Cairo, Egypt. On the banks of the Nile, deep within an ancient mansion sealed away from the modern world.
No lamplight burned inside.
Only a thin blade of moonlight slipped through the heavy curtains, barely sketching the outline of a tall figure resting in the darkness.
Suddenly, the figure sat upright.
A pale hand rose slowly — fingers bloodless and elegant — brushing across the back of his neck. Where skin met muscle, a grotesque circular scar lay embedded, raw and permanent. Below it, on flesh that had once belonged to the Joestar bloodline, a purple star-shaped birthmark pulsed with a faint, living warmth.
As if answering a call from somewhere far away.
"Hmph..."
A low, amused chuckle echoed through the silent room.
"That sensation again," the man murmured. "The feeling of being watched."
He turned. Long golden hair caught the weak moonlight, shimmering with an eerie, cold luster. His face remained obscured in shadow — but within that darkness, a pair of crimson eyes gleamed with ancient intelligence and an absolute, unhurried cruelty.
"So... they truly are Jonathan's descendants."
His fingers pressed slowly into the star-shaped birthmark.
"Even after a hundred years," he whispered, voice laced with something between mockery and reverence, "your body still reaches toward them, Jonathan. Are you begging them to save you?" A pause. "Or guiding them here to die?"
He released his grip. A cold smile curved his lips.
"It doesn't matter either way."
DIO walked toward the staircase, gazing down into the dark below.
"It's earlier than I expected," he admitted calmly, "but my preparations are complete. Those who have already received my Flesh Bud are waiting for them."
At the bottom of the stairs lay a corpse.
A young woman, once beautiful. Now she resembled a dried doll — skin shriveled and grey, eye sockets hollow and sunken, her face frozen in an expression caught precisely between ecstasy and terror. At her neck, three deep finger-thick holes marked where blood vessels had been punctured and drained in an instant, leaving nothing behind.
DIO stepped over her body without slowing, without looking down. She had ceased to be a person the moment she ceased to be useful.
His presence dissolved into the deeper darkness of the mansion.
Only a whisper remained.
"I will be waiting... at the end of the darkness."
The Kujo residence was a traditional Japanese mansion — quiet, meticulously maintained, and unreasonably spacious.
Walking through the carefully tended courtyard, listening to the soft sound of water moving somewhere nearby, Shintaro found himself genuinely marveling. So this is what it actually looks like to grow up rich.
"Shintaro, this will be your room."
Holly slid open a paper door with a warm smile. "It was a guest room before, but I've tidied it up. The bedding was aired out in the sun this morning."
Shintaro stepped inside. The faint scent of tatami and dried sunlight greeted him, clean and unhurried.
"These pajamas might be a little large," Holly added, setting a neatly folded yukata down on the tatami. "They belonged to Sadao — that's Jotaro's father. He used to wear them." Her gaze drifted to Shintaro's worn T-shirt and stayed there for a moment, a quiet concern passing through her expression.
"Shintaro..." she said gently. "I don't know what you've been through, or how you came to lose your memories. But while you're in this house, you can relax."
She reached out — then hesitated, as if reconsidering — and settled for a light, careful pat on his shoulder.
"Please treat this place like your home."
Warmth moved through Shintaro's chest before he could stop it.
For someone who had arrived in this world with nothing but a name, that uncomplicated kindness hit harder than any Stand attack ever could. No wonder Jotaro would one day cross half the world for this woman. She didn't try to be warm — she simply was.
"Thank you, Aunt Holly," Shintaro said sincerely. "I really mean it."
After changing into the loose yukata, Shintaro stepped out into the corridor that faced the courtyard. The evening air was soft, carrying the sound of the bamboo water feature tapping rhythmically against stone.
Joseph Joestar sat there cross-legged, holding a cup of steaming tea, staring at the bamboo feature with the blank, companionable gaze of a man who has temporarily run out of opinions.
"Yo, all settled in?" Joseph didn't look up, but he patted the cushion beside him. "Sit, kid. This humidity is genuinely terrible. Cities surrounded by water are the worst."
Shintaro sat without ceremony.
"Mr. Joseph," he said, keeping his tone casual, "your left hand is a prosthetic, isn't it? Forgive my asking — was it lost in a battle with a Vampire?"
Joseph chuckled. "Oh, this? I lost it fighting things even nastier than Vampires."
"Nastier?"
"Older. Stronger. A different category entirely."
"And you still won?"
Joseph's eyes went distant for a moment — somewhere far back in time — and he smiled with the particular satisfaction of a man who has lived an unreasonable amount of life.
The conversation moved easily from there. Joseph talked; Shintaro listened and asked just enough questions to keep it flowing. The atmosphere was relaxed in a way that felt genuinely earned.
Then Shintaro's skull turned into a problem.
"Meat..." "Protein..." "Boss, I'm starving. Can we take this old man's mechanical arm apart and eat it?"
The chorus of voices detonated inside his head all at once.
Shintaro's vision swam. Cold sweat formed at his temples.
"Um — Mr. Joestar." He tried to keep his voice level. "I think something might be wrong."
Joseph turned, surprised. "What is it?"
"My Stand," Shintaro said through clenched teeth. "It's hungry."
Joseph stared at him. "...A Stand that gets hungry?"
"It seems to be a bit different from yours. It needs physical food."
As if summoned by divine timing, Holly appeared from the corridor carrying a plate of sliced fruit.
"Oh, is Shintarou-kun hungry?" she asked brightly. "Dinner will be ready soon — I was thinking tempura tonight. How does that sound?"
Shintaro snapped his head toward her.
He reached out and grabbed her sleeve without thinking, urgency stripping away any pretense of politeness.
"Aunt Holly — I'm sorry — but is there any meat in the house? A large amount of meat?"
"Eh?"
"Eggs, beef, chicken, milk — anything rich in protein. Please. As much as you have."
Holly blinked at the genuine desperation in his face — then nodded immediately, already moving. "We have some! There's a large piece of beef I was saving for Jotaro's steak, and plenty of eggs. I'll start cooking right now."
"It doesn't need to be complicated!" Shintaro gasped. "Just boil it — medium-rare is fine. Thank you, Aunt Holly."
Joseph watched the exchange with the thoughtful expression of a scientist presented with an unexpected specimen. "Good God. A Stand that physically consumes matter to sustain itself... That is genuinely remarkable."
He stroked his chin, fascinated.
Ten minutes later.
Jotaro stepped out of his room — and stopped.
The dining table was a battlefield of empty plates.
Shintaro was shoveling through a massive slab of medium-rare steak at a speed that suggested he had never encountered anything so important. He barely paused to chew. In the shadow cast by his body against the floor, dozens of tiny black arms reached out silently from the darkness, dragging dropped scraps back into the deep.
"...Yare yare," Jotaro muttered, pulling his hat brim down.
A glutton had apparently moved in.
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