero…” Not-Kakyoin continued, his eyes rolling back into his head.

Sadao leaned towards his son, hissing into his ear:

“That’s not Kakyoin.”

The cherry fell from Not-Kakyoin’s lips, landing on the ground. Not-Kakyoin looked smugly at them, waving an accusing finger in Jotaro’s face.

“There you go again!” he said derisively. “What’re you looking at with that stupid look on your face, Jotaro, my buddy?”

Not-Kakyoin bent down, picking the slimy cherry from off of the ground. He casually put it back in his mouth, chewing it happily.

“And you,” Not-Kakyoin said rudely, cherry bits flying from his mouth. He swallowed, pointing at Sadao. “Whaddya mean, ‘that’s not Kakyoin?’ Have you lost your mind as well as your glasses?”

Sadao turned back to Jotaro, letting go of Anne and gripping his arm.

“Make him summon his Stand,” he said, more urgently. He gently nudged Anne behind the both of them, creating some distance between her and the enemy Stand User. She made a little huff in frustration, but allowed herself to be shielded by the two men.

“You weren’t here to see it, but he already did,” Jotaro replied. “He used it on a petty thief, which makes me think that you might have a point,” he added grimly.

“Oh come on, who’re you going to trust, anyway?” Not-Kakyoin sneered at Jotaro. “You saw me summon Hierophant, didn’t you?”

“W-well,” Sadao stammered. “If you’re the real Kakyoin, then it won’t hurt you to summon your Hierophant again, would it?”

Jotaro looked at him from the corner of his eye. There was a sort of begrudging respect in his gaze, and it made Sadao feel a little braver. He stood up straighter, tilting his head upward slightly in defiance.

Not-Kakyoin made a noise of disbelief. “Seriously? Are you really gonna believe that deadbeat dad of yours, Jotaro?”

Both Jotaro and Sadao went stiff as a board.

Not-Kakyoin actually shrunk back a bit, which made Sadao suddenly realize just how tall the imposter was. Strange. He hadn’t always been so tall, had he? The real Kakyoin certainly wasn’t.

“Hierophant Green!” Not-Kakyoin finally shouted.

The figure of a humanoid spun out from Not-Kakyoin’s shadow, twisting together from numerous tangling vines of brilliant emerald green, like a shiny watermelon cut into ribbons. It had a robotic face and features, not quite human nor fully mechanical, either. Its veins pulsed with a subtle light, like a gemstone illuminated from the inside. It was beautiful, in the strangest, most unearthly way possible.

Not-Kakyoin crossed his arms triumphantly, looking incredibly smug.

Sadao stood there, dumbfounded by the Hierophant’s ethereal beauty. But then it occurred to him:

“Nice try, Kakyoin,” Jotaro snarled, his hand curling into a fist around a slip of paper. “Whoever you are, if you were really Kakyoin, you would have known that he couldn’t see Stands.”

Not-Kakyoin faltered.

“He’s not-?”

“Look, the cable car is here,” Jotaro said boredly, drawing closer to him. He raised his fist, the one holding the now-crumpled paper. “Here, I’ve got a ticket for you. Take it and get yourself lost, while I try and figure out what the heck is going on!”

There was a sharp crack as Not-Kakyoin’s face buckled under Jotaro’s fist, and he flew backward several meters, crashing into the empty cable car that had just pulled into the station.

Anne, who had finally managed to poke between them, screamed at the top of her lungs, pointing at Not-Kakyoin’s crumpled form.

Sadao nearly screamed, himself.

Not-Kakyoin’s body slumped upward, loose as a ragdoll. Finally his head flung forward, revealing a gaping tear running through his face, stretching the sides of his mouth up to his cheekbones. The skin hung over the jaw in tatters, allowing one to see right through the profile of his mouth to the inside of the cable car behind him.

He chuckled, resting the side of his face in his hand.

“Isn’t it obvious?,” he giggled at Jotaro, who now stood over him. “Your dear ol’ daddy hit the nail on the head.” His tongue, now cleaved into three separate tongues, each distorted in length and size, flashed around his demolished face, the chewed-up cherry from earlier flicking out of his throat and dancing atop them. “Rerorerorerorero…”

He lifted himself to his feet. The imposter was at least forty centimeters taller than Jotaro now. “Haven’t you realized that my body’s been getting bigger?” Not-Kakyoin taunted, gesturing to himself.

“Who are you?” Jotaro spat.

But before Sadao could hear the man’s answer, the cable car jolted forward, throwing him off balance and back onto the platform. It began to move faster, and before Sadao could get back on his feet, the cable car slid away from the platform, entirely out of reach in an instant.

“Jojo!” he and Anne screamed together. He stumbled blindly after the cable car, before whipping around and running to the stairs.

“Call Mr. Joestar at the hotel!” he yelled over his shoulder at Anne, who still remained frozen, staring in shock at the empty space where the cable car had been. “Tell him that we ran into the enemy! I’m going to follow the car on foot!”

He didn’t stay to check whether or not she had followed his directions, focusing solely on descending the stairs as fast as possible. His saxophone case smacked against him, making the stitch in his side feel less and less like a stitch and more like a spear being run through him.

He didn’t have the slightest clue of where the cable car was heading, or even where he was heading, but he ran. He dodged and shoved past passerby, shouting hurried apologies into the air. Eventually, the people started backing out of his path, clearing a way for him, muttering and yelping in alarm as he barreled down the sidewalks in pursuit of the cable car.

Could he even be sure that the vague shape of the cable car several hundred meters above his head was even the right one? No glasses, the sharp glare of the sun, the cable car having a massive head-start and speed advantage over him, and the fact that he hadn’t the slightest indication of where on earth he was going in this city were strong testaments against the idea. But it was the only one that was traveling away from the station that he’d left, so that had to count for something, didn’t it?

The fact that his son had just jumped out of said cable car was also a good indication that it was the right one.

He screamed in horror, skidding to a stop and pointing into the air. The people around him backed even further away, their eyes following his finger up into the sky. A few of them screamed also. 

Jotaro seemed to fall through the air in slow motion, his hand reaching for a cable car that was passing by him on the opposite line. By some miracle, he managed to grab hold of it, and pull himself up.

Sadao allowed himself half a sigh of relief, before immediately turning on his heel and chasing after the new cable car. He had been periodically looking up into the sky all the while, but after a stint of looking up for just a tad too long, he ran headlong into the arm of a policeman, who held him back from crashing out onto the busy street.

“Sir,” the policeman said sternly, in a voice eerily familiar to him. He squinted up at the man, his eyes struggling to adjust and his chest heaving after having the wind knocked out of him. He found himself nose-to-nose with the very same beaky nose of the officer from that morning, the one who had mistook Mr. Polnareff’s bag for litter.

He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet as he did so, trying to free himself. The policeman did not loosen his grip in the slightest, but turned his face to the side before saying:

“Cover your ears.”

Sadao had only a split second to obey, before the officer blew into his silver whistle with all his might, causing the crowd of people forming around them to wince and do the same.

“Alright, that’s enough of that!” the officer said in a voice that shook with authority. “Go about your business! Don’t crowd the sidewalk!” He turned onto a side street, steering Sadao along with him. “Everything is alright!” Miraculously, the pedestrians obeyed, and the crowd dispersed behind them, but not without several people murmuring in confusion and frustration.

Sadao continued to be wheeled down the alley by the policeman in a strained silence, until the officer spoke in a harsh whisper:

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re lucky that it’s me that you’ve run into again, and not one of my coworkers. They would have arrested you immediately for disturbing the peace. But since I’m not keen on dealing with you or your friends at the moment, I’ll let you off with a warning. For now.”

He rearranged his grip on Sadao’s arm, turning him to face him.

“Whatever you’re doing, cut it out. If I see you or your party causing a disturbance again today, I’ll see to it personally that you all are given a much harsher punishment than a measly fine or a night in jail. Quit running around, screaming and pointing like a madman, and I’ll consider you and your friends just a group of wacky tourists for the day. No paperwork for me, no charges for you, no problem for the community. Got it?”

And with that, he released him, turning away and stalking off down the alleyway, before disappearing around the corner.

Sadao remained rooted to the spot, blinking, unbelieving of his luck, until he came to his senses. He’d lost sight of the cable car! What was he going to do now? He looked around him frantically, his head whipping back and forth as if watching a tennis match.

At the end of the alley was another major street, albeit one that was much less crowded than the one he’d just come from. He could smell the salty air of the bay in that direction, and faintly hear the sound of the waves crashing against the sea wall. He followed the sound, it steadily growing louder. Perhaps somewhere more open, somewhere away from most people, he’d be able to better calibrate where he was and where he needed to be going.

The noonday sunlight bounced off of the ocean, much harsher than it had been this morning. He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, turning around so his back was to the water, and the sun was out of his eyes. He tried his best to discern the cable car lines from the tops of the buildings, and with some difficulty, was able to see the line of the cable car that Jotaro had jumped onto was traveling in the direction of what was now his right. Right, surely, he’d be able to find Jotaro at or around the nearest station in that direction-

SPLASH.

He whirled around. He couldn’t see much without his glasses, and much less so with the sun in his eyes, but such a large splash could only have been made by something rather large itself. A swerve of motion above his head caught his attention, and he saw the silhouette of a cable car swinging haphazardly on a line stretched out over the bay. He hadn’t noticed it before. Had perhaps a passenger dropped something into the water below?

But what could any passenger have on hand that would have made such a loud noise?

Certainly not…could it have been? No, of course not, a passenger hadn’t fallen from the cable car; they’re designed so as to prevent the door from being opened from the inside while in motion-

A loud gasp cracked through the air, the sound bouncing across the water towards him from his left.

Two men, figures indistinct at this distance, broke the surface. He approached cautiously, quiet as he could. One of the men was shirtless, with long black hair, and the other, if the silhouette of his hat and sheer size were any indication, was…

Jojo!

He broke out into a run, a hysterical feeling of relief flooding him. He raised his hand, ready to call out to him, when he suddenly noticed a strange, golden fluid swirling around the man opposite Jotaro. He only saw it for a moment, before it disappeared entirely.

He skidded to a stop, lowering his hand.

What on earth?

He blinked several times, unsure of what he had just seen. Whatever it was, it didn’t look natural. And with that qualifier combined with the fact that Jotaro had been on the run from an enemy Stand User, he decided that it was most likely something dangerous.

He began moving towards his son and the strange man in the water again, but this time, at a much slower, quieter rate. He didn’t want to take Jotaro’s attention away from the enemy. At least, he assumed he was the enemy, since even from this distance he could see that the man’s jaw and nose were broken and currently bleeding, no doubt the work of Jotaro’s Stand. He crept closer, their voices becoming clearer, the sound magnified by the surrounding water.

“I-I don’t know,” the enemy man was saying. Jotaro raised his fist in retaliation, and the man cowered, swinging his hands in front of his face. “N-No, really! I really don’t know! Stand Users don’t show others their powers, because it’d expose their weaknesses.”

That Devo man had said something similar, back in the hotel room. Sadao strained his ears further, trying to hear more.

“B-But there is some witch who told Dio about Stands…” the dark-haired man continued. “…and her son is among the four.”

“His name is J. Geil. He’s a man with two right hands. His card is The Hanged Man. He’s the one that killed Polnareff’s sister, isn’t he?”

Sadao froze in his tracks.

Polnareff’s sister?  

He hadn’t ever considered that the Frenchman might have had a family. Obviously he had parents, but a sister? And one that had been murdered, no less. How horrible.

The man turned his head to the side, before climbing up the metal ladder and sitting on the sidewalk, his legs still hanging over the side into the water.

“I just realized, Jotaro…” he said smugly. “But it looks like the goddess of fortune is still on my side. See that drain?” He pointed, indicating a small grate in the side of the concrete pier. “There are a lot of crayfish around it. Take a good look,” he said again. Jotaro looked, and in an instant, a stringy, yellow goop shot out of the grate and wrapped itself around him, its shiny golden tendrils pulling Jotaro up against the drain.

Sadao made a strangled sort of sound of horror, and immediately began running again, no longer caring if he were spotted or not. Neither the long-haired man nor Jotaro took notice of him.

The long-haired man laughed, patting the concrete behind him, his voice continuing to grow louder and clearer to Sadao as he rapidly approached. “That little drain…is connected to the manhole that’s near me! I’m gonna pull you in and hold you there!” And Jotaro was pulled even further into the drain, his arm being painfully squished between the drain’s metal bars. 

“Now you can’t attack me!” the enemy cackled. “Looks like what I told you about the man with two right hands will go to waste, Jotaro Kujo! To think there was a hole so close that I could pull you into…Man, am I ever lucky! I even ate some crayfish and powered up. I’ll crush you up and turn you into jam!”

“If I kill you, Dio will give me a hundred million dollars,” he said with another laugh. “To think I can make that much from a few minutes of fighting. Don’t you think I’m pretty lucky?”

But before Jotaro could answer, the man suddenly perked up and twisted around from where he sat, only for his face to be met with the end of Sadao’s saxophone case.

The man’s arms flailed out cartoonishly as he faceplanted onto the sidewalk, his legs still dangling over the edge of the pier. The yellow substance released Jotaro, before shriveling up and disappearing.

Jotaro rubbed his right arm ruefully, looking up at his father with a disinterested glare.

“I had him.”

Sadao only shook his head, too relieved to be angry, and extended a hand out to his son. Jotaro hesitated, but refused him, instead pulling himself up on his own.

The long-haired man lying on the sidewalk between them stirred, groaning. Jotaro nudged him roughly with his foot.

“Oi.” The man looked up at him, his eyes going wide with fear. He scrambled to sit upright, accidentally bumping into Sadao’s leg, before scooching away from him, too.

“Yare yare,” Jotaro sighed. “What’s your name?”

The man, whose face was now even more busted and further smeared with blood, tilted his head in confusion.

“Er…Rubber Soul.”

“Great,” Jotaro said dryly. “Here’s some advice, Rubber Soul.” He bent down slightly, jabbing a finger in his face. “Get lost.”

And with that, as Jotaro turned on his heel to walk away, Rubber Soul was hoisted up in the air by Jotaro’s Stand, and then tossed twenty meters out into the bay. 

Sadao made a sputtering sound, gesturing incredulously after his son and then back at the water for a few moments, before finally shaking his head and jogging to catch up with Jotaro.

Good grief.

They walked along in silence, Jotaro ignoring all of his father’s attempts to make eye contact. As they passed by the cable car station nearest to them, Jotaro suddenly swerved off to his left, towards the station.

“Jotaro?”

Once again, he paid him no attention. Instead, he stalked towards a small kiosk near the entrance to the steps going up to the station. Sadao squinted at the sign as he followed him.

Treats and Refreshments.

He heard a small gasp from behind him, and he turned to see what it was. A small boy and his father had just come down the stairs of the station, the son pulling on his father’s arm and pointing at Jotaro.

“Look, look!” the boy said urgently. “That’s the big guy from the cable car! Dad, look!”

“Still going on about that?” the man said tiredly. “Hush now, it’s rude to point.”

“But dad, that’s the guy-”

“Oi.”

Jotaro was now standing beside Sadao, looking down at the little boy. “Hey, kid, what flavor of popsicle do you want?”

All three of them startled, taken aback. Jotaro put his hands in his pockets, looking bored.

“Go and pick a flavor, and I’ll buy it for you.”

The kid stayed where he was, his mouth hanging open a little. Jotaro closed his eyes in exasperation.

“Look, did you want a new popsicle or what?”

The little boy nodded, hesitantly at first, then very eagerly. He looked up at his father for permission. The man made no objection, instead still staring dumbly at the teenager, even as his son took off towards the refreshments kiosk with a brilliant smile on his face.

Jotaro tugged on the brim of his hat with a sigh, then followed after the kid.

The two men stood in place, still watching their respective sons with matching looks of confusion and awe. Sadao glanced over at the stranger, clearing his throat.

“Er…nice weather, isn’t it?”

“Oh, uh. Yes, very nice.”

They didn’t say anything after that.

The boy, now holding a brightly-colored popsicle skidded to a stop in front of them, Jotaro trailing behind him. The child tugged on his father’s arm, grinning from ear to ear.

“Dad, look! He bought me a new popsicle, just like he said he would! Remember? I told you that he’d come back and get me a new one! See, see, Dad?”

The tired-looking man only sleepily smiled back, before also smiling at Jotaro.

“Say ‘thank you,’” he instructed the little boy. The child spun around, sloppily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Thank you!” 

Jotaro gave a brief nod in response.

The child looked back up at his father, beaming and tugging on his arm again. The sleepy-looking man shook his head, but smiled and allowed himself to be pulled along all the same.

Sadao watched the two go with a slightly bewildered, but fond expression. Jotaro had been that small, once. That had been so long ago…He smiled up at his son, a lump coming to his throat.

Jotaro glared at him out of the corner of his eye, shifting a little away from him.

“What?”

Sadao reached out, patting his son on the arm. “That was a very nice thing for you to do, Jotaro.”

Jotaro scoffed and shrugged him off, but Sadao thought he saw the smallest spark of pride in his eyes.

Sadao laid on one of the beds in Mr. Joestar’s and Mr. Avdol’s shared hotel room, his wounds re-bandaged and eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. He was doing his absolute best to be still, to make no noise at all. He was quite sure that the man on the other bed would not appreciate it if he were to do so.

The normally rambunctious Frenchman was uncharacteristically quiet, laying on his side with his back towards Sadao. This wouldn’t have caught his attention, had the sole reason for his despondence been his wounds and the exhaustion from the battle with Devo that morning and the interrogation from both the police and hotel staff that had wrapped up only half an hour ago. But he knew that this wasn’t the only reason.

After Jotaro had told Polnareff about what Rubber Soul had said about the next four Stands Users coming to attack them, he’d been like this. Quiet, deadly quiet. A million different emotions flickering across his face like the blinking lights of a city skyline, complete with a dark cloud hanging overhead. Sadao couldn’t blame him. Learning that the man who had killed your sister was on his way for you was a shock, to say the least.

But…there was something else. He felt as if there were more to Polnareff’s demeanor besides simple shock and anger. It was…anticipation? As if he had been waiting, preparing for the approaching moment for a very long time. 

He was curious, but he knew better than to pry. It was an incredibly rude thing to do, even in much less serious circumstances. But curiosity wasn’t his only motivation. He felt a sort of strange tug in his chest, a desire to make his companion feel even the slightest bit better. Polnareff had protected him in their battle against Devo, and in the rather short time since then, Sadao had grown somewhat attached to him. He was overly eager to make friends, and Polnareff, ever since he’d told him to refer to him more casually, gave him reason enough, in Sadao’s eyes, at least, to regard him as such. 

But how? How could he even begin to think that he could do anything to help alleviate the Frenchman’s pain?

He sighed, turning his head to look out at the world of Singapore below them. It hadn’t been much more than an hour ago that he had been tearing blindly through those streets, chasing after his son in a cable car. He suppressed a chuckle. He must have looked ridiculous. 

Although…he would need to get back out there at some point today. He needed to get another new pair of glasses, and likely a new saxophone and case to boot. Using a musical instrument as a weapon was not ideal practice. 

Not to mention, during his trek back to the hotel with Jotaro, they’d passed by one of the roads that led into Chinatown. He knew it was silly, especially since he’d actually already been to China before, and thus seen the real thing, but he’d always liked the novelty of different Chinatowns around the world. He’d heard about how impressive the Singapore Chinatown in particular was, but had never had the chance to actually experience it for himself, despite his numerous trips to the city he’d made on his various tours. Now seemed as good a chance as any.

He looked back over at the other bed. Perhaps…but would it be insensitive? It might help him take his mind off of things for a bit, at the very least.

He’d say no if it were rude. So what’s the harm in asking?

Steeling himself, he sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Mr. Polnareff…?”

The Frenchman stayed silent, but gave a slight jerk of his head in acknowledgement.

“I’m going to head into town. I need to pick up a few things, my glasses and a new saxophone, for one…and I’m also considering going through Chinatown. Singapore’s Chinatown is one of the largest and best in the world…I admit I’m a little curious.” He paused, taking a deep breath, before pressing on. “So…I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to accompany me.”

Polnareff said nothing.

Sadao shrunk into himself a little, feeling ashamed. “Er…it’s alright if you’d rather not. I-I apologize for disturbing you.”

Still, Polnareff was quiet, until…

“Alright.” 

The Frenchman sat up, spinning around to face him. His face was still troubled, but he managed a tiny smile. “Let’s do it.”

“Er…Polnareff, do you need help?”

“N-” Splash. He sighed. “No. I don’t need help.”

