Giorno led Bucciarati and Abbacchio into an alley—
Giorno, walking quickly ahead, accidentally stumbled and fell to the ground.
"Giorno!" Bucciarati shouted loudly, then helped him up.
"What's wrong with you, kid?!" Abbacchio also quickly asked him. After this battle, Abbacchio's prejudice against Giorno had been somewhat washed away. This young man was surprisingly reliable.
Giorno was covered in cold sweat, his hands trembling, and he felt a little nauseous.
"It's probably due to excessive Stand usage," Bucciarati said. Activating a Stand requires one's own energy, sometimes physical and mental strength. "Giorno has only just awakened his Stand and has been overusing it."
"No, I'm fine."
Giorno pushed Bucciarati away. He was still too young, his appearance carrying an unusual childishness, yet his eyes revealed a maturity beyond his age.
Driven by an inexplicable anger from the bottom of his heart, a familial connection, and the conflicting spirals of fate, he absolutely had to compete with this brother he had only met twice.
"Let's hurry," Giorno quickly said, his hands trembling slightly from exhaustion. "If we get too far, I won't be able to find him. He's still here."
"Bang!!"
A gunshot suddenly rang out. Sex Pistols led several bullets, firing at Bucciarati's Team from tricky angles.
Bucciarati's eyes widened instantly. He then pulled Giorno, spun around, and fell to the ground, but as expected, the bullets continued to track their position.
"Sticky Fingers!"
"Swoosh swoosh—"
Sticky Fingers made a rustling sound as it tore a lamppost vertically in half.
Bucciarati pulled Giorno and Abbacchio towards the lamppost, passed through the split lamppost, and then quickly pulled it back, forcing NO.3 to hit the lamppost and lose control of its bullet.
Mista, hiding in the shadows, recalled NO.3 and continued to shoot.
"Damn it! It's Mista. If this continues, we'll be completely separated from Johnson Joffrey." Bucciarati watched the flying bullets.
"Giorno!" he shouted. "Abbacchio and I will deal with Mista!" Bucciarati looked at Giorno and said seriously, "You go find him."
Giorno looked at Bucciarati and nodded solemnly.
"No matter what, I will definitely snatch Trish from him."
Giorno climbed to his feet, and, guided by the invisible thread of kinship, rushed towards Johnson Joffrey's location.
"Bucciarati!" Abbacchio shouted, "No way, Giorno is just a kid, and his mental and physical strength are almost exhausted."
Bucciarati frowned, but with a confident look in his eyes, he said, "I wasn't wrong about Giorno. Let him personally end this fated connection."
"They are brothers, I'm worried..."
"No, Abbacchio, Giorno is unexpectedly stubborn," Bucciarati's lips curled slightly, "Don't underestimate him."
Abbacchio looked at Bucciarati's confident demeanor and had no choice but to trust his judgment of people, as he himself had been chosen by Bucciarati.
"Bang bang!!"
Two gunshots rang out again. The yellow little men, No. 3 and No. 6, rode on the bullets, shouting loudly—
"Ya hey!!"
Riding the bullets, they sliced through the air, speeding towards Bucciarati.
[Sticky Fingers]
Bucciarati immediately summoned his blue Stand and punched the wall repeatedly—
"Ari Ari Ari Ari—"
The wall made a "whoosh" sound as a zipper was pulled open. Bucciarati immediately put himself and Abbacchio inside, dodging Mista's bullets.
No. 3 and No. 6 crashed into the wall and fell to the ground, seeing stars.
"Mista, before I fight you, I have two things to say!" Bucciarati shouted loudly through a small gap in the zipper.
Mista was hidden on the second floor of the dilapidated old building opposite, having also opened a sniper hole and broken down several walls, ready to change his position at any time—this was key in typical street combat.
He had a clear view of the situation below. Bucciarati used too many variations of his [Sticky Fingers], making him a bit tricky even for Mista, not to mention the addition of Moody Blues, who specialized in replaying actions.
My goal is just to stall them for ten minutes. Although I don't know why, listening to Johnson is always right.
"First, I must apologize to you!" Bucciarati suddenly said, "I didn't realize your feelings for Johnson were so profound, completely disregarding the emotions of your subordinates. That was my mistake."
What nonsense was this scoundrel Bucciarati spouting? Mista thought angrily. If he hadn't already decided to follow Johnson Joffrey, he probably would have been fooled by these lies, right?
This guy was too good at winning people over. Although he was a wise superior, he was extremely stubborn. This was evident from the fact that even though he had said he wouldn't betray Johnson, he still took Mista into his team and trusted him deeply.
He seemed easy to talk to on the surface, but was actually very stubborn—that was Bucciarati. His resolve to become an executive deeply shocked Mista, making him unable to believe that such a person would betray the boss as Johnson had said.
[Bucciarati will betray the Boss. My goal is to unite with them.]
Giorno, panting, ran without hesitation into an alley. The city of Cagliari, urbanized too hastily in the 20th century, had many small street alleys that had become the city's garbage bins. Giorno ran through the alleys.
His gaze fell on the needle marks on the right arm of a homeless man sitting by the roadside.
Why was the Boss so brazenly selling drugs? Completely different from Bucciarati, he always dared to speculate about others with the worst malice. If the Boss was truly as easy to talk to as Bucciarati claimed, Italy wouldn't have become such a mess.
This country would die from the proliferation of drugs.
Giorno Giovanna, the thirteen-year-old boy, felt a tremor from his bloodline and kinship. He rushed towards an alley entrance with complex emotions.
Unlike what he imagined, it was a dead end, with no traps, no bombs. Johnson Joffrey was at the very end of the cul-de-sac.
In this surprisingly artistic, off-white dead-end world, the color palette seemed to shift, as if music with an 80s flair, reminiscent of heavy metal punk, quietly began to play. A leaky metal faucet dripped, sounding like frothy denim beers clinking together.
Giorno gently calmed his breathing.
Johnson Joffrey seemed to sense something, then lowered his head and looked at the girl who was leaning against the wall, squatting on the ground, hugging her knees.
He extended his right hand, seeing the same blood as Giorno flowing in the pulsating veins beneath his pale skin. Then he turned around, his crimson eyes glowing with a faint reddish light. Beneath the narrow sky, the monotonous white sunlight shone down upon him.
He expressionlessly raised his hand and pointed at Giorno—
"I've been waiting for you for a long time, Giorno Giovanna!"