The tall, thin guard standing outside the cell crossed his arms, his expression stiff with forced authority.
"This isn't some luxury hotel," he snapped.
Before the words had fully settled in the air, Jotaro calmly reached down and picked up a can of beer from beside him.
No hesitation.
No explanation.
He took a ballpoint pen, pierced the bottom of the can with practiced precision, then pulled the ring tab on top.
Pop.
Foam surged out through the small hole at the base. Jotaro tilted his head back slightly and caught the flow with perfect ease, taking a slow, unhurried sip.
Shintaro, watching from the corner, almost laughed out loud.
There it is, he thought. That scene.
The guard's eyes widened as if they were about to fall out of his skull.
"Th–that's—!" He pointed at the can, his voice cracking. "This is a jail cell! Where did you get beer?!"
Jotaro exhaled softly and set the empty can aside.
"I told you," he said flatly. "It's the 'Evil Spirit.' It brings things."
He lifted his chin slightly, indicating the radio, the toy car, the scattered magazines—items that had absolutely no business existing inside a detention cell.
Both guards stared.
Their faces drained of color.
"How…" the tall guard muttered, cold sweat forming at his temples. "How is that even possible…?"
Jotaro rose to his feet.
The air inside the cell shifted the instant he stood, pressure building like a storm front rolling in. He stepped closer to the iron bars and tugged the brim of his hat lower.
"Wait," he said. "If this is all I show you… you'll still insist on letting me out, won't you?"
Without warning, he reached forward.
The air warped.
A faint, blurred purple outline formed—an arm emerging from nothingness.
It shot forward with surgical precision.
Snap!
The belt at the tall guard's waist snapped cleanly in two.
Before either guard could even scream, the gun vanished from its holster, passed cleanly through the gaps between the bars, and landed solidly in Jotaro's hand.
From start to finish, it took less than a second.
Only Shintaro and Holly saw the purple arm.
The guards didn't.
They simply stood there, frozen, staring at the impossible absence at the guard's waist.
"M–my… gun?" the tall guard whispered, hands shaking as he felt empty air. "H–how did he—?"
"This…" the second guard croaked, face paper-white. "This is really bad…"
Shintaro didn't blink.
Here it comes, he thought. The proof.
Jotaro raised the gun.
His breathing deepened, steady but heavy. His eyes sharpened.
He pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The gunshot thundered through the corridor.
But Jotaro's head didn't explode.
Star Platinum's arm flashed into existence at the exact instant the bullet left the chamber, fingers closing around it mid-flight.
The bullet spun violently between its fingers, smoke curling from the heated metal.
Shintaro and Holly saw it clearly.
The guards didn't.
To them, the bullet simply stopped in midair—then dropped to the floor with a soft clink.
Silence crashed down.
The guard with thinning hair lost all strength in his legs and collapsed onto the ground.
"What… what…?" the other whispered, eyes unfocused, breath shallow.
Holly stared at Jotaro, her expression complicated—fear, worry, and dawning realization tangled together.
Shintaro turned his head away, biting down hard on his lips.
He was seconds away from laughing.
Because the scene before him made one thing painfully obvious.
Star Platinum had been suffering.
Loyal to the point of absurdity.
Endlessly protective.
Dragged into prison alongside its master and labeled an "Evil Spirit."
To keep Jotaro entertained, it sneaked out daily to bring back food and supplies. It crushed mosquitoes so Jotaro wouldn't get bitten. It fetched radios, magazines, drinks—anything to make confinement bearable.
And what did it get in return?
A prison sentence and a bad nickname.
If Shintaro were Star Platinum, he'd have snapped long ago.
He finally failed to hold it in.
"Pfft—"
The laugh echoed sharply through the cell.
Four pairs of eyes locked onto him.
The tall guard pointed at Shintaro, his arm trembling violently.
"H–he even brought someone in here?!"
Jotaro didn't bother responding. He turned to Holly, adjusted his hat, and sighed.
"Yare yare… You've seen everything. Stop trying to get me out."
He walked back to his bunk and lay down as if nothing had happened.
As for who Shintaro was—or why he existed in this cell—Jotaro clearly didn't care enough to explain.
Left awkwardly alone, Shintaro could only force a polite, deeply uncomfortable smile toward the guards.
"…Hello~?"
"Aaaaaah!!"
That was the last straw.
The guards abandoned all dignity, scrambling down the corridor in a blind panic. Their footsteps faded rapidly into the distance.
Holly watched them go and let out a quiet sigh.
She turned back toward Jotaro. He lay on his side, motionless, offering her nothing but his back.
"Wait for me, Jotaro," she said softly. "Mama will get you out of here."
Then she left.
The corridor fell silent.
Shintaro stared after her, mentally criticizing the guards. Not only had they failed to release Jotaro, they were now too terrified to even deliver meals.
Fortunately, the so-called "Evil Spirit" was considerate.
Every day, Star Platinum brought food.
Rice balls.
Bread.
Once, even a box of fried chicken—still warm.
Almost certainly stolen right under a fast-food restaurant's surveillance camera.
A golden-hearted spirit, Shintaro thought dryly. Definitely not evil.
Jotaro, too, seemed to gradually realize that he could control the "Evil Spirit."
Though his expression remained impatient, his use of that power became smoother, more deliberate.
His attitude toward Star Platinum, however, didn't change in the slightest.
Still just an "Evil Spirit."
Leaning against the wall, Shintaro watched as the purple figure slipped through the bars once more, gently setting a can of coffee beside Jotaro's bed.
He shook his head inwardly.
That's not an Evil Spirit…
That's proof a certain hundred-year-old bastard has finally woken up.
Click. Click. Click.
High heels echoed down the corridor, accompanied by a loud, elderly voice speaking fluent English.
"Oh my God! Why is a Japanese detention center so depressing? Don't they even have a coffee machine?!"
Shintaro's eyes lit up.
He's here.
The guards reappeared, visibly trembling as they led the way. Behind them walked a tall Caucasian elder in an expensive trench coat and fedora—followed by Holly Kujo.
Joseph Joestar.
"Jotaro!"
"Get lost, you old bastard!" Jotaro snapped instantly. "I told you not to come near me! I'll hurt you!"
"Oh, shit! You brat!" Joseph shouted back, mustache bristling. "How dare you talk to your mother like that?!"
Then his gaze swept across the cell.
It stopped on Shintaro.
Joseph's sunglasses slid down slightly.
"Huh?" He squinted. "Who's that? Jotaro, you keeping a pet in there too?"
"Some guy I don't know," Jotaro replied impatiently. "Old Man, take that woman and leave. This 'Evil Spirit' is restless today."
As if on cue—
Star Platinum manifested again.
A low, chilling growl rippled through the air.
"ORA."
The iron bars hummed violently as an invisible shockwave slammed into them.
______________
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