The two men sat inside of a refreshingly quiet restaurant, enjoying a large and rather tasty meal. Outside, the world of Chinatown, Singapore was awash in a sea of brilliant reds and alabaster white, pedestrians every which way, jade and gold chimes and charms shining in the light of the setting sun. Parasols and stand-up umbrellas crowded the streets, the sounds and smells of the open-air market outside wafting in through the store’s front door.

Sadao chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of noodles, savoring the warm and comforting taste, doing his best not to stare at the struggling Frenchman across from him.

Polnareff clutched a pair of chopsticks in his hand, inexpertly wrapping three of his fingers around one, his pinky and ring finger loosely supporting the other. Twisting his wrist towards himself, he attempted to reign in a clump of noodles and bring it in towards his mouth, only for his catch to fall back into the broth with a little splish. Shaking his head in frustration, he tossed his chopsticks into the bowl and pushed it aside, instead reaching for a plate of dumplings with a sullen expression.

Sadao bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. He remembered Jotaro doing the exact same thing when he and Holy were teaching him how to use them. He had been old enough to learn how, but it was still a steep learning curve for a child who had only ever used spoons and forks up until that point.

Holy. His suppressed smile fell away from his face. 

He hoped she was okay. They had about…fourty-four days left, after today. But would they make it in time?

Polnareff, now feeling blindly around the table for a fork, glanced over at the smaller man, who had been in a cheery mood ever since they’d left the music supplier earlier that day. He couldn’t blame him. They had gone inside, and Sadao had been greeted like a king. He said a few things in Japanese that Polnareff hadn’t understood, and just like that, he’d been given a new saxophone, a new saxophone case, new reeds (whatever those were, it’s not as if he knew, he’d only heard Sadao say the word), and hadn’t paid a single yen for it.

“Hey, Sadao,” he said abruptly, pointing his newfound fork at him. The musician looked up at him, a pleasant smile on his face. “Back in the shop…how come you were able to get everything for free?” he asked.

“Oh! Well, that store in particular is a sort of…sponsor of mine,” Sadao replied. “I pass through Singapore often for my tours. I can get anything that I’d need from that shop. They’re even kind enough to offer me my own line of custom saxophone cases! They’re designed to hold not only a saxophone, but to have space for clothing and toiletries. I essentially live out of my case when I’m on tour, after all,” he chuckled.

Polnareff raised an eyebrow. “A sponsor?” It sounded like a pretty lucrative deal for a small-time jazz musician.

Sadao nodded. “That store in particular has exclusive distribution rights of my recordings in all of Singapore and as far as Bangkok. In exchange, we, that is, the band and I, receive a portion of the profits as well as full use of the store’s services, free of charge.”

“Ah, I see. Is that how distribution is normally handled, in your industry?”

Sadao shifted in his seat slightly.

“Er…not always,” he admitted. He looked at the Frenchman out of the corner of his eye, before focusing back on the food. When realizing, or rather, accepting, that Polnareff was waiting for him to elaborate, he obliged.

“My manager…is a very clever man. He’s always finding me new opportunities, or new locations to perform at. And he always gets the best deals for me and the band. When he calls himself the best in the business, he means it. He hasn’t let me down in that regard.”

There was a sort of finality in his voice, and even though Polnareff’s curiosity only burned more intensely inside him, he decided not to push the issue further. …At least, not yet.

But has this manager let him down in other regards, I wonder.

He poked at a dumpling with his fork, bringing it to his mouth, before it promptly tore and fell back onto the plate, leaving only a little shred of itself stuck to the fork’s prongs.

Sadao began coughing violently into his hand, having accidentally choked on his mouthful of food. Polnareff glared at him. He snatched up his chopsticks again, spearing the dumpling with a great deal of ferocity and sticking it into his mouth.

Sadao’s resolve nearly failed him. He didn’t laugh, but he could not keep the corners of his mouth from turning up.

“It’s harder than it looks,” Polnareff muttered, tossing his chopsticks back into the bowl. A splash of broth splattered across his hand and face.

“Of course,” Sadao exhaled. “It takes a bit of practice.”

Polnareff sighed, wiping his face with a napkin. “How do you…?”

Sadao nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “Of course, of course. Look.”

He set down his chopsticks, then picked up one of them again, holding it aloft for Polnareff to see. “You take your first chopstick…” he waited for Polnareff to follow suit. The Frenchman scrambled to fish his chopsticks out of his bowl of noodles. “Place that first chopstick between your thumb and pointer finger. Rest it on top of your ring finger. Think of this chopstick as a sort of ‘backbone.’ This one is not meant to move. You have to hold it steady between your fingers.”

“Wait, you don’t move both of them?” Polnareff interrupted. Sadao shook his head.

“It’s the other chopstick, the one we haven’t touched yet, that’s supposed to move. That’s the one that will pinch down on your food.” He picked up the other chopstick with the same hand, slipping it into the proper position. “This one, you’ll also put between your thumb and pointer finger, but you’re going to hold it steady between your pointer and middle finger.” He pointed at it with his other hand. “See?”

Polnareff did his best to mimic him. Sadao reached over and corrected him. “There, now keep them like that.” He settled back in his seat, returning his attention to his noodles. “Remember to keep the first chopstick steady, and only move the second,” he said without looking up. Polnareff readjusted his fingers again.

There were a few faint clicks and a few mumbled words in French, and then:

“I DID IT!”

Sadao’s head shot up. Polnareff grinned at him like a madman, showing him his trapped dumpling. “Voila!”

Sadao smiled. “Wonderful! Just like-”

Squish.

The dumpling rolled across the table. Polnareff’s face fell.

“That’s alright, that’s alright. Don’t beat yourself up over it, okay? It takes practice.”

“Just pick it up and try again.”

Polnareff drew his brows in concentration, then nodded, reaching for the dumpling. At first, his chopsticks only pushed it around, slipping on the exterior of it. With a determined set of his jaw, he rearranged his grip and was finally able to keep a hold of the dumpling. He looked over at Sadao once again, the same huge smile on his face. He popped the dumpling in his mouth, looking incredibly self-satisfied.

There were a few minutes of silence, the two of them entirely focused on their meals. After a bit of effort, Polnareff was able to finally eat his bowl of noodles.

“Sadao.”

He looked up, taken aback. Polnareff stared at him, once again overcome by that same dark cloud from before, back in the hotel room.

“I suppose I should tell you…about myself. About my past.”

Sadao swallowed, setting down his chopsticks and pushing aside his food.

“I’ve already told this to the rest of the group…but that was on the day we left Hong Kong, the morning after your show. It was right before you arrived and we all got on the boat, so naturally you didn’t hear it…but I guess you should know.”

“I was born in the countryside of northern France. Out of my mother, sister, and father, I was the only one born with a Stand. When I was young, my mother died, leaving my father and I to take care of my sister, Sherry. But my father…” 

He paused, his voice growing strained. “He was greatly affected by my mother’s death. He did all that he could to take care of us, but it often fell on me to be the one to look after Sherry. So…as you can imagine, Sherry and I were incredibly close.”

He took a breath, his eyes growing even darker.

“About three years ago…on a rainy day, Sherry and her friend were walking home from school. …A man appeared. As the friend later told me, he had two right hands, and despite not having anything to cover him, the rain fell around him, not touching him at all. In an instant, he knocked her out, and then…he turned to Sherry.”

When Polnareff spoke again, it was in little more than a hoarse whisper. “He defiled her. And then he killed her.”

Sadao had never felt more like throwing up in his life.

“I spent two years searching for the man with the two right hands. I knew he had to be a Stand User; it was the only explanation for being shrouded from the rain, from being able to avoid detection for so long. And then…one year ago, I met DIO.”

“He stood before me…and he saw what was in my heart. He saw the source of my pain, and produced an image of the doubly right-handed man. I’m only realizing this now, but he used a Stand very similar to the one used my Mr. Joestar. I suppose that’s a side effect of him using the body of Jonathan Joestar. Regardless, all I could think of, at that moment, was allying myself with him.”

“He was….indescribable. I was consumed by a feeling of awe…and utmost terror. It felt as if darkness itself had gained consciousness. And yet…I sided with him. If he could bring me closer to Sherry’s murderer, then why hesitate? Why hesitate at all?”

The Frenchman lowered his head. “I’m ashamed to admit that I was so easily swayed into joining him. But…now that we know the identity of the man who killed my sister, it wasn’t entirely for nothing.”

Polnareff rested his head in his hands, before absentmindedly picking at the edge of the table, looking for all the world like a deflated balloon.

Sadao didn’t feel very hungry anymore. Sighing, he assumed a similar position.

It’s only fair that I explain myself as well.

He leaned to the side, reaching for his new saxophone case. He rested it on his lap, snapping it open. “Do you remember…” he began slowly, rummaging around inside. “Back in Hong Kong, that man who spoke to me behind the bar? The trumpet-player?”

Polnareff knit his brow in confusion, but nodded nonetheless.

Sadao finally dug out what he was looking for, placing it on the table and turning it around for Polnareff to see.

He tapped on the picture, finger hitting the forehead of a man identical to the trumpet player from Hong Kong. “That’s him.”

“Mr. Toru Prima. He’s a great man. His father is Italian, but his mother is Japanese. He's lived in Japan for most of his life; we met in high-school. He's a little timid, but one of the best trumpeters in the business. He likes to joke that every performance is the night he'll finally die on stage of fright.”

Sadao moved his finger, indicating the man next to Prima. “That’s Akiyoshi, Akiyoshi Ryo. He’s from Hokkaido-the northernmost part of Japan,” he added, when seeing Polnareff tilt his head in confusion. “He’s the pianist, and a very good one at that. He’s quiet, but he has a lovely singing voice. And here,” he tapped three times on the arm of the man behind and to the right of Akiyoshi, an amused smile on his face. “That’s Kenny Clark, or 'Klook', the one who got a black eye.’” He smiled again. “It’s just how he is. He’s a proud man. It’s a miracle he doesn’t get black eyes more often,” he chuckled. "His nephew called him 'Klook' when he was young, and the nickname just...stuck. He almost prefers it to 'Kenny', at this point."

“Here, in the top left, is Futsumura Hiroshi. He’s from Osaka, plays the trombone. He’s really a lot more friendly than he looks here, he’s scowling just to spite me, since he knows I like taking pictures. He, Toru, and I were all in the same class our senior year. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a laugh that is quite as loud as his. In front of him is Jaco Blanton, also American, our bassist, one of my roommates in university. He’s cut his hair since this picture-I’d forgotten just how long it was. And there, that’s me!”

Polnareff’s eyes followed wherever Sadao pointed, but then slid over to the left of the miniature Sadao in the picture, where one more man, one that hadn’t yet been named, stood. “Who is that?” He asked, prodding the paper.

“Oh, yes,” Sadao said, sounding a little uncomfortable. “Well, that man is my manager.”

“Oh.” Polnareff took a second look at the man. Sadao had described him as ‘clever,’ and he supposed he could see what he meant. He was dressed rather sharply, if flamboyantly, with a crooked smile that thinly masked his own smugness and a general overconfidence in his abilities, in his own wit. He looked severely out of place among the rest of the group.

Sadao sighed and bowed his head, looking up at him with his usual apologetic smile. “His name is Edward Michael Joel, though he usually prefers just 'Joel' or 'E.M.'. He’s the manager, as I mentioned, though he has other jobs, as well.”

Polnareff frowned. “Such as?”

“Well…” Sadao chewed the inside of his lip, before grabbing his previously-abandoned noodles and stirring them around his bowl. “Money lending, mostly.”

“He’s a loan shark?” Polnareff squawked.

“I wouldn’t say that- ”

“Is he yakaza, or whatever you call the mob?” He asked, no chance for Sadao to finish answering his previous question.

“Yakuza?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Not all loan shar-er, money-lenders, are yakuza,” Sadao said tiredly.

“But he’s connected with the yakuza, then?” Polnareff asked, more pointedly.

“Not all money-lenders have yakuza ties, either,” Sadao replied in the exact same tone. 

He’s avoiding the question.

“Have you met any of his clients?”

Sadao chewed his lip again, before sticking a much-too-large bite of noodles into his mouth.

“A few,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Were they yakuza?”

Sadao swallowed, then waited a moment before responding. “I’m not sure.” He shook his head, taking another bite of his food. “Money lending isn’t his main profession, anyway, so it’s unlikely that he has the time or connections to even get close to coming near the yakuza.”

Polnareff nodded, sinking further back in his seat as if he were disappointed. “Does he do anything besides band management and money-lending?” he asked, scratching the side of his face.

“You’d think he’d be content with those two sources of income,” Sadao said bitterly, which took Polnareff aback. He honestly didn’t think Sadao had it in him to be sarcastic. “But yes,” Sadao continued, his voice growing less bitter and instead more dull and tired. “Gambling. He does quite a bit of that.”

Polnareff tilted his head. “Is gambling legal in Japan?”

Sadao flipped his hand over and back again a few times, his nose scrunched up in concentration. “Er…it’s legal in Hong Kong and Singapore, which is a common tour stop for us, and there are a few cases in Japan where-”

Polnareff smacked his fist on the table, making him jump and quite a few other restaurant-goers look over at them curiously.

“He’s definitely yakuza, then!” he said triumphantly. “Think about it, he could be running an illegal gambling ring with yakuza and you wouldn’t know a thing about it!”

Sadao went pale, but then forced himself to relax. “He’s doing nothing of the sort, I assure you. Believe me, I have thought on it.”

“Well, don’t you think it’s suspicious?”

“I’ve personally made sure that he participates in no underground gambling.”

“How so?”

“Excuse me, sirs.”

The two of them looked up at the waiter standing at the end of their table.

“Are you two finished with your meals?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, we are,” Sadao said hastily, sounding to Polnareff entirely too eager to drop their previous line of conversation.

Two men walked down the crowded streets of Chinatown, Singapore. The sun had gone down, but the world was alight with hundreds of lanterns and streetlamps, every face reflected in orange. Even at this distance, the policeman recognized the obnoxious but intimidating man with tall, silvery hair and his much shorter, quite possibly mentally unwell, friend.

“Listen, Sadao,” the silver-haired man was saying. “What you said earlier, it got me thinking.”

“Hm?”

The silver-haired man’s countenance darkened significantly. “You said you’ve made personally sure that your manager doesn’t participate in any underground gambling, which made me realize…” he suddenly pointed directly in the smaller man’s face, looking simultaneously triumphant and accusatory.

“You are in the yakuza!”

Both the policeman and Sadao stumbled backward, taken completely off-guard.

“Wh-what?” he stammered. “Why would-what did- no, I’m not!”

“That’s what a member of the yakuza would say!” the other man insisted.

“But I’m no such thing! I could never-I would never forgive myself if I was! I wouldn’t do that to the rest of the band, or to my family, t-to Holy, or to Jo-Jotaro…” his voice cracked as he began to sniffle.

Polnareff suddenly looked decidedly less self-assured, starting to panic.

“N-no, look, er…don’t-don’t cry! Why are you crying, anyway? I didn’t mean-”

“Oi.”

The two men turned, finding themselves faced with the very same police officer from that morning, the one with the beaky nose.

“You,” he pointed to Sadao, who looked for all the world like a deer in headlights. “I thought I told you to not go around disturbing the peace.”

Sadao said nothing, playing the role of a deer in headlights very well.

“You two are clearly drunk, so I’m going to-”

“Drunk?” the silver-haired foreigner said loudly. “What about us makes you think that we’re drunk?”

The policeman stared at him. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

Polnareff grit his teeth and moved to take a step towards the officer, but was held back by the smaller man, the one he had called Sadao.

The officer stepped forward and took Polnareff by the arm, steering him to the edge of the sidewalk.

“I want you to walk down the length of this sidewalk for exactly twenty paces, turn, heel-to-toe, turn, and walk back, doing your best to move in a straight line.”

“Is this really necessary?” Polnareff whined. “It’s not like I’m driving drunk or anything.”

“Maybe not,” the officer said, sounding bored, as if he’d been asked this question a hundred times before. “But public drunkenness is a serious offense here in Singapore. I was willing to let you,” he indicated Sadao, “…off with a warning for disturbing the peace, but I can’t very well do that here. Average punishment is six months in prison or a fine of one thousand Singapore dollars-”

“Six months?” Polnareff sputtered.

“A thousand dollars?” Sadao whimpered. That’s 80,000 yen! He really needed to sit down-

“So I advise that you take this test seriously,” the policeman continued, unaffected by the fact that Sadao was now slumped against Polnareff’s arm, which really didn’t help his case for not being drunk. The officer pulled him away, then prodded Polnareff between the shoulderblades. “Begin.”

Polnareff huffed and stuck his hands in his pockets, stalking down the length of the sidewalk. At about twenty paces away, he turned on his heel and came back, sulking.

The policeman nodded, then grabbed by Polnareff by the forearms, turning him to face him. He pulled out a miniature flashlight and shined it in his eyes.

“Gah!” The Frenchman turned away, covering his face with his arms. “What was that for?”

“Remain still, sir,” the policeman said, pulling Polnareff back towards him. The taller man made another noise of frustration, but did as he was told. The policeman slowly moved the light across Polnareff's field of vision, left to right, right to left, and up and down. He then released him, turning to Sadao and beckoning him to come near.

“Remove your glasses, please. Watch the light."

Sadao complied immediately. The beaky-nosed officer thrust the flashlight in his face as he had done with Polnareff. Sadao squinted a little against the bright lights, but tried to not squirm as he followed the light with his eyes.

“Alright, twenty paces, please.”

Sadao nodded, shakily putting his glasses back on and then beginning what felt like the walk for his life. He prayed that his legs weren’t visibly trembling. He shuffled around the turn to limit swaying, feeling the sweat on his face slide down like icicles. He looked up expectantly at the officer.

“Er…well?”

The officer rubbed the space between his eyes, looking incredibly tired. “You’re both free to go.”

Sadao relaxed, his shoulders slumping in relief. Polnareff only snorted.

“Total waste of time,” he huffed, folding his arms. “Come on, Sadao,” he said, pulling on his friend’s shoulder.

“H-Have a good night, officer!” Sadao squeaked.

Both the officer and Polnareff rolled their eyes. Polnareff was about to step off of the curb when Sadao suddenly snatched the back of his shirt, pulling him back.

“What are you doing?” He asked frantically, accidentally slipping into Japanese in his panic.

“Quoi? Quoi?” The Frenchman barked. “Qu’est-ce que c'est?”

“You can’t-” Sadao stopped, correcting himself back into English. “That’s jaywalking!”

Polnareff threw up his hands, spewing some more French words that meant nothing to Sadao. “Who cares? It’s not like-” he stopped, noticing the policeman, who hadn’t moved from where he had stopped them.

The two men stared at the officer, who stared back, looking incredibly annoyed.

“Twenty dollar fine for first offense.”

Polnareff straightened up, glaring at the policeman. Sticking his nose in the air and turning on his heel, he stomped off, Sadao hurrying close behind him.

“Hey, Sadao?”

His head shot up. He looked over at Polnareff, who was coming out of their new hotel room’s bathroom.

“Yes? What is it?”

The Frenchman ran a hand through the side of his hair, looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry for accusing you of being a member of the yakuza,” he said, not quite looking at him. “And for nearly getting us arrested on the way back here.”

“Oh!” Sadao turned fully to face him from where he had been sitting on his bed, swinging his legs over the side. He smiled. “It’s alright. We made it back here in the end, didn’t we?”

Polnareff chuckled, looking relieved. “Ah, yeah, I guess so.” He flopped down on his own bed, stretching with a leisurely sigh. He reached out for his table lamp, tugging on the cord with one hand and pulling back the covers of his bed and slipping inside.

The room was quiet except for the faint rustle of fabric as Polnareff tried to make himself comfortable.

“Sadao?”

He started, nearly dropping the picture he was holding. “Oh, uh, sorry.” He leaned over, reaching for his own table lamp.

“Not that,” Polnareff said with a wave of his hand. “Just…thanks. For dinner.”

Sadao blinked, then smiled. “Thank you for coming with me. And for protecting me against Devo,” he added.

“Not a problem. You helped me out by breaking the mirror, anyway. And you taught me how to use chopsticks!”

Sadao laughed. “You are a fast learner!” His face then slid into a more thoughtful expression. “It’s often considered rude to talk about oneself in Japan. So thank you for hearing me out, and for sharing so much about yourself, as well. It’s…nice, to talk about such things sometimes.”

Polnareff smiled, then rolled over onto his side to face away from him.

“Yeah.”

“It is.”

