"Rohan! What happened to you?! Where's the enemy?! Where's Mr. Jotaro??"
Josuke stood at the door but didn't step inside.
He couldn't afford to waste a single second of the time Inori had bought him. But that was exactly why he hesitated—Big Sis had warned him that Mr. Jotaro's group was also under attack. The room was dim, but he could still make out Rohan, and something about him looked wrong. His lower body seemed almost... blurry.
—Someone's in there. An ambush.
"..."
Rohan swallowed hard. He didn't answer.
No one could know what was going through his mind in that moment. From Damo's perspective, no one could possibly defy him here. He'd applied more than enough intimidation. No one would willingly endure having acid poured over their head again.
And according to Kira's intel, Rohan Kishibe was an extremely self-centered manga artist who'd had personal friction with Josuke for years. He had no reason to refuse. Using him as bait was the perfect choice.
"Rohan, call out to him. Loud. Tell him to come save you."
"You're incredibly fragile right now—you saw what happened to Jotaro, didn't you? If you don't cooperate, I'll shove a bill straight into your brain. You know what that means. But if you lure him in, I'll let you live."
"Hurry up!"
"Rohan! Say something! Where's Mr. Jotaro?! What's wrong with you?!"
Josuke was losing patience. Every second he wasted here was another second of danger for Inori outside. If Rohan didn't respond soon, he'd have to charge in regardless.
"Come on, Rohan. He's getting suspicious—he won't come in~" Damo murmured in his ear. "You two don't get along, right? Just call him in, and you get to live. You can keep drawing your manga. Sound good?"
Damo was puzzled. He'd laid it all out. Any normal person would have agreed in a heartbeat. But the green-haired manga artist just sat there with his head down, breathing hard, like he was still wrestling with something inside.
"Do you want to die?"
Damo's voice turned to ice.
"If you don't open your mouth, I'm going to throw you into a washing machine. Imagine yourself in there—like a piece of laundry being shredded by the spinning blades. Ha ha ha, I can barely wait to see what that looks like."
"..." Rohan's whole body shuddered. "If I call him in... you'll really let me go?"
"Heh."
—Knew it. Nobody can take my interrogation. One throwaway threat and he crumbles. Ha ha ha.
"Kira's dead. I've got no beef with you. You keep doing your manga thing, I keep running my syndicate. We stay out of each other's way."
"Now call him! Do it!"
Damo's excitement was palpable.
But at that precise moment—when everything he'd orchestrated was about to converge into a single, decisive point—Rohan Kishibe relaxed his shoulders.
And gave his answer.
"But I refuse."
"What?"
Damo froze.
"What I, Rohan Kishibe, enjoy doing the most is telling someone who thinks they're stronger than me... 'No.' Josuke! Run! Get out of here!"
In that instant, Rohan made his choice.
He knew he was going to die. But between betraying an ally and clinging to life with that stain on his conscience, Rohan chose refusal without hesitation. This was his defiance. This was his resolve.
"If you walk in, you'll turn to mush too! Go! He'll kill you!"
"Rohan Kishibe! You're dead!"
Damo erupted with rage. No more hiding. He shot to his feet, snatched the glass jar full of Kira's fingernail clippings from the table, and smashed it down onto Rohan's head.
"GAAAH!!"
Rohan went down screaming. The weight of the jar smashed his head flat—but because his body was now membrane-soft, it was pure pressure rather than a fracture. The jar sank deep into his skull. Had Damo been truly vicious enough to scatter those fingernails across Rohan's body, the pain might have sent him into immediate shock.
Small mercies.
"Rohan!"
—You... you did that for me...
Josuke saw everything from outside the door. A wave of anguish crashed over him and twisted into something that threatened to tear his heart in two.
...Big Sis was the same way. And now even the manga artist he'd always looked down on was willing to sacrifice himself. What the hell? You always acted like I was beneath you... so why would you warn me now?
—I have to go in.
—For Big Sis... for my friends!
"UOAAAAAAA!!"
A scream of raw, uncontainable fury tore from Josuke's throat. His brilliant blue eyes blazed as if a wildfire burned behind them. Golden light erupted from his body like smoke, and Crazy Diamond materialized at his side.
—I have to win. I have to beat this man. Whatever his ability is—I beat him right now. Otherwise, Big Sis Inori and Rohan are finished!
"Ha! You fell for it, Josuke Higashikata!"
Damo cackled in triumph.
"Didn't expect you to be this stupid! I'm literally dying of laughter!"
Josuke's foot hit a handprint on the wooden floor. Vitamin C activated instantly. Mid-charge and caught completely off guard, the boy's balance buckled and he pitched sideways.
—This idiot! I warned him—I went out of my way to warn him!
Rohan lay pinned to the floor with the jar embedded in his head, unable to see out of either eye. All he could do was rage silently at the fool.
—This is exactly why I can't stand you—you never listen! That's... that's why you make me so furious!
"My body... I can't put any strength into it..."
Josuke collapsed face-first onto the floor, gritting his teeth as he tried to push himself up. Impossible.
His hands were going flat. Not just his hands—his arms, his entire body was converting into something thin and membranous. So this was the enemy's ability. No wonder Mr. Jotaro had been helpless against it.
"Die!"
Damo was done tormenting people with banknotes. This time he reached for a different tool—a plastic straw. One of the drinking straws Kira had left on the table for his milk.
Damo picked up three straws with evident satisfaction and drove them into Josuke's neck in one go.
"...!"
The pain savaged his nerves. But Josuke's fury had crossed every threshold. He couldn't even register the pain anymore. Only one thought occupied his mind: beat this carrot-shaped bastard's face in.
"GRAAAH!!"
Josuke howled and forced himself upright through sheer will, like a wounded lion. But the movement only drove the straws deeper—straight through the weakest point in that softened zone, his carotid artery. Blood erupted in a geyser. Even in his softened state, the spray was forceful enough to spatter across Damo's face.
"Ha ha, you really are nothing but a brute." Damo watched Josuke's desperate thrashing and laughed harder than ever. "You think you'll survive losing that much blood? I know your ability can't heal yourself!"
"Who said... I'm healing myself?"
Josuke's voice shook. Blood was still flowing. But through sheer, horrifying willpower, he summoned Crazy Diamond once more.
"What I'm healing is the blood that's already left my body."
(③)
Before Damo could process those words, Crazy Diamond struck. One punch slammed into the pooling blood—and the spilled liquid snapped back together, instantly reformed into three massive, solid blood-spikes. Dark red crystalline points glinted with a lethal cold light in the blood-scented air.
Crazy Diamond's power wasn't limited to simple restoration. It could "repair" matter into any shape its user desired.
Drawn by the blood droplets already clinging to Damo's face, the three spear-sharp blood-spikes hurtled straight toward him.