Giorno's voice was calm, as if he were narrating a story that had nothing to do with him.
"It happened many years ago."
He gently rubbed the ladybug brooch on his chest, the firelight from the hearth flickering in his pupils.
"My father—Dio Kent… he died."
"?!"
Clark shot to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the wooden floor.
Dio… would…
die?
His blue eyes widened like saucers, his lips trembled but no sound came out—like language itself had deserted him.
At just eight years old, Clark couldn't really understand the meaning of death.
But even so, the word weighed on him with unbearable force.
His brother who lived at his side, his dearest friend bound by unshakable loyalty—
Could die?
On the other side, Dio looked calmer, but the way his fingers suddenly dug into the sofa's armrest betrayed the storm raging in his chest.
No one can remain indifferent after hearing the date of their own death—
let alone an eight-year-old child.
"Giorno!" Locke finally couldn't hold back. "Don't joke about something like that."
As if he would ever let such a thing happen!
"I don't know the details, either."
Giorno's eyes flicked toward Locke's tense face, as if he had guessed the question forming there. He continued,
"That day, Grandpa, you only said 'I'm going out for a bit'—and you never came back."
"The only one who returned… was Uncle Clark."
"I asked him over and over again."
Giorno's voice carried a weight far too heavy for his age.
"But Uncle Clark always kept silent about the truth of those two events."
"Later, Uncle Clark sent me to Italy—to my birth mother's family."
"But a year later, he suddenly appeared again. Without a word, he dragged me back to Metropolis."
The flames in the fireplace suddenly flared higher, casting Giorno's shadow long across the wall, twisting it into something monstrous.
"On the top floor of the Manhattan Tower in Metropolis, he held my shoulder, and pointed at the glittering city beneath us, saying—"
Giorno cleared his throat, imitating the icy tone seared into his memory:
'The world will ultimately belong to the Kent family.'
'Giorno, Dio would be proud of you.'
Dio's crimson eyes contracted sharply. He stared at Clark in disbelief.
This big oaf… that strong?!
"After that… for eight years."
Giorno shook his head with a bitter smile.
"Uncle Clark ruled nearly the entire world with absolute power."
"He proclaimed himself the Emperor of Heaven, the sovereign, crushing all resistance with an iron fist—declaring he would purge humanity of its seven deadly sins."
"And yes—"
"He used the cruelest of methods."
"Under his will, everything in the world became orderly, calm, peaceful."
"But no one could endure it. Least of all me."
"So, after secretly escaping, I joined the resistance against the Emperor—"
"The Anti-Injustice Republican Party."
BOOM!
A jagged bolt of lightning tore across the night sky, flooding the living room with blinding light, throwing chaotic shadows across all four faces.
Outside, the storm worsened, rain lashing the tin roof of the farmhouse with a deafening crackle.
The gale swept through the wheat fields, pressing the golden stalks flat before they could be harvested.
Inside, the living room was thick with a suffocating silence, broken only by the hiss of burning logs and the relentless hammer of rain.
Locke stood before the fireplace, his tall frame thrown against the wall by the flickering firelight, swaying like a phantom.
At the dining table, Clark fidgeted nervously with the bouquet Giorno had conjured earlier.
His senses had grown keener—he could hear the rain outside, the barn's tin siding groaning under the wind, all of it rushing into his ears at once.
But none of it pressed on him harder than Giorno's words just now.
Even if he didn't understand them fully—
But even so, he could still tell—
In the future, it seemed he would become a very, very bad villain.
Locke had Star Platinum brew a cup of hot cocoa and hand it to Giorno, then he lifted his gaze to the family portrait hanging on the wall—
Dio, looking reluctant, being held in place by Locke; Clark grinning foolishly at his side.
Martha and Jonathan stood behind them, one on each side.
Speaking of which—
"Giorno."
"Your other uncles…" Locke hesitated a moment, "or should I say, aunts?"
Giorno tilted his head, the three golden donut-shaped curls atop his head swaying gently with the motion.
A confused look spread across his face:
"Other uncles?"
Wasn't Dad's only brother Clark?
Then his eyes suddenly widened, nearly spilling the hot cocoa from his hands.
"Wait—Grandpa, don't tell me you left me other backup options?!"
"God knows how desperately short-handed our organization is right now!"
He leapt up in excitement, pacing back and forth in the living room.
"Professor Charles is the only one holding everything up—if there are other uncles…"
"Just one Uncle Clark was strong enough to rule the whole world—then other uncles…"
"Hey, brat." Dio finally couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Aren't you overthinking this?"
He pointed to himself, then to Clark. "It's just the few of us here. Where would these other uncles come from?"
But Giorno ignored him, lost in his own thoughts:
"If we defeat the dictator Clark, then the world's peace will—"
"Stop."
Locke rubbed his temples. Star Platinum pressed Giorno's shoulders at just the right time.
"Calm down, child."
"I was only asking casually."
Still, Locke seemed to be piecing things together.
The world line Giorno came from probably, maybe… wasn't the same as theirs.
Or rather—
a multiverse?
After all, the system seemed to drop off a new child for him every few years. How could it be that in the future, he only had Dio's son?
Unless… the system had broken down again?
Thinking back to the "Professor Charles" Giorno had mentioned earlier, Locke grew curious.
"So, Giorno—how did you cross over—"
"I—"
He had just opened his mouth when suddenly Giorno's body began to flicker with a faint golden glow, his outline turning gradually transparent.
Even Gold Experience dissolved into golden motes of dust, vanishing into the air.
"Sorry, Grandpa."
Looking down at his hands fading into nothingness, Giorno forced a helpless smile.
"My time's up."
Then he looked up at Locke, golden eyes full of reluctance:
"Grandpa. Maybe the future has already changed… or maybe my time simply ran out."
"But at least hear me out, Grandpa."
"Be careful of our family's barn."
"Today is a crucial point in time. The professor said that during this very storm, my grandmother Martha and grandfather Jonathan—whom I've never met—they…"
His voice began to waver, his form rippling like a reflection in water. With a sigh, he said regretfully:
"Looks like I can't say more. That's all for now, my Grandpa."
"I just hope that when I next wake—"
BOOM!
A lightning flash lit the boy's gradually transparent face, his fading smile:
"—I'll see a brighter future."
CRACK!
His form finally shattered into countless golden motes, rising like raindrops in reverse toward the ceiling, then scattering into the air.
The living room fell silent.
Only the half-finished cup of hot cocoa, and the lingering warmth on the sofa, proved that the donut-haired boy had truly been there.
"…Uncle Locke." Clark's voice was tight. "Will I really 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, running his fingertip gently over the delicate patterns on its back.
Hm.
It was alive.
Fastening it onto his own chest, Locke said softly:
"No."
"Because from this moment on, history has already changed."
Summoning Star Platinum, he pushed open the front door.
Through the curtain of rain, his gaze locked on the barn not far from the house.
There—
a massive shadow was silently rising to its feet.