Quiet once more. Sadao took one last, fond look at the photo he was holding, one that wasn’t of his bandmates, before slipping it into one of the sleeves in his saxophone case. He was about to close the lid, when:

“I’ve seen you play multiple times. You’re really good.”

“Have you?” Sadao felt a little surge of pride flood his chest. “Well, thank you.”

“I know it’s a little weird, but…” the Frenchman sighed. “Could you play something for me? I’m having a little trouble sleeping recently. I had a feeling that tonight was going to be one of those times. Considering what’s happened today, and all.”

And Sadao was suddenly back in his house, sitting next to a much younger Jotaro, one that tugged on his arm to stay in his room a little longer.

“Dad, can you please play something for me? I don’t want to go to sleep yet.”

“But it’s already your bedtime.”

“I know but…please?”

How could he have ever said no to those eyes, that were so like Holy’s? Jotaro always went to bed on time, when Sadao was home. Perhaps it was the fact that Sadao’s music helped him fall asleep.

Sadao smiled, his voice growing thick with emotion as he spoke.

“Of course I will,” he said softly.

“You only had to ask.”

Chapter Text

Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk. Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk.

This was the song of the train tracks rolling underneath their feet.


“Good grief,” said Polnareff, staring out the window. “We’re finally heading to India.” He raised his head from where he had been resting it on his fist, leaning back in his seat.

“So the man with two right hands is called J. Geil,” he muttered. He turned over to face the rest of the group. “By the way, where’s Anne?”

“She was at Singapore Station up until the train departed, but…” said Mr. Joestar slowly, seeming to lose his train of thought.

“I’m sure that the time for her to meet her father had arrived, so she went to see him,” replied Mr. Avdol.

“I can’t help but think that the brat was lying about seeing her father, though…” Polnareff said with a grimace, shifting in his seat. “Well, it’s a bit lonely without her around, isn’t it, Jojo?” he asked with a grin.

Jotaro grunted from where he and Sadao sat across from Kakyoin, looking amused.

“But talk about creepy…” Kakyoin thought aloud. “A Stand that perfectly disguised itself as me.”

“Apparently, it had already transformed when we left the hotel,” said Jotaro.

The group fell silent.

“Jojo, are you going to eat that cherry?” Kakyoin suddenly asked, pointing at the plate in front of him. “I don’t mean to be greedy, but they’re my favorite. Could I have it?”

Jotaro seemed only mildly surprised about Kakyoin’s request. “Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

Kakyoin reached for the cherry, popping into his mouth. But instead of eating it, he began to lick it, just as Rubber Soul had when impersonating him. Thankfully, there was much less drool involved this time around.

“Rerorerorerorerorerorerorerorero…”

Jotaro and Sadao made matching faces of disgust, regardless.

“Hey, look, Jojo,” Kakyoin said, pausing his cherry trick to point out the window. “Flamingos in flight.”

“Good grief.”

Sadao rubbed his eyes, feeling a little sleepy. They’d left the hotel at around 8:30 and taken the subway to the Marsiling Station, which had taken a little under an hour. The train out of Singapore into Johor Bahru, however, was only a five minute ride.

What had taken up most of their time was between getting off at Johor Bahru and getting on the train they were on now, the one to Gemas. It only ran three times a day, and the earliest time they could catch wasn’t until 2:30 in the afternoon. They’d just mindlessly wandered around the city for four hours, unable to do anything else.

The rocking of the train, his time in the sun earlier, and the knowledge that he was near to his son, that he was safe, made him grow more and more relaxed, even more sleepy. Surely, dozing off for just a moment wouldn’t hurt…

“Get off of me,” grumbled Jotaro, shoving him away.

“Sorry,” Sadao mumbled, readjusting himself, sleep overtaking his body faster and faster. The train rattling beneath them was hypnotic.

Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk. Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk.

Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk. Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk.

Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk. Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk.

Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, rattle rattle, rattle rattle, rattle…

His mind was…suspiciously active.

Images ran through his mind faster than he could register them, memories and sounds stringing themselves together in strange, disjointed ways. Thoughts that hadn’t ever formally materialized, but had instead slid just below the surface, finally made themselves plain. Sounds and images from separate memories were pulled up, put together, examined, then dropped back into the depths. Catch and release.

…not a member of the yakuza.

A face swam out. A man’s.

My manager, E.M. Joel…isn’t one either.

The face was joined by several others, features shadowed from view.

I’ve run into…clients and…other “business partners” of his.

Don’t know…if they were gangsters…or not. They look the part…but I certainly hope…that they aren’t.

The faces dispersed, replaced by the clink of glass, the sound of laughter and falling dice, the smell of smoke and moldy floors.

Joel gambles, but I don’t gamble….or drink…or smoke…I’m terrible at telling…lies when asked…a direct question.

Not very good at…saying no.

The man’s face appeared again. This time, his torso and arms came with him. He smiled apologetically at him, but this sort of apologetic smile was nothing like Sadao’s. It was…unsettling.

An overwhelming feeling of dread and resignation. The feeling of a pocket made lighter, the growl of a stomach being left empty, the ache of arms worked to the bone.

The sensations stopped, as if frozen in time. Hesitation on the part of the fisherman.

But then a warm, floating feeling flooded his senses, overtaking the image of E. M. Joel and erasing any trace of him. A brilliant smile, kind blue-green eyes, a musical laugh. The perfect vision of beauty and goodness.

Never…cheated on my wife…Holy Joestar Kujo. I would never do anything…to hurt her. I have only ever been…with Holy.

The blue-green eyes hardened, the soft and enticing figure of his wife fell away, replaced by sharp, unfeeling edges, a rigid jaw set in determination, and a torn up cap.

My son…resents me. I need to…fix things.

Joseph leaned back in his seat, recalling the thorns protruding out of the head of his sleeping son-in-law.

Hermit Purple crackled and shriveled away, mirroring his own newfound state of exhaustion. He’d only tried this form of divination once before, and it was only a test to see if it was possible. It produced a similar effect to when he had flicked through the channels on the television back in Singapore, memories and sensations fished up and rearranged to formulate answers to his specific questions.

Without an object that could reflect what he was shown, such as a camera, a television, or a pile of dirt, using Hermit Purple’s divination to see what was happening became more difficult. Factor in how he was probing for immaterial things, such as thoughts or memories, rather than a specific scene or person, and it became nothing short of a chore.

“Well?” Avdol asked.

“Not a member of the yakuza,” Joseph exhaled, feeling fatigued. “Neither is his manager.”

Polnareff threw his hands in the air and slumped back in his seat.

“Anything else?” Avdol asked, ignoring Polnareff.

Joseph rubbed his face. “He’s not a gambler, doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, is terrible at telling lies when faced with a direct question…” He scratched the side of his face. “Bad at saying no, too. Looks like his manager’s taking advantage of that in some way.”

The three of them looked over at Sadao, who shifted in his sleep.

How pathetic can this guy be?

And yet…he was relieved, at least partially. At least he now knew that Holy wasn’t being faced with the pain of infidelity. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep himself from personally strangling Sadao if he knew that he had betrayed his daughter in such a way. That sort of behavior…it sickened him to his core.

He shook himself. On a less dour note, he had an idea.

He’s dedicated entirely to protecting Holy and Jotaro. He doesn’t have a Stand, but…perhaps with a little training…he could be rather skilled at it. He already has the breathing down, being a saxophonist.

He leaned across the aisle, shaking Sadao‘s shoulder.

“Hey. Hey, Sadao.”

His son-in-law’s eyes opened slowly at first, but then rapidly grew as wide as 500 yen coins.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, I just wanted to-”

Sadao wasn’t looking at him. Terror was etched into every line of his face, but he wasn’t looking at Joseph at all. He was looking past him. At the space behind him.

“Oi.”

The group looked up. Standing in the aisle of the dining car was a tall man with dark, close-cropped hair and a rich suit that shone a deep indigo in the light of the evening sun. The expression on his face was cold and unfeeling, but his eyes flickered with a subtle malevolence. He tugged at his loose necktie, a sunset orange with blood red detailing, revealing a streak of color on the side of his neck.

This guy’s certainly taking his time to let us know who we’re dealing with.

“Kujo, right?” The man indicated Sadao, who had gone as white as a sheet. His calloused finger bore a heavy golden ring. He pointed at the rest of them. “Hey, you guys’ friends with this gentleman? ”

They all remained silent.

“Hey,” the man said again, more forcefully. “I asked you all a question.”

Jotaro sighed, pulling his cap further over his eyes. “We don’t have to answer you. So get lost.”

“Jotaro!” Sadao yelped, scrambling upright. Jotaro raised his arm in front of his father’s face to silence him, eyes never leaving the face of the enemy.

“Leave.”

The gangster grit his teeth. “You’ve got some nerve, for a high schooler. I suggest you stay out of this.”

He stepped forward, reaching for Sadao with one arm, the other swinging behind him, thick rings glinting in the light-

CRACK.

He flew backward, his head slamming against the wall of the car, a few chairs and the contents of several tables being overturned with him. It was lucky that there were no other passengers in the dining car with them.

Star Platinum hovered in the air next to Jotaro, who stood up from his seat and walked towards the man at the other end of the car. Sadao reached out and grabbed him by the back of his coat, but was pushed back into his seat by the invisible hands of Jotaro’s Stand.

“Stay out of this,” Jotaro snapped.

The man at the other end of the car, now surrounded by shards of smashed plates and glasses, struggled to sit upright. The door to the next car behind him opened, and in stepped a man in a red suit and black silk shirt.

The newcomer surveyed the damage of the dining car, before squatting down beside the man in the indigo suit.

“Told you that it was a bad idea to come in here all by yourself.” He didn’t look angry or guarded at all, but disinterested, even bored.

The first man spat out a bit of blood onto the floor. “That brat…”

“He got you good, hm?” the second man said in his ear, almost like a taunt. “You got punched out by one of them? Which one?”

“The one in the school cap,” the first man growled.

The man in red tilted his head. “I didn’t see him move.”

The other smacked his fists on the floor like a toddler. “I don’t know how, but he did! He punched me! He was the only one close enough! I’m gonna kill him!”

“That’s not the job,” the second man pointed out, sounding a little exasperated, as if he’d said this many times before. “We can deal with him later. Focus on why we’re here.”

“I don’t wanna!” the man in blue whined, smacking the floor again. “I want to kick his butt!”

The other sighed, rising to his feet.

“Go ahead and get yourself in more trouble then, .”

He took a step towards them, but then stopped, staring blankly at them. His eyes slid over the entire group, sizing them up.

They all stood at the ready, their Stands poised to strike. He narrowed his eyes.

Can he…see our Stands?

The man slowly turned to the side, picking up a chair that had fallen over and pushing it back into place. He did the same with about four other chairs.

“That’s better,” he hummed. Finally, he continued his approach.

“You know,” he began casually. “This will only be as difficult as you make it. We don’t want any trouble, really. Just tell your friend here,” he gestured at Sadao, “…to pay what he owes us and we’ll be out of your hair!”

“P-pay you?” sputtered Sadao. “I-I don’t even know who you are!”

“Oh, right, of course,” the man in red nodded along, sounding not the slightest bit convinced. “Of course you wouldn’t know me; we’ve never formally met, but you’ve seen me, haven’t you? Surely you know what we are.” He took a moment to flash his lapel pin at them, which bore an intricate gold crest.

“The name is Sakamoto. Ah!” He pointed at Sadao, whose eyes had become even more round. “You recognize that name! He’s likely mentioned me before, but he never introduced us, did he?”

He sighed, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Even though you don’t know me, my friend and I certainly know you. Your friend’s told us plenty about you…and that you have our payment.”

All the color (which wasn’t much, at this point) drained from Sadao’s face. “Joel…”

“What’s he talking about, Sadao?” Polnareff asked, his fingers twitching. Silver Chariot’s hands similarly clenched and unclenched around the hilt of its rapier.

Sadao ignored him. He sighed, his shoulders drooping. In that instant, he looked about ten years older.

“How much is it this time?” he asked weakly.

“1,700,000 yen,” said Sakamoto.

“1,700,000 yen!?”

Kakyoin actually recoiled in horror. “That’s absurd!”

“Where do you expect someone to get that kind of money?!” Polnareff yelped.

Sakamoto threw up his hands to his shoulders in mock surrender, as if he were trying to seem more sympathetic. He did nothing to hide the smug smile playing across his lips. “Look, if you had a problem with how much you owed, you should have considered that before you started lending money in the first place!”

“But I don’t-” Sadao’s lower lip quivered. “I don’t lend money! Joel’s my manager, even my friend, but I’m not involved in his money-lending business!”

“What a load of crap!” Morikawa had finally regained his balance, his face contorted in immature fury. “You expect us to believe that? Why would you pay for him if it wasn’t to save your own-”

“Morikawa,” Sakamoto sang, his impatience poorly masked by the lilt in his voice. “Let the grown-ups handle this.”

Morikawa opened his mouth to retort, but then suddenly slammed his mouth shut. He stiffened, staring at the door at the other end of the car, behind them all. The group turned.

Leaning in the doorway was yet another gangster. His dark hair was shorn on the sides and slicked back in the center, reaching the nape of his neck. His suit was a plain, pitch black, but extravagantly cut, with wide, sharp lapels and bulky shoulders. The simple white shirt he wore underneath was unbuttoned at the top, exposing a thin, jagged scar on the left side of his chest.

“What’s the hold up?” the newcomer asked, his countenance like a steel wall. “Look, if the guy doesn’t-” he stopped, squinting at Morikawa.

“What happened to your face?” asked the man in black, pointing. With a jolt, Sadao realized that the tip of the man’s finger was completely missing.

Morikawa squirmed, not looking at his superior. A shiny bruise forming on his face from where Star Platinum had punched him caught the light.

“What, did this little shrimp,” he gestured at Sadao, who fell back slightly, “…hit you? Either he’s stronger than he looks or you’re even weaker than I thought.”

“He says it was the kid in the hat, Maeda,” Sakamoto interjected, who had moved to the side slightly, so the man in black, Maeda, could more clearly see Morikawa.

Maeda scoffed, pointing his thumb at Jojo, as if the boy wasn’t at least fifteen centimeters taller than him. “You seriously let yourself get beaten by a high-schooler?” the newcomer asked, his voice pinched and gravelly. “We go to all the trouble of getting the car to ourselves and you get taken out by a single hit? Pathetic.”

Morikawa made a face like he was chewing on a dirty sock. Balling his fists, he hung his head in shame.

“I-I’m sorry…”

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?” The third yakuza was anything but placated, his cold exterior completely abandoned. “Is that how you address your superior?”

Morikawa flung his head down in a bow.

“Please excuse me, Mr. Maeda, sir!”

“Excuse you? Excuse you?” Maeda whipped something out from the left side of his waistband and then-

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Sadao screamed and fell to his knees, clutching the sides of his head. The sounds of the gunshots rang in his ears. Oh gosh, oh no, this can’t be happening-

“What the-”

Star Platinum dropped three bullets from its hand, the little pieces of metal bouncing across the carpeted floor. Another was already half-buried in the carpet near Avdol’s feet, nothing more than a melted goop. Two others lay by Polnareff, sliced cleanly in half.

Sadao hesitantly lowered his hands from his ears, his fingers shaking. Did he just-? He knew that Stands were fast, but he didn’t think that they were that fast. He looked up at Jotaro in awe, who now resembled Superman in his eyes.

“You idiot!”

Sadao slapped his hands over his ears again.

Sakamoto staggered up from where he had thrown himself behind a table, an angry red rugburn on the side of his face.

“You could’ve gotten us all killed!” he spat at Maeda.

“Shut up!” Maeda screamed, the gears in his head visibly creaking as he tried to discern what stopped his bullets. “I’m your superior!”

“No, you’re not!” Sakamoto yelled back, no trace of previous decorum. “We’re the same rank! It’s crap like this that keeps you from being promoted, anyway!”

Maeda made a sound like a rabid dog, and trained his revolver on his associate, completely forgetting to reload.

What happened next was hard to process. There was a great deal of sound and movement on the part of the gangsters, and very little from his companions.

Sakamoto dove behind a table, but then clutched the side of his face, which now bore a thin but very bloody gash on top of his rugburn. There were sharp ripping noises as he was slashed in the arm, the gut, and the foot. He dug into his own pocket, pulling out a switchblade.

Mistaking Silver Chariot’s attacks for Maeda’s bullets, he peeked over the top of the the table he had hidden behind, then threw his switchblade with all his might. Sadao screamed and ducked, despite the knife missing both him and Maeda by about forty centimeters each. It burrowed itself in the wall behind them.

Maeda pulled the trigger of his gun multiple times, only realizing that the chamber was empty after multiple fruitless clicks. Cursing, he reached into his other pocket- CRACK.

Maeda howled in pain, his arm hanging limp beside him. CRACK. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. CRACK. Star Platinum sent him spiraling to the floor. CRACK, CRACK, CRACK. His body continued to jerk about violently as it was pummeled repeatedly into the floor.

Click, shhhhhhinp. Click, shhhhhhhhinp. Click, shhhhhhhinp.

Hermit Purple had opened three of the windows.

Morikawa was suddenly lifted into the air, his limbs outstretched like a prisoner in a dungeon. There was the imprint of a thick, vine-like cord around his torso and neck, and similar, more shallow indents on his wrists and ankles, the fabric around those areas seeming to be smoking.

Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk. Rattle, rattle, kerchunk. The train slowed down slightly as they rounded a curve, thick marshes on either side of them.

“Out the windows!” Mr. Joestar ordered.

“OH SH-!” the yakuza shrieked in unison.

The three of them were unceremoniously tossed out the open windows.

SPLASH.

Thud, thud, thud. The windows slammed shut, and the train picked up speed again.

Sadao was silent, before making a sputtering sound and gesturing wildly at the windows.

“You-you just-”

Jotaro reached over and yanked Sadao to his feet.

“Come on,” he said to the group. “Let’s get out of here.”

Sadao continued to spew nonsensical sounds from his mouth as he was ushered out of the dining car, which now lay in ruins.

Gemas was a small town, mainly dedicated to the intersecting rail lines that crossed through it. They managed to slip out before they could be asked too many questions about the demolished dining car, heading straight for the ticketing station.

While Mr. Avdol and Mr. Joestar purchased the tickets, Sadao and the others waited on the curb of the small station, squinting to see in the twilight closing in on them.

Sadao looked sidelongs at his son and Kakyoin, who stood a few meters away. They said nothing to each other. Jotaro lit a cigarette. Kakyoin wrinkled his nose, flicking at something on the cuff of his sleeve. Polnareff plopped down on the sidewalk, his elbows on his knees.

“Alright, good news and bad news.” Sadao jumped at the sound of his father-in-law’s voice.

“Good news is that we were able to get tickets,” Mr. Joestar continued. “Bad news is, the train doesn’t leave until one in the morning.” He raised a finger. “The train to Wakaf Bharu only runs once a day, but since we’ll be leaving so early,” he raised the index finger of his other hand, and pressed the two fingers together. “We’ll be able to take a cab to Su-ngai Kolok, and get a train through Thailand from there.”

Mr. Avdol nodded. “However, there aren’t any rail lines that run from Thailand to India. The only way we’ll be able to go further west is by sea.”

Jotaro took a drag of his cigarette, which was now little more than a butt, then sighed. “Are we sure that’s a good idea?”

“We’re going to avoid the open sea as much as we can,” Mr. Joestar said grimly. “Instead, we’ll head from Thailand into one of the port cities in Burma and move up the coastline into India by boat. The Speedwagon Foundation has an agent stationed in a coastal city on the border, and he’ll take us into Burma through the Singkhon Pass.”

“The pass is only meant to be used for one-day, two-way trips by Burmese and Thai nationals,” Mr. Avdol explained. “So the Speedwagon agent will only be able to get us to the west coast of Burma and supply us with a boat. After that, we’ll once again be on our own.”

“As long as we don’t stray too far from the land,” Mr. Joestar added, “we should be safe from any sea-based Stands, but also be able to throw off the scent of…anyone else.” He looked pointedly at Sadao when he said these words, who shrunk into himself.

“Speaking of which…” Polnareff began suspiciously, rising to his feet. “Care to explain just what that was all about?”

Sadao quailed under the eyes of the five men.

“Well, I-”

“Are you funding your manager’s money-lending business?” Mr. Joestar asked abruptly.

Sadao didn’t meet his gaze.

“Er….not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly?’”

“I can’t control what he does with his money, you see,” Sadao said, still looking away. “But…well, he’s my friend.”

Jotaro threw his cigarette butt on the ground, extinguishing it with his heel. “Just get to the point,” he snapped.

