Giorno spoke calmly, as if he were telling a story that had nothing to do with him.
"It happened many years ago."
He gently rubbed the pin in his hand, his pupils reflecting the flames dancing in the fireplace.
"My father—Dio Kent—he died."
"?!"
Clark shot to his feet, his chair scraping across the floor with a shrill screech.
Dio… dead?
His blue eyes widened, his lips trembling, but no words came out. It was as if he had suddenly forgotten how to speak.
At only eight years old, Clark clearly couldn't grasp the full meaning of death. But even so, the very word pressed down on him with unbearable weight.
His brother, the one he spent every day with… his dearest, closest friend… could die?
On the other side, Dio looked calmer, but the way his fingers clenched the armrest of the couch betrayed his unease. No one could remain calm after hearing the date of their own death—especially not an eight-year-old child.
"Giorno!" Locke couldn't hold back anymore. "Don't joke about something like that."
There was no way he'd ever let something like this happen.
"I don't know much either."
Giorno's eyes slid across Locke's tense face. Sensing what Locke wanted to ask, he continued, "That day, Grandpa, all you said was 'I'll be back later.' But you never came back."
"The only one who returned was Uncle Clark."
"I asked countless times."
His voice carried the weariness of someone far older than his years. "But Uncle Clark never once revealed the truth behind those two events."
"Later, Uncle Clark sent me to Italy, to my birth mother's family."
"But a year later, he suddenly showed up again. Without explanation, he dragged me off to Metropolis."
The flames in the fireplace suddenly flared higher, throwing Giorno's shadow onto the wall, twisting it into something monstrous.
"In Metropolis, on the top floor of the Manhattan Building, he pressed his hand on my shoulder and pointed at the glowing city beneath us. He said—"
Giorno cleared his throat.
And in a cold, detached voice, he mimicked the words etched into his memory:
'The world will belong to the Kent family.'
'Giorno, Dio will be proud of you.'
Dio's red eyes narrowed in shock as he turned toward Clark.
This big oaf… that powerful?!
"For the next eight years," Giorno went on with a bitter smile, "Uncle Clark ruled almost the entire world with absolute strength. He crowned himself the 'Heavenly Emperor,' crushing every rebellion with an iron fist, claiming he would purge humanity of the seven deadly sins."
"And he did it with the harshest methods."
"The whole world fell under his will—ordered, quiet, peaceful. But no one could endure it. Certainly not me."
"So when I managed to escape, I joined the rebellion."
"The Republican Society Against Tyranny."
Boom—!
Lightning split the night sky, flooding the living room with a sudden white glare that painted shifting shadows across their faces.
Outside, the storm grew worse. Heavy rain hammered against the tin roof of the farmhouse, each drop striking like a drum. Wind lashed the fields, bending the golden wheat stalks flat to the ground.
Inside, silence weighed heavily. Only the crackle of burning wood mixed with the pounding rain.
Locke stood before the fireplace, his tall frame flickering in the firelight.
At the dining table, Clark nervously fiddled with the bouquet Giorno had conjured. His heightened senses picked up everything—the rain outside, the creak of the barn doors swaying in the wind—but none of it compared to the pressure of Giorno's words.
He didn't understand much… but he understood enough.
Somehow, in the future, he became a very, very bad man.
White Gold Star handed Giorno a cup of hot cocoa. Locke glanced up at the family photo on the wall—Dio scowling as Locke forced him into the frame, Clark grinning awkwardly at his side, Martha and Jonathan standing proudly behind them.
Speaking of which…
"Giorno," Locke said after a pause. "What about your other uncles—or aunts?"
Giorno tilted his head, the three golden curls atop his head bouncing with the motion. His expression turned puzzled.
"Other uncles?"
Wasn't Clark his father's only brother?
Suddenly, his eyes widened, and the cocoa nearly spilled from his hands. "Wait… Grandpa, don't tell me you left me some backup?!"
"You have no idea how short-staffed our organization is right now!"
He leapt to his feet and paced anxiously. "Professor Charles has been holding everything together by himself. If there are other uncles out there… If just one Uncle Clark could rule the world, then imagine—"
"Hey, kid." Dio rolled his eyes. "Aren't you overthinking this a bit?"
He jabbed a finger at himself, then at Clark. "It's just us here. What 'other uncles'?"
But Giorno ignored him, muttering to himself:
"If we can defeat Dictator Clark, the world's peace could…"
"Stop!"
Locke rubbed his temples. White Gold Star pressed Giorno's shoulders down, steadying him. "Calm down, kid. I was only asking casually."
Still, Locke was starting to understand.
The Giorno in front of them likely came from… another timeline.
Or maybe… a multiverse.
After all, the system kept dropping off kids at his door every few years. How could the future leave him with only Dio as a son?
Unless the system glitched again.
Then Locke remembered Giorno had mentioned a "Professor Charles." His curiosity sparked. "So, Giorno, how exactly did you cross over—"
"I—"
But before he could finish, Giorno's body began to glow faintly with golden light. His outline turned translucent. Even Gold Experience crumbled into golden dust that scattered into the air.
"Sorry, Grandpa."
Looking down at his fading hands, Giorno managed a wry smile. "My time's up."
He raised his gaze to Locke, his golden eyes heavy with reluctance.
"Grandpa. Maybe the future changed, or maybe I've just run out of time…"
"Either way, listen to me. Be careful with the barn."
"Tonight is a turning point. The professor said that in this storm, my Grandma Martha and Grandpa Jonathan—whom I've never met—they…"
His voice began to thin, his form rippling like a reflection on water. He sighed, regret dripping from every word.
"Looks like I can't say more. That's as far as it goes, Grandpa."
"I just hope… when I wake again…"
Boom!
Lightning flashed, illuminating Giorno's fading smile.
"…I'll see a brighter future."
Crack—!
His figure dissolved completely into golden motes, drifting upward like raindrops in reverse until they vanished into the ceiling.
Silence blanketed the room.
Only a half-finished cup of cocoa and the lingering warmth on the couch proved that a golden-haired boy had truly been there.
"…Uncle Locke," Clark asked nervously, "am I really going to become that kind of villain?"
Locke didn't answer right away. Instead, he bent down and picked up the blue ladybug Giorno had left behind. He rubbed a thumb across its delicate back.
It was alive.
Pinning it to his own chest, Locke spoke softly:
"No."
"Because from this moment on, history has already changed."
Summoning White Gold Star, he pushed open the farmhouse door.
Through the curtain of rain, his eyes locked on the barn nearby.
There—
A massive shadow was beginning to rise in silence.
---