Sadao took a shaky breath, eyeing Jotaro nervously. “I’m not directly involved in his business, no, but…he’s not exactly the most financially responsible person. He likes to gamble and…well, sometimes that gets in the way of him paying off his own debts, or having enough to lend out the money he said he would. He’s my manager, one of the best in the business, so I can’t really do without him. But more than that, he’s my friend.”

“So you cover the deficit for him,” Mr. Avdol rumbled.

“And now he’s sent the yakuza after you for your trouble,” Kakyoin added grimly.

Sadao looked up at his father-in-law with his usual, sheepish smile.

Mr. Joestar hung his head in his hand.

Dinner was a quiet affair, held at a local restaurant close to the station. Since the train would be arriving in only a couple of hours, there was no point in getting a hotel room, so they hung out on the edge of the platform.

Mr. Joestar was in the restroom. Kakyoin settled down on one of the benches with his book, Mr. Avdol sitting on the other end and shuffling his deck of cards. Polnareff snored softly between the two of them.

A damp wind blew through the station, marking the approach of a light rainstorm. Sadao tapped his fingers against his case, leaning against the wall. He looked askance at his son, who stood with a similar posture about a meter away, working his way through his pack of cigarettes. He frowned.

“When did you start smoking?”

He spoke softly and in Japanese, to try and ensure a bit of privacy. He couldn’t help that Kakyoin would understand if he overheard, but he wanted this conversation to be a bit more…personal.

Jotaro puffed out a bit of smoke, not looking at him.

“Why do you care?”

Sadao’s brow furrowed. “Because you’re my son.”

Jotaro scoffed. “That never made you care before. What changed?”

It was Sadao’s turn to look away.

“I’ve always cared about you. Both you and your mother.”

“Then why’d you leave? Find a new woman to keep you company?”

Sadao whirled around.

“I have never,” he pointed furiously at Jotaro for emphasis, “loved anyone other than your mother. Perhaps you should take a moment and consider that I might have been gone for so long for both of your sakes.”

For a split-second, there was a flicker of some foreign emotion in Jotaro’s eyes.

Was it…fear?

No, he’s not afraid. He’s impressed.

Sadao’s moment of fury passed, replaced by confusion. Jotaro saw this, and the emotion faded from his eyes. He settled back into his cold shell.

“So what’s your reason, then?”

Sadao’s mouth twitched.

“I had to make back the money I lent to E.M. somehow. Nothing illegal or anything!” he added hastily, after catching sight of Jojo’s expression. “I just…had to do more shows more often, travel further and for longer periods of time, pick up some odd jobs, that sort of thing.”

Skip a few meals…

“That’s it?”

“Well, yes.”

“You kept this from us…why?”

Sadao looked away again, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I didn’t want you to worry, or to suffer needlessly because of me. I didn’t want…you to see me any differently. I didn’t want you to see me as pathetic. And if you both could continue to live happily as you always did, even if you were ignorant, even if it was without me, that was all that mattered.”

His voice was very small when he said this.

Jotaro looked down his nose at him, then turned away, flicking his cigarette into a nearby trash can.

“And how’d that turn out for you?”

Sadao wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything. For a sliver of time, he felt like he and Jotaro might be able to come to an understanding, but they seemed to be just as distant as before.

At least he knows now. He knows why I’ve been gone.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Sadao.”

Mr. Joestar towered over him, but for once, his expression wasn’t stern or upset, but thoughtful.

He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Can we talk?”

“Oh, uh…sure.”

Mr. Joestar escorted him away, his arm around his shoulder. This strange display of almost paternal affection was a new experience, to say the least. He’d always been under the impression that his father-in-law wasn’t particularly fond of him.

Mr. Joestar turned him around to face him.

“Do you remember how I said my grandfather, Jonathan Joestar, and his teacher defeated Dio?”

Sadao nodded, slowly.

“Would you like to learn how?”

Sadao tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Your wrist,” Mr. Joestar said, seemingly ignoring his question. “And those cuts. Are they still bothering you?”

“My wrist?” He’d almost forgotten about how he’d sprained it while they were fighting that Stand, Dark Blue Moon. The cuts from yesterday’s battle with Devo and the goose egg from being dropped on his head by the ape still stung, however. “Oh, uh…it’s fine. The swelling has gone down a bi- ow!”

Mr. Joestar suddenly grabbed hold of his wrist, which had indeed become less irritated, but still smarted when pressure was applied.

“Mr. Joestar, what-”

“OVERDRIVE!”

Sadao yelped as Mr. Joestar sucker-punched him straight in the gut with all his might.

He doubled over, gasping for air, all of the wind knocked out of him.

…There was no pain. He gingerly prodded his stomach with his fingertips, and yet the skin was not tender. He looked down at himself, and, to his surprise, his wrist was no longer red. He raised his injured wrist to his face to better see it, which suddenly felt much less stiff. He squinted at it. There was no stinging, no ache, no swelling at all. He looked at his arms, which were now devoid of scabs. He checked the backs of his ankles. He felt the top of his head. It had all been completely healed.

“What?”

Mr. Joestar released him, a self-satisfied smile on his face. He flexed his fingers, particularly his pinky, taking a deep breath.

“Still got it,” he exhaled. “Frankly, this is the first time I’ve ever tried healing someone this way, so I’m glad it worked so well.”

“B-but…” Sadao stammered. “H-how did-?”

“This,” he said proudly, lifting his hand to Sadao’s face. Sadao shrunk back, his eyes squeezed shut.

“What are you doing? Come on, I’m not going to hit you. Look at my hand!”

Sadao opened one eye just a crack, before opening both of them fully. His jaw dropped.

Thin lines of golden-yellow lightning crackled and sparked around Mr. Joestar’s hand, dancing on his fingertips.

Was this…could it be?

“It’s not a Stand,” Mr. Joestar admitted, as if he knew what Sadao was going to say. “But it’s a similar sort of power. While Stands are the projection of one’s spirit, this is the projection of one’s life energy. It is the energy that flows through all living things, identical to the energy generated by the sun and absorbed by those below it. We call it… Hamon.”

Sadao said nothing, still staring, utterly dumbfounded, at Mr. Joestar.

“With Hamon, you can greatly enhance your physical strength, speed, and stamina. You can infuse objects with it, turning them into spectacular weapons. Water, oil, soap, plants and animals, steel clackers…those are all good conduits.”

Sadao tilted his head. “‘Steel clackers?’”

“Yeah!” Mr. Joestar spoke excitedly and animatedly, seeming more like a young boy than an old man. “You know, those toys from the…nevermind. Point is, getting whacked with one of those babies hurts like the devil, and when it’s infused with Hamon, it really packs a punch.”

“What’s more, Hamon slows the course of aging, accelerates the healing process, like I did with you just now, and is the natural counter to vampires. Using this power, Jonathan Joestar, William Zeppeli, and other Hamon Warriors were able to subdue Dio and his minions. It’s also how I was able to defeat a group of superhumans known as the Pillar Men,” he added, a note of arrogance in his tone.

Sadao knit his brow. “‘Pillar Men?’”

Mr. Joestar waved his hand. “I’ll tell you later.” He smiled brightly, leaning in a little. “So? How about it?”

“Er….” Sadao chewed the inside of his cheek. “How about what?”

“Learning Hamon from me!” Mr. Joestar exclaimed, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s really quite simple in principle. It’s just a matter of practice and one’s own creativity after that.”

“But what do I even do?”

Mr. Joestar grinned. “You’ll train with me! Don’t worry, I’ll show you what to do. I’d been meaning to try my hand at it again, anyways, but I kept putting it off…”

“But what if I’m no good at it?”

“Come on, it’s not like a Stand where only some people can use it. Anyone can learn it. Whether or not you’ll be good at it is a different matter…” He shook his head, his smile returning in full force. “But you don’t have to worry about that! You’ll have me as your teacher!”

Sadao’s head felt like it was spinning on his neck. It was a lot to take in. He chewed the inside of his lip, thinking. Mr. Joestar’s face was so full of eagerness and excitement. It was the first time he’d ever seen his father-in-law turn such an expression his way.

…It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?

“What must I do?”

Mr. Joestar clapped his hands together in excitement, then pumped his fists.

“Great! First, I need you to go and step in that puddle over there for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“The puddle,” Mr. Joestar repeated, completely unaffected. “See it over there?” He pointed. “Go step in it.”

“Why-”

“Just do it,” Mr. Joestar snapped, growing impatient. “And leave your case here. I don’t want it getting in the way.”

Sadao hesitated for a moment, thinking this was some strange, elaborate joke, but the look on Mr. Joestar’s face told him that he was entirely serious. Sighing, he did as he was told.

The puddle water was cold and muddy. It was shallow, but he could feel it start to rapidly seep into his shoes. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

At least the cuts in my feet are gone…

“Alright, Hamon is produced by living beings through controlled breathing,” said Mr. Joestar. “When your breathing is aligned with the proper rhythm, your body will produce Hamon.”

“How do I know what the proper rhythm is?”

Mr. Joestar’s face faltered. “Er…I don’t know, exactly.” He threw up his hands in apology. “Look, I never really had to think about it…it sort of came naturally to me. Don’t overthink it! Just…feel it.”

Sadao deflated significantly.

“Er…look, how do you feel when you’re playing on stage? When you’re playing your saxophone? That’s the sort of feeling we’re looking for, of being alive, I mean. Take that feeling and then…imagine that you’re going to defend it.” Mr. Joestar seemed to relax, a sort of far-away expression on his face. “Let that feeling of determination flow through you. Match it with your breathing. Let every breath you take become intentional, as you just feel your life energy grow inside of you…and then extend outward.”

Sadao pursed his lips slightly, thinking.

Perhaps…

He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes.

He envisioned the comfortable floor of rush tatami beneath his feet, his band beside him, the comforting smell of home cooking in the air. They were in his home, about to play for a private audience. For a younger Holy and a tiny Jotaro, who sat happily in her lap, playing with his mother’s hair. When he and his bandmates stepped in from the next room over, Jojo lost interest in Holy’s hair, instinctively turning to watch his father and his bandmates play. His head tilted to the side, his eyes round with wonder.

“Now defend it.”

He was going to defend it. This precious memory, one of his favorites, was in danger of being lost. If he didn’t learn Hamon, if they couldn’t defeat Dio…

No.

They were going to defeat him. There was no other way. They had no other choice. The alternative…was the unthinkable.

“Match it with your breathing.”

In…out.

In…out.

In…out.

“Now…extend outward.”

There was a strange ringing in his ears. A warm feeling like a razor-thin electric current ran down his spine, then along his limbs. The puddle felt…lighter?

“THAT’S IT!”

Sadao’s eyes snapped open to see his father-in-law standing before him, grinning maniacally, pointing at the puddle below him.

He gaped.

Dozens of little circles on the surface of the murky water outstretched from his feet, overlapping with one another like a flower.

Ripples.

The phenomenon flickered and then died away.

Sadao looked up at Mr. Joestar sheepishly, expecting some kind of scolding, but was pleasantly surprised to see him smiling still.

“You have the breathing down flat! Heh, am I good at teaching, or what?” he asked no one in particular, before turning back to Sadao. “I had you stand in that puddle for a reason! It was so I could see if your body was producing those flower-like ripples. Hamon flows naturally through liquids, so even if you weren’t able to create a physical spark of Hamon, I’d be able to see if it was at least flowing through you!”

He clapped his hands together again, beaming.

“Now, you just need to be able to consistently replicate that sensation. Once you do that, you can start extending your Hamon beyond its basic flow, imbuing it into specific points in your body, and even into other objects.”

Mr. Joestar’s expression suddenly grew more sober.

“I hated hearing these words when I was young but…you better be ready to work like your life depends on it.”

Sadao stared at his hands, not completely believing what he was hearing, or even what had happened mere seconds before.

“Because it does.”

Sadao walked along the length of the train car, holding a glass of water. He stared at it intently, focused solely on the little layers of concentric circles inside of it. Ripples like a flower bloomed on the surface of the water, his breathing and movement slow and methodical to hold them in place. Keeping the Hamon flowing through his body and into the cup required all of his concentration.

“Try picking up the pace a little,” Mr. Joestar said tiredly.

Sadao nodded, moving slightly faster. The ripples inside of his cup quivered, then stabilized.

It was scarcely past dawn, the sun barely breaching the horizon. The train to Wakaf Bharu wasn’t as smooth a ride as the one to Gemas (barring the run-in with the yakuza, of course), but the others had managed to fall asleep all the same. Sadao and Mr. Joestar, however, had remained awake all through the night, doing their best to train.

His breathing technique was already rather good, as Mr. Joestar had previously noted. Now it was just a matter of keeping it that way while in motion.

“You need to be able to run a kilometer without losing your rhythm of breathing, to be able to hold a glass of water upside down without it spilling, to be able to walk across water and oil as if they were solid ground,” Mr. Joestar said seriously. “It sounds impossible now, but you’ll be surprised how quickly you can get there when you’re under the threat of dying.” He spoke from experience, as Sadao now knew.

He had received a rather detailed, perhaps slightly embellished, retelling of his father-in-law’s battles as a young man throughout the previous four hours.

“How are we going to test if I can run a kilometer without losing my rhythm?” Sadao asked, still watching his water carefully.

“We’ll have you run laps around the next hotel we get to,” Mr. Joestar replied nonchalantly.

Sadao turned around sharply, momentarily forgetting the water in his hand. Hurrying to correct his mistake, he forced himself back into his rhythm and stabilized his hand, his fingers generating a small spark of Hamon. The water in his glass sloshed around dangerously, but with a great deal of focus, he managed to maintain the surface tension of the liquid.

He allowed himself a sigh of relief, then immediately regretted it when the ripples in his glass began to tremble. He grit his teeth, exerting more Hamon. His whole hand buzzed with the added energy, and he swiftly lost control. The glass in his hand exploded, shards and water droplets flying everywhere.

Mr. Joestar covered his mouth with his hand, unable to completely muffle his spurt of laughter.

“Oh, er…” he wheezed. “I was just kidding about that. It was supposed to be a way to test your focus…” He pressed his lips together to keep himself from smiling. “Looks like it worked.”

Sadao stood there, now dripping wet, with a blank expression.

“Er…look, I didn’t mean for you to-” Mr. Joestar shook his head. “You had it under control! You really did. You were taking it in stride until you exerted more Hamon than you needed to.”

“More than I-?”

“Yes, right before the glass exploded. When you relaxed all of the sudden, you let go of your rhythm a little, and then overcompensated for it. You filled your entire hand with Hamon, didn’t you? That’s the problem. The more spread out your Hamon is, the weaker it is. Using your entire hand wasn’t enough to stabilize the water in the glass, so you released more than you had previously, and it made the glass burst.”

He made a finger gun at Sadao. “Caesar once told me to think of it like a water pistol. The smaller the hole, or in this case, the point where the Hamon exits, the more potent it is, and the further it is able to travel.”

Sadao nodded, starting to understand. A water pistol…

Mr. Joestar stood up, reaching for the pitcher of water and another glass from the stack they had taken from the dining car. He filled the glass to the brim with water, then peered inside the pitcher.

“Nearly out…” he muttered, Hamon flowing from his fingertips into the glass. To Sadao’s surprise, he suddenly flipped the glass over, then looked over at him.

“Catch.”

Sadao gasped and darted forward, his hands outstretched as the Hamon-infused glass fell through the air. He caught it in his hands, but just as he did, the water began to slide down and out of the glass.

“Your Hamon, Sadao!” Mr. Joestar instructed. “From the fingertips!”

Hamon crackled in his hands, but the water still fell, albeit more slowly than normal. He grit his teeth, a film of sweat forming on his brow as he forced his Hamon into solely his fingers. Half of the water in the glass splattered against the floor, but the other half remained inside, swirling around as it was held at bay by a thin sheet of ripples.

“Better,” Mr. Joestar hummed, scratching his chin. “Much better. It’s your reaction time that seems to be the problem. We need to get you to a point where you can almost instantaneously summon your Hamon and send it to the precise spot it needs to go. But I suppose you might be pretty tired…”

“No,” Sadao said, perhaps a little more forcefully than he needed to. Mr. Joestar raised his eyebrows. He flushed.

“Er…sorry. I mean…I will train for as long and as hard as I need to…if it means being able to help save Holy.”

Mr. Joestar said nothing. He continued to stare at him thoughtfully, his eyes scanning all over him. Sadao shrunk into himself slightly, squirming under the glare of his new teacher.

Sadao is in the exact opposite situation as I was back then…Hamon itself came naturally to me, but learning the breathing technique took a great deal of practice. I was so eager to slack off in training because, as I saw it, the only life on the line was my own… Meanwhile, Sadao is fighting for someone else. He has no poisonous wedding rings inside of him, and while his breathing technique is excellent…extending his Hamon outside of his own body takes all of his energy.

“Let’s take a break,” Mr. Joestar finally said.

“But-”

Mr. Joestar shot him down with a look. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. There’s no point in exhausting you further; you won’t make any more progress that way. My own training was only able to be so grueling because I was used to using Hamon. You, on the other hand,” he pointed at him, “are still a newbie to all this. Get some rest; we’ll train some more after breakfast.” He looked outside the window, at the golden glow of the rising sun, and Sadao knew that there was no point in arguing.

He sighed, collapsing into the empty seat next to him. He released his Hamon, instantly growing even more tired. Hamon was life energy; without it to help power him, he was completely drained. He slumped back, his head tilted upward as he stared at the metal ceiling above him.

So tired… so tired…

Holy murmured the lyrics in a breathy soprano, the light and dancing sound tickling his ears. He'd been invited over for dinner at her parent's townhouse in New York. He stood in their home, awkwardly hovering next to the stove as he stirred a pot of strange, creamy sauce, (or was it soup? The consistency was different from any soup he was used to), Holy tending to the pitch-black spaghetti on his right, her mother, Mrs. Suzie Q Joestar, chopping up vegetables on his left.

"Holy," she said in a voice like candy, the edges of her words curling up at the ends with her fluttering accent. "You've been singing that little tune all week. 'Beyond the Sea,' is it?" The older woman gave a wistful sigh. "Ah...I haven't heard you sing like that since you were a young girl. To think you are all grown up, now." She shook herself, looking over at Holy with a teasing smile. "I wonder...what, or who," she paused to glance over at Sadao. By how obvious she was being, it was clearly an intentional move, one that pretended to attempt subtlety. "...has you in such a musical mood?"

"Sadao, of course!" Holy chirped. "I heard him play 'Beyond the Sea' the night I met him, during his performance!" She gave a sigh much like her mother's. "You should have heard it, Mama. It was beautiful. He's played it for me every night we've gone out since!"

Sadao froze. He nervously eyed Holy's mother, afraid that this little tidbit of their intimacy, however chaste, might have offended her. It certainly would have made his mother go as stiff as a board, her voice as prickly as her many sewing needles.

But Mrs. Suzie only smiled sweetly, her face aglow with unbridled joy and....mischief?

"Oh, Holy! You never told me that!" She gave a little swoon. "You're a romantic, just like Joseph, aren't you, Sadao?"

He felt his face grow warm. Holy's grew similarly red. "Mama..." she whined.

Suzie gave a dismissive wave. "Alright, alright! I understand." She shook her head, sighing. "You men, always so embarrassed by the romance you produce with your own two hands!"  She continued on like that for a while, prattling on and on as she hurried to set the table. Not a moment after the three of them had finished setting the food on the table did the door swing open as an absolute giant of a man strode in.

"Papa!"

"Holy!"

Holy ran to her father and wrapped him in a hug, her arms hardly getting a grip around his torso. He lifted her up and spun her around, Holy squealing with delight. He set her down again, then made his way over to his wife. Suzie perched on her toes to give him a little peck, only for her husband to slam his lips onto hers in a passionate kiss. Mrs. Joestar gave a muffled squeak, wrenching herself away.

"Joseph!" she chastised him, mortified. "We have company!"

"Company can wait," he said with a crooked grin and waggle of his eyebrows, no doubt thinking himself to be very suave. He pulled his little wife close to his chest, nuzzling his face into her neck and running a hand through her hair. Face redder than the cherry lipstick she was wearing, which was now smeared over the side of her mouth and her husband's, she slapped his hand away. He gave a little whine.

"Suzie...."

"Don't you 'Suzie' me!"

The couple continued on like that for a minute or two, the two of them bickering heatedly, but neither truly angry at the other. In fact, if his expression was any indication, Sadao had a feeling that Mr. Joestar was enjoying this immensely. He couldn't help but feel a little smile grow on his face as he watched the scene unfold. Back in his home, such open expressions of physical affection were a rarity between his parents, if they happened at all. He felt an odd mix of embarrassment and satisfaction watching Mr. and Mrs. Joestar. He just hoped Holy didn't feel too awkward. He glanced over at her, surprised to already find her staring at him, her eyes anxiously searching his face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm....sorry about them," she said in a small voice. "I asked them not to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable," he said quickly. "Just a little...amused, I suppose."

A little twinkle flickered in Holy's eyes. "What is amusing about them?"

"They love each other," he said simply. "Very much." He looked at her pointedly. "I don't think there's anything wrong with that, even if they're a bit more... vocal…about it than my family."

A pretty little flush appeared on Holy's cheeks. "Yes..." she breathed. "They really do."

"So, is this the scoundrel who's stealing my daughter away from me?" Mr. Joestar said loudly, turning his attention to Sadao. Mrs. Joestar swatted his arm, which was now resting comfortably around her waist.

"Papa!"

Sadao approached the giant man, trying his very best not to quail under his gaze. He instinctively snapped into a stiff bow, then immediately straightened up again, his glasses sliding askew as he did so. He tended to revert into his country's customs when he felt nervous. He fixed his glasses and robotically stuck out his hand for a shake.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," he said in his best English, hoping very much that his voice wasn't quivering as he did so.

Joseph Joestar stared down at the little Japanese man, his eyes cold, calculating, searching. He took the young man's hand and held it for an agonizing moment...then broke out in a hearty smile, vigorously shaking Sadao's hand.

"Pleasure's all mine," Mr. Joestar said. "Now let's sit down and eat! I'm starving."

Dinner was a friendly affair. Mrs. Joestar's cooking, however foreign to him, was delicious. Sadao, for all his nerves, was surprised at how polite Holy's father was being. The way he'd heard him described, along with all of the imposing photos of him on the walls, he'd expected a much ruder reception. It wasn't until a little while after the dinner, after they'd all cleaned up the dishes together (during which Mr. Joestar had gotten into a bit of a bubble war with his wife and daughter), did he feel his nerves come back in full force, stronger than any case of stage fright.

"I'd like to make a few things clear between us," Mr. Joestar said in a low voice, having pulled him aside to speak with him. "You seem like a decent young man, and Holy certainly likes you, and so does Suzie. Heck, even I’m starting to like you, and I’m none too happy about my daughter possibly getting married to a guy from the other side of the planet." He leaned dangerously close to Sadao's face, his expression turning into one of pure intimidation. "So…if you hurt her, if you ever lay so much as a finger on her or cause her even an ounce of pain..." He gripped Sadao's shoulder, his prosthetic hand digging painfully into his skin through his jacket.

"I will kill you."

“Ah, he finally wakes up!”

Sadao rubbed his face, readjusting his glasses as he walked into the dining car where the rest of the group sat around a couple of tables, already halfway through their breakfast. He slid into the empty chair in between Kakyoin and Polnareff, checking his watch. 7:32. They had about five hours left of their train ride.

Sadao didn’t say much of anything, focusing solely on getting the food in front of him into his mouth, the voices of the others blurry and indistinct. It wasn’t until he’d finished shoveling down his breakfast that he relaxed, rubbing his eyes once more. He looked around at the rest of the group.

Mr. Avdol and Mr. Joestar were talking together, pointing at a large and complicated map of twisting roads and railways. Polnareff was babbling at Jojo, who was still eating. He didn’t look the slightest bit interested in what Polnareff was saying, but that hardly stopped the Frenchman from trying. Kakyoin stared out the window.

Sadao watched Kakyoin’s face, the highschooler’s expression impassive. Kakyoin glanced over, catching him staring at him.

“Is something the matter?”

“Oh! Uh, no, nothing’s the matter. I just…well, I was wondering something about Stands.”

Kakyoin turned fully to face him. “Yes?”

“Well…your Hierophant Green, as you call it?” Kakyoin nodded. “Can it…communicate?”

Kakyoin tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, back in Singapore, I saw the Hierophant, and I didn’t-”

“You saw Hierophant?” Kakyoin asked sharply.

“Well, not the Hierophant,” he admitted. “But when that Rubber Soul was impersonating you, I saw him use his Stand to imitate yours…so I assumed the appearance it took was the same as the real one.”

“It was…well, it was rather beautiful.”

Kakyoin smiled politely, in his usual, tight-lipped way. “I’m sure it appreciates the sentiment.”

“But…I didn’t expect it to be so…human-like. Do all Stands look like that? Besides the ones with a physical form, I mean. Ever since that monst-Stand, sorry, grabbed hold of me back on the Speedwagon boat, I’d always thought they’d look rather monstrous…like a yokai or a demon.”

“It depends on the User,” Polnareff butted in, seeming to have finally given up on making conversation with Jotaro. “Many Stands are humanoid in appearance, but there’s plenty of Stands that aren’t.” He gestured at Mr. Joestar. “Hermit Purple isn’t a humanoid-type of Stand. It just looks like a bunch of purple thorny vines.”

“What do you mean, ‘just?’” Mr. Joestar interrupted, affronted, abandoning his discussion with Mr. Avdol. “Hermit Purple might not be the strongest Stand, but-”

“‘Strongest?’” Sadao asked Kakyoin. “There are different levels of strength between Stands?”

“Indeed there are,” Mr. Avdol said with a small smile. He almost looked excited to explain, any sign of annoyance at having his plans be put on hold melting away. He paused, however, and first looked to Kakyoin. “Would you care to explain, or should I?”

“You have the most experience out of all of us with Stands,” Kakyoin said.

“What about me?” Polnareff cut across, pausing his spat with Mr. Joestar. “I have just as much experience as Avdol-”

“Avdol’s older,” Kakyoin pointed out.

“So what?”

“Er…I’m sure both of you could explain things to me,” Sadao said with his usual smile. “You as well, Kakyoin. I have plenty of questions…”

Both Mr. Avdol and Polnareff looked rather put out, but didn’t argue.

“To answer your first question,” Mr. Avdol began, “…back on the lifeboat, I mentioned that Stands can take the forms of a humanoid, an animal, object, or a mix of the three. But that was really an oversimplification. Regarding the form a Stand takes, there are four main categories. My Stand, Magician’s Red, is what we call a ‘Natural Humanoid Stand.’ It is humanoid in form, but also has the attributes of the natural world. In its case, Magician’s Red takes the form of a humanoid body with a head of a phoenix.”

“Polnareff’s and Kakyoin’s Stands, Silver Chariot and Hierophant Green, respectively, are ‘Artificial Humanoid Stands.’ They take humanoid forms, but have characteristics of objects not found in nature. Meanwhile, Stands like Hermit Purple,” he indicated Mr. Joestar, “are called Natural Non-Humanoid Stands. Hermit Purple, as Polnareff mentioned, takes the form of purple thorns. It doesn’t have a humanoid form, but has the appearance of an object found in nature. Stands that resemble an object not found in nature are called Artificial Non-Humanoid Stands.”

He looked over at Sadao, eyebrows raised. “Make sense so far?”

Sadao nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. “So…Stands are defined by whether or not they resemble a human and whether or not they resemble something found in nature.”

“Precisely. The forms of most Stands fall into one of those four categories. Those that don’t are called ‘Phenomenon Stands,’ but such Stands are fairly rare. On top of the four main categories, Stands can also be categorized by whether or not they have a physical form, like that of the ape’s. Those types of Stands are called ‘Materialized,’ Stands, because they have a physical form, one that can be seen and affected by physical objects, even non-Stand Users.”

“So…by that logic, Strength, the ape’s Stand, would be a…” Sadao knit his brow, thinking. “A Materialized, Artificial Non-Humanoid Stand.”

“Exactly!” Mr. Avdol said warmly. Sadao straightened up in his seat, a surge of pride filling him. But then he frowned again. “So…what determines the strength of a Stand? Does the category of its appearance matter?”

Polnareff scooched closer towards Sadao, eager to be the one to speak. “Stands are generally categorized by their range and the nature of their ability. The basic rule is that the further away you are away from a Stand, the weaker it is. Stands that are physically powerful have shorter ranges, such as my own Chariot. If I send Chariot beyond its range, it won’t instantly disappear, but it grows weaker and less precise. Meanwhile, Stands with greater range are typically less physically powerful than Close-Range Power types like Silver Chariot or Star Platinum. Those are Long-Distance Operation Stands, like Hierophant Green.”

“And then there are Stands which are both weak and short-ranged,” Jotaro muttered. Mr. Joestar glared at him.

“Stands also have varying levels of speed,” Polnareff went on. “Out of all of our Stands, Silver Chariot is the fastest. Well, maybe except for Star Platinum,” he added, catching sight of the look Jojo was giving him. “On top of their range and physical power, all Stands have their own specific ability. Silver Chariot’s ability is its sword and its armor.”

“Stands can have weapons?”

Polnareff grinned, puffing out his chest a little. “Yep! Silver Chariot’s sword can cut through anything, even concrete and fire. Its armor is almost indestructible. Damage done to the armor isn’t reflected on me at all, but the armor does slow Chariot down a bit. If I want it to, Chariot can shed its armor, giving it even greater speed.”

“But it also makes it more susceptible to damage,” Sadao finished for him.

“Well…if you can even land a hit,” Polnareff grumbled, deflating.

Sadao turned to Mr. Avdol. “What is Magician’s Red’s ability?”

Mr. Avdol smiled, then held out his forefinger. He reached for a paper napkin on the table, then held his finger to it. In an instant, the napkin started to crumble to ash, smoke curling off of it.

Sadao cried out in alarm, jumping to his feet.

The napkin suddenly fizzled out, only half of it remaining.

He rubbed his eyes, not believing what he had just seen.

“Wha-how?”

“Magician’s Red’s ability is to summon fire, which I then can freely control. My flames move in any direction I want them to, do as much or as little damage as I’d like, take any shape that I desire. The only way for a non-Stand User such as yourself to know that they are there is by the temperature and visible heat waves generated, or by the smoke produced from separate objects that I set on fire.”

Sadao settled back into his seat, staring at the pile of cinders on the table. He slowly looked to Kakyoin, still in shock.

“Hierophant Green’s ability lies in its form,” Kakyoin said. “It is made up of individual strands that link together to form my Stand, giving the Hierophant the ability to split into those strands and use them as invisible tripwires, thick cords, or even the strings of a puppet.” His eyes glinted darkly. “When Hierophant Green enters the body of another, it uses its strand-like form to take control of that person, or to rip them to shreds from the inside out.”

Sadao swallowed, shifting in his seat. He’d always been under the impression that Kakyoin was a quiet, well-mannered young man. He’d never thought that he’d be the type to use such a technique.

Well, I suppose he can’t help his Stand’s ability. And from what I’ve seen of him, it doesn’t seem like he uses that technique very often…at least, I hope he doesn’t.

“On top of that,” Kakyoin continued, “Hierophant Green can launch its energy in the form of projectiles, making up for its own lack of physical strength.”

Mr. Avdol nodded, then gestured at Mr. Joestar, who had returned to his map. “Hermit Purple’s ability is a form of divination, where any object capable of projecting an image, whether it be a camera or television, a reflective surface or even this pile of ashes,” he pointed at the remains of the napkin, “will show him the answers to the specific questions he asks. Without a medium to project the image, it becomes more difficult for him, but even then, it’s possible.”

Sadao’s eyes bugged out of his head. “You can see the future?” he asked his father-in-law.

Mr. Joestar looked up from his map, his expression a little sheepish. “Er…no. I can’t see what will be…I can only find information regarding the past or present, and they can only take the form of images and sounds.”

Sadao shook his head in awe. “Unbelievable.”

Mr. Joestar once again refocused on his map, a small, flattered smile on his face.

Sadao scratched his chin. “So…what is Star Platinum’s ability?”

The group was silent.

Sadao looked around at them. “D-did I say something?”

“Star Platinum doesn’t seem to have an ability outside of its power and range,” Mr. Avdol mused. “At least, not yet. It is a fairly new Stand, so Jojo might not realize its ability until later. Only time will tell what it will be.”

“Even if it doesn’t have an ability yet,” Jojo said, getting up from the table. “Star Platinum’s speed, precision, and power are more than enough for me to get by.”

The rest of the group nodded in agreement. Star Platinum hardly needed an ability. Kakyoin turned back to Sadao.

“But to answer your first question, about whether Stands can communicate. Stands can serve as mouthpieces for their User, allowing the User to speak through them, so long as the Stand itself has a mouth. Stands themselves don’t express much personality, instead being the reflection of their User’s mentality and emotions.”

“Except in incredibly rare exceptions,” Mr. Avdol added.

Kakyoin nodded. “There are always exceptions, aren’t there?”

“Stands do let loose a sort of war cry, however,” Polnareff pointed out.

“That’s true,” Mr. Avdol hummed.

“Magician’s Red…you said it had the head of a phoenix?” Sadao asked.

“Yes, what of it?”

“Stands reflect their Users mentality and emotions…and sometimes let loose war cries…so they can make sound.”

“Correct.”

“So, Magician’s Red…since it’s part bird…does it…chirp? What noises would a phoenix make?”

Polnareff and Kakyoin each made a sort of snorting sound, before quickly covering them with a pair of coughs that were just a little bit too loud.

Mr. Avdol let out a small chuckle. “Magician’s Red does not chirp,” he said calmly, but Sadao could see the corners of his mouth tighten ever-so-slightly as he did so.

Practicing Hamon was hard enough. It was even harder when he was being watched by not only his teacher, but his son and three other traveling companions.

Mr. Avdol and Kakyoin only periodically looked up from their cards and book, respectively, seeming to realize that Sadao was nervous. Jojo and Polnareff, however, sat facing the Hamon teacher and student, watching Sadao like a pair of hawks.

“So this Hamon, ” Polnareff was saying. “What does it do, anyway?”

“It enhances the physical properties of any object or living thing that it imbues,” Mr. Joestar said, watching Sadao struggle to hold a glass of water upside down while walking back and forth. “Non-living objects can conduct Hamon, but only living things retain Hamon. Certain materials, such as liquids, conduct Hamon better than others, which is why we’re using water here, as a way to gauge the consistency, control, and power of his Hamon.”

He turned away from Polnareff, back to Sadao, his hands slightly outstretched. “Throw it.”

Sadao nodded, then threw the glass at Mr. Joestar, who caught it, but not without roughly two-thirds of the water spilling onto the ground. The last of it was salvaged by Mr. Joestar’s own Hamon.

“Hmmmm…” Mr. Joestar scratched his chin, thinking. “I can feel the remnants of your Hamon, but it’s still not strong enough to hold the water inside when you let go of the glass. Don’t think so much about sending the Hamon through the object, but rather, into it. Sending Hamon through an object is useful if you’re trying to only impact the object behind or below it, but even then, eventually, you’d need the Hamon to stay put.”

Sadao nodded, watching Mr. Joestar refill the glass and toss it back to him. This time, when he caught it, he managed to keep most of the water inside.

Wakaf Bharu was a village near the east coast of Malaysia, right next to the border to Thailand. After some difficulty, they were able to secure a taxi across the border to the larger township of Su-ngai Kolok. Due to the size of their party (and the sheer size of their party members), they split up into three cabs, with Kakyoin and Mr. Joestar in one, Jotaro and Polnareff in another, and Sadao and Mr. Avdol in the final car.

Sadao and Mr. Avdol were the ones to be sent first, since it had been agreed that the sooner Sadao left Malaysia, and by extent, evaded his debtors, the better. Mr. Avdol also proved to be an excellent haggler, and by reducing the fare of the first taxi, the rest of the group would, in theory, be able to claim that they’d seen better prices elsewhere and coerce their own drivers into a more reasonable rate.

The ride itself was quiet, with the two of them staring awkwardly out of the windows on either side of them. Mr. Avdol occasionally stopped to flick through the cards of his tarot deck, while Sadao either watched out of the corner of his eye or admired the scenery. 

After arriving in Su-ngai Kolok, they had sat and enjoyed a late lunch and stable ground for about three hours. Sadao had turned his watch an hour back to match the new timezone, Kakyoin had briefly misplaced his comb, only to find that Polnareff was using it for his own hair, and they all got on the train for Prachuap Kiri Khan, the one that they were currently on.

Thailand was beautiful, even in just the little sliver they were experiencing through the windows of the train. But as much as he’d like to sit down and relax, taking in the scenery flashing by him, he had work to do. It now took less effort to localize the Hamon in his fingertips, but he was still failing to keep the water inside the glass. As Mr. Joestar instructed, he focused on sending the Hamon into the glass itself, rather than through it.

Why wasn’t the water staying inside? He had to be doing something wrong…

Of course, he thought to himself. All this time, I’ve been trying to infuse the water with Hamon, but my Hamon isn’t strong enough to control the direction the water takes, or keep it from dispersing after I lose contact with it. Liquids lose their shape, so my Hamon is also losing its shape!

Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk. Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk.

The familiar rhythm of the tracks.

In…and out.

Hamon flowed from his fingertips into the glass. Sparks and ripples danced across the surface of the water. He let a little Hamon flow through the water, then directed the rest to the glass, careful not to overdo it.

He took another deep breath, this one more to calm his nerves than to summon more Hamon.

He flipped the glass upside down.

The water stayed inside.

So far, so good. And now…

He threw the glass at Mr. Joestar.

Sadao felt his face light up.

Mr. Joestar held the glass aloft, grinning from ear to ear.

Not a drop had been lost.

“NICE!”

Mr. Joestar examined the glass, still smiling. “Your Hamon stayed inside the glass this time. What did you do differently?”

“This whole time, I have been trying to send my Hamon through the glass and into the water, rather than into the glass,” Sadao explained, feeling proud of himself. “But after what you said, I tried sending it into the glass, and it worked!”

Mr. Joestar nodded, looking almost impressed. “Hamon only amplifies the physical properties of a material; it can’t change them entirely. Even Hamon Masters rarely use liquids as weapons. While they conduct Hamon rather well, liquids naturally disperse Hamon throughout themselves, so they’re used in small amounts. I gave you only a cup of water to work with, not only because you’re a beginner, but because, as I said earlier, the larger the area the Hamon covers, the weaker it becomes. I’m surprised that you managed to figure out what you were doing wrong and correct it so quickly.”

He grabbed the pitcher of water once more, and filled the rest of the glass to the brim. He smirked. “Now do what you just did another fifty times without messing up.”

Sadao’s face fell, but he didn’t have much time to sulk. Mr. Joestar had already tossed him the glass.

Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk. Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk.

Scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch.

It was somewhere around the thirty-third toss, when Sadao noticed this light scritch-scratch sound.

Scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch. It sounded like a pen on paper.

Out of the corner of Sadao’s eye, he could see that neither Polnareff nor Jojo were paying attention to his training anymore. Jotaro sat back in his seat with his eyes closed, while Polnareff was hunched over, drawing something in a notepad balanced on his knee. He glanced up at the space in front of him, then back to his paper. He wildly scribbled out the page, tearing it out and balling it up.

“Hey, Polnareff, what’re you writing?” Mr. Joestar asked loudly, seeming to know what was distracting his student.

Polnareff straightened up, gesturing at his paper. “I’m drawing Silver Chariot! Or, at least, I’m trying to…I can’t quite get it right.” He looked at Sadao. “Since you’ve seen what Hierophant Green looks like, and since you were asking about it, I wanted to show you what Chariot looked like!” He shoved the notepad into Sadao’s hands.

Sadao flipped through the pages, squinting to try and make out exactly what he was supposed to be looking at. It looked like…a sort of robot? He wasn’t quite sure. All the same, he smiled at Polnareff, patting him on the shoulder. “These are very nice, Polnareff. Thank you.”

Polnareff shifted in his seat, his smile sort of lopsided, as if he weren’t sure of whether to feel upset or happy over being patronized. He decided on the latter, his smile stretching into a full, brilliant grin.

“Not a problem!”

The pen and notepad were suddenly taken from Polnareff and Sadao’s hands, held aloft in midair.

“Huh?”

“Summon Silver Chariot,” Jotaro suddenly mumbled, apparently not as asleep as they had previously thought.

Polnareff raised his eyebrows, but seemed to oblige, since the pen began to fly across a new page of the notepad at almost light-speed, becoming little more than a blur. In a few moments, the notepad was turned back around to face them.

“Woah!”

A perfectly rendered version of a nimble, robotic knight stared back at them. A singular jewel sparkled from the middle of the knight’s forehead, right above the holes in what looked like a helmet that was merged with the Stand’s very skull. From inside the holes glared out two, fierce, piercing eyes that reminded Sadao very strongly of Polnareff. The Stand was thin, even spindly, and dressed in a suit of sleek armor that, despite being only a render in ink, seemed to shine brilliantly. In its hand it held a rapier, as if it were ready to reach through the paper and skewer whoever was on the other end.

Silver Chariot.

“Star Platinum’s enhanced eyesight and precision of movement allows it to create sketches like these,” Jotaro explained, still sounding bored.

“Incredible,” Sadao and Polnareff said together.

Polnareff twisted around in his seat, peeking over the back of Kakyoin’s head to look at Mr. Avdol. “Hey, Avdol, can you summon Magician’s Red?”

After a few minutes more of Jotaro grumbling, Polnareff whining, and Star Platinum scritch-scratching , Sadao had three more personal sketches of each of the group’s Stands.

Hierophant Green was just as he remembered it. Hermit Purple was, as described, a mass of purple thorns wrapping around Mr. Joestar’s arm. Magician’s Red was a fearsome creature; a towering figure with a feathered lower body and forearms that crackled with flames, human hands tipped with talons, and a beak that looked like it could easily take off Sadao’s whole hand.

Sadao shook his head in disbelief. “How did you learn to draw like that, Jojo?”

Jotaro grunted. “Star Platinum drew it.”

Sadao smiled. “It’s amazing, all the same.”

Jotaro grunted again, turning his head to look out the window, and Sadao could have sworn that he’d seen the corners of his mouth twitch ever-so-slightly.

Star Platinum couldn’t very well draw itself, so instead, Mr. Joestar had promised to take a spirit photo of the Stand as soon as they’d made it to a hotel. Until then, it was back to his training.

Back and forth, back and forth, the glass was tossed between Hamon teacher and pupil.

Fourty-six, fourty-seven, fourty-eight, fourty-nine…

“Fifty.” Mr. Joestar smiled, taking one last look at the glass. “Not a drop spilt.” He nodded at Sadao, his smile growing just slightly. “Well done.”

Sadao’s shoulders slumped downward and he stumbled forward in exhaustion, landing on his hands and knees.

“Th-thank you, Mr. Joestar,” he wheezed.

A gloved hand came into view, offering him help. He took it.

“Let’s take a break.” Mr. Joestar said, lifting him to his feet. He sounded friendlier than Sadao had ever heard him. “You’ve done great.”

Sadao nodded in gratitude as he eased himself into the seat closest to him, Mr. Joestar sitting across from him. His eyelids fluttered, threatening to shut, when Mr. Joestar spoke again:

“Now that you’ve gotten a grasp on summoning Hamon and charging things with Hamon, I think we should talk about your fighting style.”

Sadao blinked several times, confused. “Fighting style?”

“Yes. You see, Hamon itself isn’t harmful to anything other than vampires. It has either a neutral or beneficial effect on everything else it comes in contact with. The trick is picking a way to use Hamon that suits your fighting style and whatever situation you’re in. My grandfather used his Hamon in conjunction with martial arts to amplify his raw strength. But you can also use Hamon to turn seemingly-normal objects into powerful tools and weapons. William Zeppeli used wine, I used steel clackers, my master used a scarf, and my old friend Caesar Zeppeli used bubbles.” He grinned mischievously, pointing at Sadao.

“The best tricks a Hamon user has up his sleeve are his ability to think creatively and the element of surprise that comes from making use of what’s on hand. And lucky for you, you’ve already got something you can use!”

Sadao tilted his head, nonplussed. “I do?”

Mr. Joestar’s smile grew even more devious, if a little exasperated. “Come on, think. It’s right in front of you. Think!”

Sadao knit his brow, looking around at himself. What could he use…? He was in fairly good shape, but not very physically strong or intimidating, so using his own fists didn’t seem plausible…so it had to be something he had on hand. An object of some kind, one that was ‘right in front of him.’ His eyes fell on his saxophone case.

One look at Mr. Joestar told him that he’d found his answer.

“Now, think of how you’re going to use it,” he was instructed.

Sadao brought his hand to his chin, staring as intently at the saxophone case as if he were trying to move it with his mind. What could he do? He supposed that he could always just smack people with the case, like he did with the ape, and use Hamon to strengthen his blow by infusing the case or metal itself with Hamon, as well as his arms. But wouldn’t that damage the saxophone? He didn’t want to have to keep replacing it along their journey. “Can Hamon…fix inanimate objects?”

Mr. Joestar shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.” He paused, thinking. “Are you worried about breaking your saxophone?” When Sadao nodded, he continued: “You could use Hamon to make the metal sturdier or more pliable, thus easier to hold its shape or be bent back into shape should it get dented or damaged. But if it breaks, then you’re out of luck.”

Sadao nodded again, leaning forward in seat and propping his elbows on his knees. “I see.”

I’ll have to think of something else, then.

He reached down, sliding the case across the floor so it sat in front of him, before resting his elbows on his knees once more, studying it. He had these cases of his custom-made, with storage space for clothes and toiletries while he traveled, but did his best to not ask for too many replacements. He’d had that last case of his for three and half years. If he wanted to avoid E.M.’s debt collectors, he had to limit how often he requested a replacement case. He’d need to make this one last as long as possible. The case itself hadn’t broken when he’d smashed it against the ape’s face, but it’d been severely dented, damaging the sax along with it.

Brass is a very malleable alloy, so I’d likely have greater success in making it more pliable, and then twisting the metal back into place when it gets dented. Or perhaps I could simply make the exterior of the case more sturdy, to prevent the saxophone from being damaged.

“Hamon enhances the natural properties of whatever it touches…” he began slowly, “so by infusing the entire case with Hamon, it would make the case itself sturdier, and the brass of the sax more flexible, more capable of taking hits.” He looked up at Mr. Joestar for confirmation. “Er…right?”

Mr. Joestar nodded once. “We’ll have to train your upper body for that to be a viable option.” He gestured at Sadao. “You’re not exactly in peak physical condition.”

Sadao winced. He was right, of course, but it was still embarrassing, to be less physically fit than his geriatric father-in-law. Granted, said geriatric father-in-law stood 195 cm tall and was over 90 kilograms of pure muscle, so he really shouldn’t compare the two of them, but it still made his task seem all the more daunting.

My physical strength certainly needs improvement. But even with a way to engage an enemy close-range, what to do when an enemy is far away, or when getting too close would be too risky?

His eyes scanned over the saxophone, shiny and new from Singapore. ’The best tricks a Hamon user has up his sleeve are his ability to think creatively and the element of surprise that comes from making use of what’s on hand.’Throwing the case wasn’t a good idea, nor was it very ‘creative’ or ‘surprising.’ He needed to think. He took the alto sax from its case, holding it in front of him, studying it. Nothing was coming to him. He brought the reed to his lips, deciding to play a little, to help clear his head. Mr. Joestar sat back, sighing. Sadao glanced up at him, smiling apologetically.

“Sorry,” he said. “It helps me think.”

Mr. Joestar grunted, adjusting his hat so it hung over his eyes, shielding them from the morning sunlight streaming through the train windows. After running through his usual motions of tuning it and playing a few scales, Sadao leaned forward, reaching into his case once more, pulling out a small cassette tape.

Kujo Jazz Combo - 1970-1979, Vol. 4

He smiled, rummaging around a little more, before withdrawing his hand, holding a slightly battered Walkman. Snapping the cassette tape into the Walkman, he pulled the headphones over his head.

He began tapping his foot, keeping a steady beat, before reaching down and pressing the play button, bringing the saxophone to his lips once more.

Click.

Sound tore through his ears like a grenade, Akiyoshi trilling the piano with a ferocity never seen before. The rest of the band jumped in, matching him in his overwhelming energy, and the crowd absolutely felt it. Every note was bursting with flavor, every chord struck was dynamic and as alive as a wild animal. Sadao played alongside his former self, only ever deviating from the performance of his past during the improvised sax solo, but, as always, fell short of truly recapturing the lightning in a bottle that was June 22nd, 1975.

That night had been one of his favorite memories with the band. In the hours prior to that performance, the six of them had sat down and played a sort of game where they’d taken turns trying to push scraps of paper around the floor using solely the minuscule airstream produced by his saxophone—

He abruptly stopped playing, his saxophone making a sound like an elephant as he dropped it from his mouth. The sudden sputter made Mr. Joestar stir from his nap, his hat sliding off his head.

“‘S’matter?” he mumbled, disoriented. “Are we there already?”

Sadao shook his head, successfully burying his laughter. How did he manage to sleep with Sadao sitting across from him? “Oh, er, no. I just had an epiphany, of sorts. Regarding my Hamon,” he added, noticing Mr. Joestar’s blank stare.

Joseph rubbed his eyes with one gloved hand, the other picking up his hat from where it had slid down his face and into his lap. “Let’s hear it.”

“I assume Hamon can’t be infused with air…”

Mr. Joestar frowned, stretching a little. “Well…” he yawned, his mouth gaping open like a cat, a slightly gnarled forefinger scratching at the base of his throat. “…I suppose you could, since it’s made of molecules, just like anything else…but it would be very weak, unless you were making use of a toxin or poison gas.”

“Well, what about if I were using sound?”

Mr. Joestar tilted his head. “Go on.”

“If I use Hamon to enhance the sound produced…it would increase the force with which the molecules collide with one another…and then with that amplified force, I could control the movement and properties of the soundwave. Meaning I could make, in theory, an impossibly loud sound with it, or one that could travel much further than normal, or a stream of air powerful enough to knock someone back…or something.” He looked up at his father-in-law, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “Would…that work?”

Mr. Joestar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a novel idea, for sure. I’d never have considered it. But…I think it just might work.”

Sadao perked up. “Really?”

Mr. Joestar nodded. “Your saxophone…it’s made of metal, right? Metal amplifies Hamon, and it naturally amplifies sound. Combining the two makes sense. The air stream produced from your saxophone probably won’t be strong enough to push away something as heavy as a person…but it could possibly be able to deflect or redirect a lighter object.” He paused, then smiled slightly. “You might be on to something. We’ll try it out when we get the boat.”

Sadao nodded, growing more excited, before opening his saxophone case, digging around for a pencil and paper. His exhaustion forgotten, he began furiously jotting down ideas.

”Seventeen…sixteen…fifteen…fourteen…thirteen…twelve…come on, Sadao! Focus!” Mr. Joestar hissed. “Ten…nine…eight…”

Gritting his teeth, Sadao reengaged his core and refocused on the Hamon flowing through his fingertips into the water glass that sat upside down on the floor of the train. His forearms pressed against the rough carpet, his sleeves rolled up and suit jacket cast aside as he struggled to hold the plank. His father-in-law stood beside him in the aisle, counting down the seconds and correcting Sadao’s form.

”…Three…two…one…zero.”

Sadao collapsed to his stomach, still holding the glass, not releasing his Hamon until Mr. Joestar stooped down and took it from him.

”Very good,” he whispered, taking care not to wake the others.

Sadao could only manage a weak nod.

It was about 4:30 in the morning, with only fifteen minutes left of their train ride through Thailand. After their brainstorming session, Mr. Joestar had put Sadao back to work with even greater ferocity. Push-ups with Mr. Joestar’s hand pressed down on his spine, simultaneously making it more difficult to get back up again and allowing him to check if Sadao’s Hamon was both flowing through his entire body and making the transfer into Mr. Joestar’s hand. Sit-ups while inhaling for ten seconds, then exhaling for ten seconds, then twenty-second intervals, then thirty-second intervals, then decreasing back to ten. Lunges, squats, and planks while holding the water glass upright, then to the side, then upside down. Suicide sprints up and down the length of the train car, holding the glass all the while. Faltering for even a second meant that he had to redo the exercise from the top. At several points, Sadao keeled over in exhaustion, his limbs shaking violently from the exertion, and at others, he rushed to the bathroom as his mouth filled with bile.

And, as always, he took it all without complaint.

Granted, a good portion of that was due to him being afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d vomit again, but as the training continued, he noticed that, even as the intensity of the exercises increased, he was able to handle them better. His retching and heaving subsided, bit by bit, his body stabilizing under the rhythm of his breathing. His Hamon was growing noticeably stronger, just within the past two days of training.

Sadao felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to the side to see Mr. Joestar kneeling next to him, his brows knit together.

“You alright?” the older man asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, even paternal.

Sadao blinked, his eyes very round. This was new. “Yes,” he croaked. “I’m alright. Thank you.”

Mr. Joestar nodded, rising to his feet again. “We’re almost to the station. We’ll take a break for now.”

“Alright.”

Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk. Rattle rattle, rattle rattle, ker-chunk, kerchunk.

There was a yawn to his right. Mr. Avdol was stirring awake. He was the earliest riser of the group, as it seemed. He stood, digging out a compass-like contraption from one of the seemingly endless hidden pockets of his robe. After studying it closely, he slipped it back in the folds of his robes and began to pray. He murmured a few words, then lowered himself to the ground, turning his body westward. He lowered his face to the floor of the train, lying prostrate, before beginning to speak again in a strange, curling tongue. Sadao watched, intrigued. Japan was largely void of the more Western religions such as Christianity and Islam, so most of his experience with prayer was through the veins of Shinto and Buddhism, at least until he married Holy. Her version of ‘saying grace,’ as she called it, (oh, he could practically hear the precise way she would softly say those words), was a bit different than that of Muslims.

Mr. Avdol eventually stopped speaking in his mother tongue of Arabic and straightened up, sitting back on his heels with a sigh. Sadao wasn’t sure why, but his expression seemed…sad, somehow. Mournful, or perhaps troubled, even… The emotion cleared from his face, his visage resuming it’s usual stoicism, but only for a moment. Mr. Joestar took off his shoes across the aisle and began shaking out the dirt that had coated the soles. Mr. Avdol wrinkled his nose at the smell, then sneezed as the dust particles flew in his direction. To Sadao’s shock, a thin stream of steam flew out from his nose, fizzling out in midair.

“Bless you,” Mr. Joestar grunted from where he sat on the seat behind Sadao’s head, trying to massage his feet.

“Thank you,” Mr. Avdol sniffed, before catching Sadao’s stare. He tilted his head slightly, a motion that reminded him of an owl. “Er…yes? Is something the matter?”

“Steam just came out of your nose,” Sadao said blankly, uncomprehending.

Mr. Joestar laughed. “Oh, yeah, that happens, doesn’t it?” he chuckled. “I’d forgotten about that…” He dug around in the pocket of his pants, pulling out a crumpled handkerchief and offering it to Mr. Avdol.

Mr. Avdol blew his nose, then turned back to Sadao with a sigh. “The flames of my Magician’s Red have a rather unique set of properties. They are invisible to non-Stand Users and immune to all attempts to smother them…except for water, which my flames are weak to, just as typical fire is. When my flames come into contact with water, their remnants are, for a brief moment, physically observable. The water droplets in a sneeze are one such scenario. It is with a sneeze that Mr. Joestar ended up discovering my ability, when we first met.”

Mr. Joestar snickered. “You were absolutely convinced that there was no way for non-Stand Users to see your flames, since, at that point, I hadn’t manifested my Stand yet…”

Mr. Avdol shook his head. “I still can hardly believe it. All my life, no one had said a word of it…You’d think that at least one non-Stand User would have noticed, if that were truly the case.”

“Well, explain how Sadao can see them, then!” Mr. Joestar shot back, tugging his shoes back on.

“Not so loud, Mr. Joestar,” Mr. Avdol reminded him. “There are passengers trying to sleep.”

Mr. Joestar huffed, rolling the leg of his pants back down. “We’re getting off anyway,” he grumbled under his breath.

As the train slowed, Kakyoin began stretching out his legs with a small groan, his eyes still closed. All around his torso was the imprint of a thick vine wrapped around him, which began to shift and disappear as the snakelike tendril uncoiled itself from around its User. Similar imprints around his ankles faded away as Kakyoin released the bits of Hierophant Green he had been using to prop his feet up. His spine straightened like a marionette on a string, his body languidly rising out of the chair until the young man righted himself in his seat.

The train suddenly jolted to a stop, tossing Jotaro forward. Kakyoin stabilized himself with no trouble at all, while the much larger boy snapped awake, his arm flailing out to steady himself. His hand connected solidly with the window, several thin cracks splintering outward from where Star Platinum struck the glass alongside Jojo. Polnareff jumped to his feet, his hand slicing downward. A matching cut ripped through the material of the seat in front of him.

Sadao stumbled upright, feeling around for his glasses, which he has set aside. They suddenly swam into view, offered to him by Mr. Joestar. He pushed them up his nose, using Mr. Joestar’s hand, which was still outstretched for him to take, to pull himself up.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, too tired to speak in English.

“You’re welcome.” He raised his eyebrows at Mr. Joestar, who smiled back warmly. He felt his own smile form. Of course. He didn’t know much, but Mr. Joestar spoke a little Japanese, too.

Pulling on his jacket over his sweat-stained button-up shirt, not even bothering to roll the sleeves back down, he grabbed his saxophone case, and the six men departed the train.

Chapter Text

Sadao’s shoes slapped against the glassy grey metal, the salty spray and crisp December wind whipping against his face. Hamon crackled through his veins, pouring out from his feet as it rippled and danced across the slick deck of the freighter. The visual of a conductor of an orchestra swam through his head, each slice of the baton a raggedly on-beat breath escaping his dry and cracked throat. He clutched his saxophone case in one hand, holding his glasses steady with the other, his fingers swollen. His lungs ached, his legs ached, his feet ached, his arms ached. He was training. Again.

He rounded the corner of the deck, finally passing by Mr. Joestar for the fiftieth time. He ran an extra few meters, just for good measure, before slowing to a stop. He stood there for a few moments, maintaining the rhythm of his breathing as he gulped down the briny air. A moment of respite, a moment of peace…he gagged.

…And he was seasick. Again.

He managed to hold it down this time…barely.

They had been met at the train station back in Thailand by a local, who had immediately identified himself as an agent of the Speedwagon Foundation and ushered them all into the back of a large truck. The agent must have said or shown something to the officials at the border crossing, since the truck was let through without any problems. The over-three-hours-long drive from the border town, Mawdaung, to the Burmese seaside city of Mergui was cramped, bumpy, and stifled with hot, sleepy silence, with only a few brief words passed among them.

“This road was built in 1945 by the-” the truck passed over a particularly large bump, “…Imperial Army,” Kakyoin finished his sentence, unperturbed. “Or rather, the rōmusha and Allied prisoners of war under supervision of the Imperial Army. Allied forces had destroyed the rail lines by then, so they needed an alternative means of retreat from the advancing British and American troops.”

Mr. Joestar grunted, as if to acknowledge his two home countries’ involvement.

Mr. Avdol made a noise of interest, a hand on his chin. “Rōmusha?”

“Laborers,” Kakyoin translated. “Specifically unpaid-” the truck skipped over a pothole, “…non-Japanese conscripted to work by the Imperial Army. Soyōchō, or intermittent forced labor,” he clarified.

“Ah,” Mr. Avdol solemnly replied. “So the Japanese also utilized corvée. I assume the practice has been abandoned since then?”

“That’s right,” Kakyoin nodded. “Since the end of the War.”

The truck bounced down a series of potholes, throwing the group around. Mr. Joestar swore under his breath, before leaning over to mutter to Sadao: “Conditions like this make me glad that I lost my hand; I got excused from military service during the War. Although…” he exhaled, a wistful look on his face, “I know I could have piloted a Spitfire or A-20 just fine, if either of the British or American Air Forces had only let me…”

“You would’ve crashed it,” Jotaro said flatly.

Mr. Joestar scowled, and the silence returned.

They hadn’t spent much time in Mergui. Following a humid and sleepless night in a safehouse, the Speedwagon agent had steered them directly to a shipyard, where, following a few conversations in the local dialect and a great deal of bribes, they were all but shoved onto yet another aging cargo ship, reminding Sadao all too strongly of the freighter, Strength. The captain didn’t ask too many questions (mostly on account of the language barrier) and accommodated them the best he could, but it was made very clear that it wouldn’t be the most luxurious of rides. It was hardly relevant, however, considering the grueling training regimen Mr. Joestar had introduced to him.

"You've improved a lot since we first started," the older man had told him earlier, a serious expression on his face. "But you can't allow yourself to grow complacent. That was what kept me from really progressing in Hamon when I was younger, before I began training. I was overconfident in the talent I had, and thus never bothered to seek out any more knowledge until I was forced to."

"It's also why you stopped using it afterwards," Jojo muttered, who had been listening. "Complacency."

Mr. Joestar scowled, then turned back to Sadao. "Your Hamon is not strong enough for you to utilize it with your saxophone. At least, not yet. In the meantime, we're going to work on getting you into the best physical condition that we can, so that you'll be able to use Hamon in a more practical way." His eyes glinted. "We're also going to practice using Hamon in a more creative way."

What Mr. Joestar meant by "creative", Sadao had yet to see, but he wasn't looking forward to it. The two of them seemed to have very different definitions of what counted as "creative", and what counted as "dangerous and reckless."

Sadao straightened up, turning to Mr. Joestar, who nodded approvingly, before looking at his watch.

"That was much better! Much, much better. You've definitely gotten more consistent." He turned his wrist towards Sadao's face, showing him the time. "And faster, too. You've already shaved off six seconds."

Sadao gave a numb nod and a murmured thanks, unable to muster any more energy.

"Let's go inside. You need to sit and cool down a bit." Mr. Joestar said kindly, clapping Sadao on the shoulder and steering him towards the door to the lower decks of the ship. "I should know; Hamon training is brutal work."

Sadao allowed himself to be led inside, the whole situation feeling a little surreal. A little more than a week ago, he was completely oblivious to the world of Stands and Hamon, completely unaware of Holy's condition at all. Now, here he was, traveling across the world, not for a tour, but for the purpose of saving her life from a 120-year-old vampire. A 120-year-old vampire with an army of Stand assassins, he might add.

We're coming, Holy. Please...just hold on a bit longer. It's going to be alright. ...I hope. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. If he knew anything about his father-in-law, he knew that he would have arranged for only the most sophisticated healthcare to be offered her. He had to trust that Holy was being cared for, that she would be alright, that they would make it to Egypt and stop DIO in time.

DIO. The name alone made him shudder. Ever since that day in Singapore, when he had heard the vampire through the static of the hotel TV, he had been hearing the same melodious, golden voice echoing through his nightmares. He shook himself, not wanting to think about it any further.

Sadao and Mr. Joestar finally made it to the portion of the lower decks where their band of travelers was staying. It was little more than a series of hammocks strung along the walls, with a clumsy little table and a few rickety chairs in the center, odd crates and scattered dishware lying around. The air was stale and musty, smelling strongly of sweat, salt, metal, and dirty laundry, but it was a place for them to stay, and that was what mattered. Kakyoin sat at the table, absentmindedly twirling a pen while staring down at his book. Jotaro lounged on one of the hammocks with a hand behind his head, an issue of Shounen Jump in the other, his left foot flopping over the side.

"Polnareff was looking for you, Mr. Joestar," Kakyoin said casually, not looking up from his book. "And Avdol has gone to speak to the ship's captain about when we'll be arriving in Bassein."

Mr. Joestar furrowed his brow. "What did Polnareff want?"

"I'm not sure," Kakyoin said, tapping the end of the pen on the edge of the table. "He just suddenly got up and said something about finding you. He should be..." He paused, looking up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression, before resuming his sentence. "...He's back on the deck, according to Hierophant Green."

Mr. Joestar nodded. "I'll talk to him, then." He turned to Sadao, patting him on the shoulder once more. "Go ahead and rest for a bit. There's water in some of the jugs over there," he added, indicating a corner of the room with his chin. With that, he turned and left the room.

Sadao stared after him, his head swimming. He couldn't remember his father-in-law ever being so kind to him. He exhaled heavily and wiped his brow, hobbling over to get himself a cup. The water was lukewarm and tasted slightly metallic, but he nonetheless gulped down his cup, and then another, in only a few seconds. He filled his cup a third time, resting his body against the crate on which the water jug was stacked. He caught Jojo staring at him from where he was lying and offered him a weak smile, only for his son's face to immediately disappear behind his magazine again. He took another deep breath, staring down into his dirt-coated cup, before draining it once more. He regretted it hardly a moment later, feeling his stomach give an uncomfortable lurch as the boat careened softly from side to side.

Boats. His stomach simply did not agree with them. The band usually opted to take the bus, train, or fly when they went on tour for this very reason. He gagged, doubling over slightly.

"Are you alright, Mr. Kujo?" Kakyoin asked politely, this time speaking in Japanese, standing up.

"Oh...I'm fine. Just a little..." He paused, then burped, covering his lips with his fist. "Excuse me," he said, massaging his abdomen. "I just get seasick often. It's becoming more manageable by the day, however," he added with a weak smile.

Kakyoin nodded, a faint smile of his own on his lips, before reaching for a box behind the older man's head. "Here," he said, rummaging inside. "Mr. Avdol left some ginger tea in here for us." He pulled out a small bag and kettle, offering them to him. "Sucking on a piece of ginger, or making it into ginger tea, is a natural remedy for seasickness."

Sadao blinked, then took them. "Ah. Of course. I should have known..." he paused, remembering the stern expression of a woman as sharp as needles, but with a voice as soothing as honey...provided that she was in a good mood, of course. "Well, thank you, Kakyoin." Kakyoin nodded, then returned to his seat at the table.

Sadao filled the kettle with more water and placed it on the hot plate that sat on a crate by the doorway. He examined the teabag in his hands as he waited for the water to boil. Ginger...his mother would be proud of this boy. He smiled a little, before gesturing at the table."May I sit?"

Kakyoin looked up from his book, his face impassive. "Go right ahead."

"Thank you."

Sadao took his place at the little table, balancing atop one of the crooked chairs. The room was silent, apart from the occasional crisp turn of a page from Kakyoin's book or Jotaro's magazine. He thoughtfully turned the bag of ginger tea over in his fingers, watching his son. Jojo once again caught his eye and turned over on his side, towards the wall. Sadao sighed. A few minutes passed in silence, then he looked at the redhaired boy reading next to him, thinking.

He had to be about Jotaro's age, but he seemed so unlike Jotaro in so many ways. Kakyoin was prim and proper, while Jotaro was rough and often rude. Even so, there was a cold undercurrent of reservation and pride to Kakyoin that made him seem almost unearthly, somehow, like he wasn't fully human. It wasn't the icy barbs of resentment he felt from Jotaro, but instead a cool nonchalance, as if all that happened around him was inconsequential to him. It wasn't difficult to discern that Kakyoin wasn't very used to having companions. 

He looked down at the table, picking at the wood, setting his face on his fist.

Reminds me of Akiyoshi.

He chuckled under his breath. Akiyoshi was so cold when you first met him, but as soon as you got the pianist talking about something he liked, he started to open up a bit. He remembered being afraid of the man when he had seen him play in a club, of his deadpan speaking voice and thousand-yard-stare, but he had approached him, anyway. His skill was undeniable, and he was sure to have other offers from different recording studios, so he had to act fast if he wanted to try incorporating him into the band.

"We're in need of a pianist, and you happen to be the best pianist I've ever heard," Sadao said confidently, hoping that Akiyoshi Ryo couldn't see the way his knees were shaking.

Akiyoshi stared at him for one, two, three, four, seconds, then cracked a small smile.

"Sure. What time would you want to practice?"

And ever since that conversation, the Kujo Jazz Combo had had a pianist, and a very good one, at that.

Perhaps this redhaired boy would be like Akiyoshi, and he simply needed to try to make conversation. He had been understanding enough when hearing his reasoning for chasing after Jotaro back in Singapore, after all.

Kakyoin seems most at ease when he is sharing something he knows...

"Do you enjoy tea making?" Sadao asked. He opted to keep his conversation in Japanese, hoping to make him feel more at ease. It was easier for him, anyway.

Kakyoin looked up from his book, tilting his head curiously. "I do, yes. Why do you ask?"

Sadao shook his head. "I just remember my mother teaching me the same thing about ginger when I was a young boy. She was a nurse, and as such, took it upon herself to educate my family on all sorts of home remedies and first aid."

The redhead gave a sage nod. "Very wise. I consider it my business to be well-educated in as great a number of subjects as possible."

There was a small scoff from the direction of Jotaro's hammock.

The corners of Kakyoin's mouth tightened, but he otherwise ignored the other student. Sadao felt a twinge of embarrassment and disappointment, offering Kakyoin his usual, apologetic smile.

"Jojo's also quite the student," he said, feeling his son's eyes on him. "Particularly in the sciences. Perhaps you've shared a class or club?"

Kakyoin shook his head. "No, Mr. Kujo. I've only just begun schooling in Tokyo this last year; I've lived just outside Sendai for my entire life."

Sadao nodded. "Ah, I see. What sort of subjects have you enjoyed studying, then?"

Kakyoin seemed to grow two inches taller. His expression remained serene, but his voice strengthened in timbre, a haughty tweak in his smile. "I enjoy most of my classes. Any opportunity to refine my mind, I will take. But I do have a preference for history and literature, both Japanese and foreign."

Sadao gave a small chuckle. "Alright, and what do you do when you're not studying? Any extracurriculars or clubs?"

Kakyoin's smirk flattened into his typical, tight-lipped line, though, now, it seemed even more tightly wound than usual. "No clubs. I do my studying on my own; I find it easier that way." His shoulders relaxed, and his smirk eased its way back onto his lips. "My parents have a great love for the traditional and refining arts, and as such, have encouraged me in those pursuits of painting, calligraphy, the tea ceremony, and flower arrangement."

Sadao gave an approving nod. "Very worthy pursuits, indeed. Which of those is your favorite?"

"Painting, without a doubt," the highschooler said, and for the first time, Sadao thought he actually sounded excited. "Calligraphy is also especially enjoyable for me, but it requires such a degree of focus and meditation on the meaning of and the individual strokes of each character that I find it difficult to use as a way to relax. Painting, however..." he paused for a moment, levelling out his voice, which had grown slightly, almost imperceptibly, in speed and pitch as he had been speaking. "I can paint no matter of what mood I am in. I can relax to it, refocus with it, and express emotions that words can be hard to convey."

Sadao nodded in eager agreement. "I feel the same way about my music. Precisely the same. Art moves the soul in a way that defies description, and for the artist, the soul is completely transformed."

The boy's smile relaxed, and there finally seemed to be some sort of understanding, like they were not quite strangers anymore. "You said it perfectly," he said in his usual, measured way, before burying his nose back in his book.

Sadao sat back in his chair, feeling content with how the conversation ended, and looked over at the hammocks, where Jotaro was holding his magazine suspiciously close to his face. He watched the glossy cover catch the light in rhythm with the swaying of the rocking boat and once again sighed. How much easier it would have been, had he simply been honest. Regret pooled and clumped in his stomach like old ink, and he felt a bad taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with seasickness or stale water.

How ironic. His trying to protect his wife and son from heartache had only brought them more pain.

The filth in his stomach turned over on itself as he imagined Holy, eagerly waiting every day for the return of a husband who was always running away. He ran from his family, ran from confronting E.M., ran from city to city with an ever-growing tsunami of shame and debt and lies at his heels. He was a coward, no matter how good his intentions. Even if they saved Holy's life and defeated DIO, how could he ever face her? How could he face the yakuza that pursued him? How could he face the friend and manager who betrayed him and the friends he had let down by continually tolerating Joel's irresponsible behavior?

Even now, how could he face his son?

He stared into the bottom of his empty cup, before standing to refill it, this time all the way to the brim. He breathed in and out, summoning his Hamon. A flux of ripples fluttered across the surface of the water. He walked back to the table, flipping the cup over as he did so. The water sloshed around, threatening to spill, and he focused more intently, scowling. 

I wasn't always like this. I didn't use to be this way. 

He had attempted honesty. It seemed to have made no difference. But he could hardly expect that one moment of vulnerability would change the heart of a boy so set on hating him for the rest of his life. Jotaro was cut from a different cloth than most; a more perceptive, individualistic cloth that didn't buy Sadao's charming stage persona so easily. It was a material that had become harder and colder than most, too tough for a few meager showings of authenticity to crack.

The water spilled out of the cup, splattering against the dirty floor. Defeated, he went to get a rag to wipe it up.

I was always a coward, but at least I used to be an honest one.

When Jotaro was younger, Holy and Jotaro came to every show they could. Sadao always came alive when he played, his music spinning new worlds to explore, but when his family was there to see him, he was positively sublime. He seemed to glow from every extremity, shine as if he were made of polished silver. Nothing brought him so much joy as doing what he loved for whom he loved, or as much excitement as rushing off stage to meet his waiting wife and child. He would greet Holy with an embrace and a kiss, and on particularly good nights, a twirl. Propriety simply became a thing of naught when he was backstage with his family. Jotaro would run up to him and pounce on him for a tight hug when he was small, and even as he grew too old and heavy to be carried, the brilliant smile he gave his father was always the very same.

At least, until it wasn't.

E.M. had started a money-lending venture years before, when the band was still starting out and in need of some kind of revenue, but he had swiftly abandoned it as their popularity had grown. Now, fifteen years after their founding in 1968, he'd returned to it as a side business, for reasons unknown to Sadao. All he knew was that now, they were touring more than ever before, selling more records than ever before, playing to bigger crowds than ever before, turning over bigger profits than ever before.

So why was he so...uneasy?

He played as beautifully and skillfully as ever, and he poured extra effort into appearing as unencumbered as possible, as if he were carefree as ever. He made himself practically invisible amongst the notes, a pale imitation of what someone might imagine a jazz musician to be. He was mesmerizing, no doubt, but in a markedly different way than his usual self, a way that was cool, suave, and impersonal. It was easier this way.

Weeks passed, and the tension he felt slowly grew. Performing became a chore, no longer a joy. He fell into a rhythm in this game of make-believe that he played, switching between lives like clockwork. When he wasn't Sadao, the musical husband, father, and friend, he was Kujo, the artist.

After a show one night in Osaka, Holy greeted him with a hug and a kiss, as usual, but with one look, she seemed to see that something was amiss.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, pulling back, searching his face.

"Oh, nothing," he said quickly. "Just tired, I suppose. It's all this new popularity, I wager!" he gave a silvery laugh, one that did not quite meet his eyes. He quickly turned from her, avoiding her gaze. "Ah, Jojo! There you are!"

His son approached slowly from where he had been making small talk with Jaco, the bassist, while the man packed away his instrument. At only twelve years old, Jojo was already almost as tall as his father, so it was to be expected that he didn't run up to him like a small child anymore. All the same, he hadn’t expected such a furtive expression from his son. Jotaro regarded him with a sort of reserved confusion, as if the boy wasn't looking at his father at all, but the face of a vague acquaintance he couldn't quite remember.

Sadao did his best to shake away the little prick he felt in his chest. "How'd you like the show?"

Jojo paused, seeming to decide how he wanted to proceed. "It was good," he said with little enthusiasm. "You played great." He looked at his father, furrowing his brow a bit. Quite the scowl he had, that one. "Are you alright, Dad? You seem..."

"Just fine, a little tired, that's all," he said, waving it away. "But how about you? Are you alright? You don't seem as excited to see me as usual." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could consider stopping them. The pain grew in intensity, spreading throughout his chest.

Jotaro shifted his weight awkwardly. "Er...yeah. I'm just...thinking, I guess." He looked to his mother, as if requesting her permission to go. "I need to use the restroom," he muttered, before quietly shuffling away.

Sadao stared after him, the pain in his heart settling into a dull, throbbing ache. Holy laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be worried, Sadao," she said soothingly, rubbing his back. "Jotaro's just getting older, that's all. 'Young boys don't stay young forever,' just as you told me over the phone last month, when I was worried about him going to secondary school."

Over the phone...Sadao straightened up, plastering a confident smile on his face. "Of course, of course..." he smoothed his hair, despite it not needing any adjustment. "How is his new school, by the way? I trust he's doing well? He's a bright kid, after all."

"He's adjusting fine. Already making friends in class, just as you said he would. It was his first day two weeks ago, while you were overseas." Holy linked her arm through his, leaving the most painful words unsaid.

Sadao finished cleaning up the spilled water, running a hand through his hair,  before hefting himself to his feet. A flood of newfound determination filling his veins, he tossed the rag on the table and started towards the hammocks. He couldn't change the past, but he could try again to change the future.

"How are you feeling?" He asked his son quietly, setting his saxophone case on the hammock next to him.

He saw the corner of Jotaro's eye flick towards him from under his cap, before returning to the page of his magazine.

"Fine." He shifted slightly in the hammock, angling himself away from his father.

Sadao nodded, wiping his brow. "That's good." Sadao removed his glasses and began cleaning the lenses. "Where did you get the copy of Jump?"

"Found it."

Sadao narrowed his eyes, squinting at a smudge on his glasses. "Where?"

Jotaro sighed. "Star Platinum picked it up for me. Back in Japan," he added forcefully. "I don't steal."

Sadao felt his shoulders tense up a bit. "I didn't assume that." He took an easy breath, smiling softly. "You've never been the type for mischief. When I heard that you were in jail, I knew that there had to be some mistake."

One of Jojo's eyebrows shot up. "How did you hear about that?"

"Holy, of course. She called me when it happened. She was nearly hysterical." He lifted up his glasses to the light, looking for any more dirt, and then, satisfied, slid them back on his face. "She really does worry about you, you know." He gave his son a knowing look. "It's in a mother's nature to worry, as she told me. She knows you're a good son, a good boy all grown up, but you can hardly fault a mother for worrying when her son is put in jail. But, as I told her, it's a father's nature to trust his son to flourish. I've always trusted you to do so. If I allowed myself to worry too much, I wouldn't have been able to tour at all." He shook his head, slumping slightly. "Perhaps I should have worried more."

Jotaro opened his mouth to reply.

"Sadao."

He sighed, closing his eyes in annoyance at the entrance of his father-in-law. Jotaro made a similarly disgusted noise, retreating once more behind his copy of Shounen Jump. Sadao turned around.

Mr. Joestar held up two bottles of cola, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “You look rested enough for a new trick. But you can finish your conversation, first."

Sadao looked at his son from the corner of his eye, before shaking his head again. The moment was lost. "I'm ready now," he said, striding over.

Mr. Joestar handed him a cola bottle. “We’ve spent most of our time on the technique of summoning negative Hamon, or Hamon that attracts or adheres objects to it. Now it’s time to learn a little bit about positively charged Hamon, or Hamon that repels.”

The old man suddenly spun his cola in his hand as if it were a revolver, changing fingers as expertly as any gunslinger, before-

POP!

A crackling stream of Coca-Cola shot out of the bottle just over Sadao’s head, the cap and supercharged soda whizzing straight across the room. The drink spattered itself against the opposite wall, the bottle cap embedding itself in the metal.

Mr. Joestar mimicked blowing smoke off of the lip of the bottle, before downing what remained of the drink.

“Your turn.”

At a quarter to seven that evening, the boat finally made landfall in Bassein, Burma. The air was heavy with coming rain and the scent of rice, a kaleidoscope of parasols and the hum of textile mills filling the streets. They jostled their way through the throng of traders and locals, squinting around for some signage in English. Sadao adopted his business face once more, giving off an air of someone who knew precisely where they were going. As he had learned from his touring, (and from unfortunate encounters with a few of E.M.'s "business associates"), the more confidence he projected in a crowd, the less likely it was for him to be approached by someone trying to sell him something. Mr. Avdol seemed to know this, as well, and the other men fell in behind him, trusting the Egyptian to lead them where they needed to be.

A droplet hit Sadao on the tip of his nose, and then another on his hand. As the rain began to patter down on the street, parasols popped up like a forest of multicolored mushrooms as the Burmese people went about their day. A low rumble of thunder was swiftly followed by a small gust of wind, the rain unfortunately doing very little to cool them off.

Polnareff swore under his breath from where he trudged alongside Sadao, wiping his forehead with a scowl. "Gah, the humidity is awful. Hey, Avdol!" he called out to the front of the line. "Have you found us a place to stay, or are we still taking a tour?"

Mr. Avdol raised his hand and glanced over his shoulder, not looking amused. "Patience, Polnareff. There's a hotel with English-speaking staff a few blocks away. We'll be there soon."

Polnareff scoffed. "'Patience'? You know squat about-" the words promptly died in his throat, and Sadao saw the Frenchman's head snap around to watch a trio of pretty young women in traditional dress walking by. The younger man made a noise of approval, before promptly stumbling over his own feet. Cursing again, he straightened up and faced forward.

The hotel itself was comfortable, if a little small. They once again shared rooms, this time three to a room. Sadao took the couch in a room with Mr. Joestar and Polnareff. The evening was altogether uneventful, with a cheap, but filling, dinner in their rooms, as none of them were particularly fond of the idea of going back outside. As soon as he was done eating, however, Sadao made his way out the door with his case, a watch, and two bottles of Coke.

Lap after lap around the hotel, he held a bottle in his hand, his case in the other. He first tried to keep the carbonation contained with negative Hamon, and then, when legs felt wobbly and positively ready to give out, he plopped down on the side of the road. The bottle in his hand shattered as his rhythm of breathing hitched, covering him in the sugary drink.

He sighed, simply too tired to care. Nonetheless, he rectified the error in his breathing pattern as soon as he could and flopped back, his head resting in the soggy grass, his feet in a puddle on the uneven, gravelly road.

The sky was an ink wash of heavy, slow-moving clouds, the bustle of the town moving around him. The locals seemed to pity him, as no one had yet attempted to approach him. That, or perhaps they were simply afraid of this strange man running in circles.

In...

...and out.

Sadao reached over for his remaining, intact Cola bottle, holding it with the little strength that remained in his body. Negative and positive Hamon...like magnets or electricity. It was simple enough of a concept. Humans themselves had minor magnetic fields. Electric signals sent commands through his cells. The human body was a miracle of design, a marvel of nature. It was only natural that Hamon, an energy of all life, would behave similarly.

In...and out.

It was oddly peaceful, lying here. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply empty his mind, to breathe, to live. Meditation was something Mr. Joestar had mentioned as part of a Hamon warrior's training, but he hadn't had the opportunity to indulge in it until now.

The rustle of wind skimming the streets and surrounding trees, the patter of raindrops against his skin, the crash of waves against the nearby shore, the footsteps and mumblings of a people in a foreign tongue, all of them completely unaware of the danger that lurked around the corner, the fate of the world hanging in the balance.

He shook away the thought of the vampire, instead focusing on his motivation.

Holy.

Oh, how he longed for her. Longed for her warm smile and bright eyes, her gentle and cheerful voice in his ear, her lovely body in his arms. How long had it been since he had seen her, held her, heard her voice? How long had it been since he had whispered sweet words in her ear, played music for her, danced with her, breathed in her scent?

A few months...no, a year. No...less than that...or was it-?

Too long. Far too long.

Every day and every night he missed her, every thought and moment he wished for her, with every breath he cursed himself for being away from her. He wanted her, and only her. He could have all the money and fame in the world, but it would mean nothing without her in his life. He would do anything for her, anything to run to her, and yet, he kept himself away. Now, he couldn't return at all. He would save her life, but he could not reenter her life without sending her into financial and emotional ruin.

What kind of man was he?

An exile in his own country, doomed to run, and a failure of a father and husband, that's what he was.

Forgive me, Holy.

In....

and out.

His Hamon was becoming easier to summon, now. A thin spark danced around his fingers as he scowled at the soda, sending Hamon into the glass with the intent to push, to repel, to release...

"Sadao."

He sat up.

"You've been staring at that bottle for ten minutes," Mr. Joestar yawned. "You're tired, I'm tired, and I can't leave you out here, so let's go in and sleep. We'll try again in the morning."

Sadao glanced up at the stars with a sigh.

"Yeah."

He hefted himself to his feet.

"Okay."

The rain petered off into a fog again as the sky darkened into night and the town began to sleep.

"Think like the enemy..." Mr. Joestar's voice warbled through his mind.

"Know fear and make fear your own.."

"You're not dead yet. Hamon energy flows through your blood. As long as your blood flows, so can your Hamon. So come on, get up. Get up. Let's try it again."

"Hamon can only be projected through the limbs. Arms and legs, nothing more. It will flow throughout your entire body, but only..."

"Joseph Joestar..."

...That voice.

"You're watching, aren't you?" He knew that cold, golden voice.

"Your Hamon isn't strong enough yet. It-" Mr. Joestar spoke again but was almost immediately drowned out.

"...is not enough to defeat me. It is utterly useless...useless...useless..."

"Kujo..."

"Useless, useless, useless, useless..."

"Sadao..."

"Utterly-"

"Kujo..."

"USELESS!"

"Mr. Kujo. Mr. Kujo, wake up."

Sadao blinked away the little sleep he had been able to secure, lifting himself up onto his forearm. Someone was shaking him awake.

The voice of Mr. Avdol spoke again. "It's about a quarter to six; breakfast will be served downstairs in about thirty minutes."

Sadao sat up, fumbling his glasses onto his face. "Where do we go after breakfast? Another boat?" His stomach churned at the mere thought.

Mr. Avdol offered him an understanding smile from where he knelt next to the couch. "Yes. I've secured a ride up the coast with a local trader; he will take us up to Sittwe, at least." He straightened up, offering Sadao a hand. "We can find a way into India from there. Let us move quickly; time is of the essence."

Sadao took Avdol's hand, then frowned, sniffing the air, before letting out a small laugh. "Is it reasonable for me to shower? Or maybe do some laundry?"

Mr. Avdol made a sound of amusement. "Certainly."

One much-needed shower and load of laundry later, they made their way back onto the water at just past eight. The man that Mr. Avdol had found to take them up the coast was a solemn fellow about Sadao's age, who spoke English well but seemed to prefer to say nothing at all. His boat was nothing like him; it was painted with a shiny green hull, was loaded up with colorful fabrics, and had a few young men for a rambunctious, loudmouthed crew. Sadao didn't need to speak the Burmese language to discern that they were laughing at him as he trained.

"Oi, shut it!" Mr. Joestar finally bellowed at the rowdy men, his temper finally lost. They stopped talking, their expressions ranging from annoyance to fear. Mr. Joestar pointed at the opposite end of the deck, towards the pilothouse. "Move along, will you?"

The men grumbled, with a few throwing rude gestures their way, but did as they were told.

Mr. Joestar turned back to Sadao with an exasperated shake of his head. "Try it again."

Sadao recentered himself with another breath, his Hamon flickering back to life.

In...and out.

Hamon into fingertips...

A surge of ripples filled his fingers.

...and then into the glass...

His Hamon flowed into the glass.

...and into the bottom of the bottle.

He could feel his Hamon obeying him in terms of the direction it was flowing, but it simply refused to move the soda anywhere.

"Good," Mr. Joestar encouraged. "Good. Focus it into a small point, not the entire bottom of the bottle. Remember the idea of a water pistol. A smaller point of entry results in a more powerful shot."

Sadao set his jaw, condensing the amplitude of his ripples. The Hamon slowly but surely began to decrease in size-

Chlink.

The bottle cracked, and soda began to leak out onto the deck.

Mr. Joestar sighed, shaking his head. "Almost. Almost." He paused, stroking his chin. "You need to focus the Hamon into a column pushing out in one direction, not both. You're shrinking it in all directions except one, so it has no other choice but to be forced out. I forgot to mention that..."

Sadao bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something rash. His patience was wearing thin.

In...and out.

Cool down, Kujo.

Cool down. Keep trying. Cool down.

And keep trying he did, with disappointingly mixed results.

Shrinking the circumference of the flow of the ripples left very little focus for him to keep the Hamon from shattering the glass entirely, let alone aiming it. Yet when he decreased the amount of Hamon he summoned, it wasn't sufficient to achieve his goal.

After a few fruitless hours of trying, Sadao dropped to his knees, the bottle slipping from his fingers and rolling across the deck. He looked up at Mr. Joestar with a sullen expression.

Mr. Joestar only nodded, gesturing to the entrance to the lower decks. Sadao nodded, then rose, trudging downstairs, his head low.

It takes time. Just like anything, it takes time and practice.

Practice. He'd been in need of a session for a while.

He retrieved his case and found a relatively quieter portion of the ship to play. The last thing he wanted was any of the crewmen watching him now. He smiled to himself. Of course, he was much more proficient with his saxophone than Hamon.

As he played, he felt the tension leave his body, the clouds flee his mind. He shed the weight on his shoulders, his fingers receiving strength and growing nimbler. A ringing filled his ears, and he opened his eyes to see very faint arcs of Hamon tracing its way around his hands and instrument.

That's new.

He smiled, then kept playing. Perhaps he had grown more proficient in Hamon than he thought.

He switched from the melodies of jazz standards to more fervent, virtuosic playing full of rapid progressions, all while keeping his volume low. The task was a deliciously good challenge. As he played, he felt his Hamon similarly intensify, the ripples creating a low hum and noticeable vibration in the brass.

And something clicked.

Embouchure.

Embouchure, or the positioning of his lips and teeth while playing, as well as the direction and level of pressure of his air flow, were key elements to mastering a woodwind. Just as he couldn't expect to produce a beautiful note with loose embouchure, hoping to make up for it with high air pressure, he couldn't expect to propel the soda out of the bottle with a ripple that was too spread out. He needed not to infuse the entire bottom with Hamon, but just the very center of it, and send a large amount of Hamon just through that point.

The water pistol. 

He dropped to the ground, digging around his case for his notepad and a pen, scrawling out on it a fundamental equation:

Water pistol = Embouchure

"You want me to punch you?" Sadao asked incredulously.

Mr. Joestar nodded. "Yes. Your Hamon is getting stronger, and so are you. We might as well get you started on some combat skills." He paused, scratching his face. "That, and we're out of soda bottles."

Sadao made a face.

Mr. Joestar continued: "Hamon itself won't do much against another human, but it can give you faster recovery, and greater endurance, power, speed, and flexibility." He clapped his hands together once, then held out his hands like they were boxing pads. "First! A punch."

"On your hands?"

"Anywhere! Well, stay away from below the belt, please."

Sadao hesitated, then swung.

Mr. Joestar caught his fist, as planned, but it was evident that he wasn't expecting his punch to have such an impact. He let go very quickly, holding his wrist. "That was...better than I thought it would be."

"I do know how to throw a punch," Sadao muttered. "Unfortunately." Seeing Mr. Joestar's raised eyebrow, he explained: "Being constantly abroad and playing at venues where alcohol is a prominent feature makes self-defense a necessity. That, and having a horrid temper as a young boy."

And having a crook for a manager.

Mr. Joestar blinked, taken aback. "You?"

Sadao gave a hollow laugh. "Yes, indeed. It took a few years, but I managed to calm down a bit as I grew older. If you ever wonder where Jotaro gets it, it might be me," he joked.

Mr. Joestar cracked a smile. "That would explain it. He certainly didn't get it from Holy."

Sadao nodded, drooping a little. "Yes, indeed."

There was a moment of grim silence, before Sadao shook himself, raising his fists. "Shall we go again?"

The older man smirked. "Sure thing. Only this time, we're going to spar. Last one to keep his Hamon flow wins." He stepped a few paces away from Sadao, spreading his arms out in a display of showmanship.

"The principle is simple: infuse your fists with Hamon and send it into the opponent. And don't worry; I'll go easy on you," he added, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Mr. Joestar adopted a fighting stance, using quite a bit more dramatic flair than Sadao thought was necessary. "Ready?"

Sadao nodded, taking off his glasses and setting them atop a nearby crate. He stepped forward, summoning his Hamon. Faint ripples appeared around his feet, spreading across the thin layer of sea water on the deck. "Ready."

"Go."

The two men rushed at each other, and the fight began.

Sadao knew he wasn't as strong as Mr. Joestar was, but he thought he might be a good bit faster.

He was wrong.

Mr. Joestar decked him on the chin with a powerful right hook, and Sadao felt his jaw vibrate with a few extra rings of Hamon. Determined, he kept his breathing steady, fixing his defensive stance.

"And the first hit goes to Joseph Joestar!" the geriatric crowed, falling back slightly. "Had enough yet? We can go back to just drills."

The level of self-satisfaction in Mr. Joestar's voice filled him with an overwhelming desire to get even, to win. "After one punch? I don't think so, Mr. Joestar." He successfully ducked Mr. Joestar's second swing, blocking the third before landing an uppercut.

The older man grunted, and Sadao thought he saw his breathing stutter in its rhythm, but he recovered in time. "That's the spirit!" He grabbed Sadao's arm, then twisted.

He gave a hiss of pain, his breath catching, but he similarly remedied his rhythm, refusing to yield. "I thought we were just doing punches!"

Mr. Joestar laughed. "Hmmhmm, that's funny! I don't remember ever saying that. Maybe if we were practicing drills! It's still an option if you quit." He twisted Sadao's arm further, putting him in a hold.

"Never," Sadao murmured, gritting his teeth as he exerted all of his energy into keeping his Hamon going, letting the energy flow down his legs, the pressure building in just the heel of his foot, before stomping with all of his might on Mr. Joestar's toes.

The moment Mr. Joestar cried out in pain, loosing his hold enough for Sadao to wriggle free, he strafed back a few paces.

"You cheated," Sadao said firmly.

"So did you!" Mr. Joestar laughed again, gingerly putting more pressure on his foot. "And I never said we had to play fair. It's a fight, after all. You should have known that before you accepted a brawl with Joesph Joestar!" He stomped on the deck, a tidal wave of Hamon energy travelling through the shallow puddle and up Sadao's legs, which locked up underneath him, sending him tumbling to the floor.

"Which you're free to call me, by the way," Mr. Joestar added sportingly, walking towards the smaller man. "Mr. Joestar makes me feel my age."

Sadao pushed himself onto his hands and knees, scrambling towards his saxophone case. He felt his father-in-law's hand close around his upper arm right as he wrapped his fingers around the handle of his case. He filled the case with Hamon energy and swung with all his might, and this time, it was enough to make a real impact.

CLANG.

The sound of reverberating metal and leather making contact with Mr. Joestar's face echoed off the walls of the ship. His victory was short-lived, as he found himself suspended in the air, an invisible thorny rope holding him fast.

Hermit Purple.

"Ah, this feels good!" Mr. Joestar cried, a wicked smile spreading across his busted lip. "Reminds me of my time with Caesar," he said with a fond look, which looked positively deranged as blood dripped from his temple. "Of course," he amended, swiping at the corner of his mouth with a gloved hand, the white fabric coming away crimson. "You're only half as good at fighting as he was." He smirked. "Lucky for you, you're also only half as punchable as he was, the git."

Sadao blinked, aiming for the other man with a kick. "'Git?'"

He huffed. "British slang! Enough already; our Hamon's gone out." Hermit Purple set Sadao back down, a little roughly, but Sadao managed to remain upright for a few moments. Mr. Joestar caught him by the arm again.

"You did rather well, for someone of your size and level of training. You stayed in the fight much longer than I thought you would."

Sadao gulped down some more air, stabilizing himself. The adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off, and he was becoming acutely aware of the pain in his body. "Thank you, Mr. Joestar."

"Joseph," the older man corrected him. "Please, I mean it. I don't need any more reminders that I'm not as young as I used to be." He prodded his mouth gently, hissing a little, before seeing Sadao's look. "What, this? Don't worry; I've had way worse. It'll heal quick enough, especially with Hamon. Which reminds me; I need to teach you that, don't I? I should have thought of that beforehand..."

Sadao shook his head with a small laugh. "What, you don't have a written lesson plan for this sort of thing?"

"Do I look like the kind of person that writes anything down?"

"Not particularly, Joseph."

And there was something nice, about being able to call his father-in-law by his name.

"Use...less...use...less..."

"Useless...useless...useless..."

"You're watching, aren't you?"

"Useless, useless, useless, how utterly useless!"

"My reign will last centuries!"

"USELESS!"

Sadao snapped awake, breathing heavy. A film of sweat coated his face and chest as he released the sheets of the hotel bed, not realizing that he had been holding them in the first place.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he pushed his glasses on his face and squinted to see the face of the alarm clock on the nightstand. 3:48 am. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and crept towards the bathroom, taking care not to wake Joseph in the other bed in their shared room. He shut the door and flicked on the light, which buzzed feebly above him as it struggled to come to life. He fumbled with the knobs of the tap, setting his glasses on the counter with one hand, rubbing his face with the other.

In...and out.

In...and out.

He splashed his face and neck with some water, which wasn't very cool, but enough to bring him out of half-sleep stupor. He placed his glasses over the bridge of his nose and ears with a sigh, his eyes adjusting. Gripping the sides of the sink, he stared at himself in the grimy mirror.

He looked awful.

The face that stared back at him was undoubtedly his, but he seemed to have aged ten years. There were still the same crinkles around his mouth from years of songs and smiles, the same small scar on the bridge of his sharp nose from when he was a boy, but now they seemed jagged, gaping, disfiguring. His hair was getting a little long, he decided, pulling absentmindedly at the strands. The natural cowlick on the crown of his head had grown even more unruly, his thick curls flicking up at the ends, particularly on the back of his neck. Its dusty black color was streaked with thin ribbons of silver, but that could hardly be helped. He was nearly fifty, after all. The dark circles that had long taken up residence under his large, dark eyes were even more pronounced now, giving him an undead look in combination with the yellowish cast of the lightbulb on his skin.

Undead. He shuddered. No. He wouldn’t think about that. Not right now. Beyond that, his face was unshaven and bristly, his skin a little sallow, his cheeks a bit gaunter, and his eyes dull and lifeless. But as he stared, he noticed something deep in his gaze that he missed before.

It was a dim, faint glow of something, of a fire that had long been thought to be extinguished. He blinked, and it was gone. He sighed. Perhaps there was nothing there at all.

He turned out the light, but, not particularly enthusiastic about sleeping, despite his exhaustion, he did not return to bed. Instead, he found himself grabbing a bottle of cola and wandering out onto the terrace patio that was shared with the adjoining room. Perhaps some fresh air would do him good, no matter how humid it was.

A faint breeze and largely still, silent night welcomed him as he stepped outside, but to his surprise, he found that he was not alone in this idea of getting fresh air.

Standing there in the faint starlight, his forearms propped up on the railing was none other than Polnareff.

The Frenchman turned his head to look at Sadao, the same dark cloud that had been following him since Singapore cast over his countenance.

The two of them stared at each other, saying nothing for a moment. Sadao broke the silence first.

"Couldn't sleep?"

The Frenchman grunted.

Sadao nodded, taking a tentative step forward. Polnareff made no moves to leave or signs of protest, so he closed the door behind himself, standing opposite to the younger man.

The silence returned. A small gust of wind rustled the nearby trees. A car passed by on the neighboring street.

"Sadao."

He looked up.

Polnareff did not look at him, but continued to speak, staring out into the horizon. "I don't believe I'll be with you all much longer."

Sadao remained quiet, allowing him to finish, though a sinking feeling formed in his gut as he waited.

"He's close. The man with two right hands," Polnareff growled. "The one who killed my sister," he added, and this time, when he spoke it was in little more than a strained whisper. "I can feel it."

Sadao gulped. "H-How?"

"I just know it," Polnareff snapped, before pausing, taking a breath. "I've been on edge for the past few days; surely you've recognized it?"

Sadao only nodded.

"My destiny awaits. Vengeance," he said, his knuckles turning white as he straightened up, gripping the railing. "Will be mine. And I won't let anything," he raised himself to his full height, taking a threatening step towards Sadao. "Or anyone," another step, "stand in my way."

"I swear it."

Polnareff towered over him, glowering down at him with such boiling hate, feral rage, and unparalleled anguish that Sadao's skin erupted into goosebumps. He shivered, despite the warmth of the evening. 

"What do you intend to do?" he whispered.

"Whatever it takes," Polnareff breathed, his clenched fists shaking. "I'll slaughter that bastard for what he did to Sherry. No one will stop me."

The two men stared at each other, for one second, two seconds, three-

Despite his better judgment, Sadao, too, straightened up, looking Polnareff dead in the eye. He paused, then offered the young man his hand to shake.

"It will be a shame to see you go," Sadao said slowly. "So might I suggest that you accept our help?"

Polnareff sneered. "I don't need any help."

"Perhaps not," Sadao said calmly. "But here I am, offering it. We may not have known each other long, but you can count on me, Polnareff. We shall see that Sherry-" he faltered, seeing how the man's nostril's flared at the mention of her name. He pressed on, steeling himself. "That Sherry did not die in vain."

Polnareff regarded him coldly, then turned away, ignoring Sadao's outstretched hand. "I shall see that that happens. You just stay out of my way." He opened the door to his room, but hesitated slightly in the doorway, as if he were questioning himself. "But..." he stopped himself, glancing back at Sadao, then shook his head and disappeared inside.

Sadao let go of the breath he was holding, chewing the inside of his cheek. He shouldn't have been surprised, but he couldn't help but find himself greatly disappointed in himself for letting the conversation end that way. Hatred was tearing that young man apart, and if he wasn't careful, he would get himself killed.

He swallowed, hard, his fingers closing more tightly around the forgotten cola bottle in his hand.

No.

Polnareff will not die.

In...and out.

As long as he was around this group, he would do all that he could to keep them safe. That is what he strove to do. That dim glow he saw in the mirror seemed to grow inside of him, and he felt for the first time in years the will to survive, to triumph, to win against all odds. To clear his name, return home, and live the life he lost. To be brave.

In...and out.

Holy. I promise you; you will be saved. I will not let you, or our son, or this good man die. Not as long as I'm around.

In...and out.

I swear it.

POP.

The lid of the bottle sailed into the horizon, a shimmering trail of soda behind it.