For Bucciarati, Mista's appearance and subsequent joining of his team happened too suddenly, even he himself hadn't expected it.
The various events that unfolded later made him, as the team leader, feel ashamed.
It was a bright and sunny afternoon; although he had already expressed his resolve to Fugo, Narancia, and Abbacchio, and was very confident about finding new members, Bucciarati set off.
Bucciarati was a perfect man; he was born with a brave and kind heart. He existed as a gangster not because of greed, evil, or laziness. In fact, just like his Stand Ability, his desire was simply to mend his father's fishing net on a morning with a beautiful sea and peaceful sunlight.
No one could have imagined that the thin young man who had always held this dream would, on a dark night, in his father's quiet hospital room, stab two strong men to death.
Because Bucciarati had a brave and kind heart.
He was a gentle man, yet also a sharp one. It was the combination of these two qualities that made him a perfect person.
But are there truly perfect people in this world?
Accurate judgment, absolute patience, a gentle yet decisive personality, and the immense strength and kind principles of a general who doesn't harm an ant.
There are only two kinds of people in this world: those who like Bucciarati and those who haven't met Bucciarati.
But his story is a story of redemption, and the redeemed one is actually him, while the redeemer is the Son of God.
This Gold Wind blowing in Naples is the story of Bucciarati, a man chosen by God, immersed in darkness, being sent to heaven.
It was Giorno Giovanna who reminded him that his dream was simply to mend his father's fishing net, just as he would mend his own broken family, on a morning with a fresh sea breeze and beautiful sunshine.
It was simply so that after he fell into the land of the innocent, he could still return before his merciful Father and utter his broken prayers.
Such was the Bucciarati who took a liking to Mista.
On that bright afternoon, the Assassination Team betrayed, and Italy was in turmoil.
Bucciarati was asked by Mrs. Mary to find her son. As soon as he entered the sewers—the place where drug addicts gathered—he saw a man in a Prison uniform beating a young boy. The boy looked older than children his age, and his arms were covered in needle marks.
That was Mrs. Mary's son.
The man in the gray uniform, typically worn by prisoners, was Mista.
The reason he was beating Mrs. Mary's son was simply that the son, high on drugs, was boasting about how he beat his own mother and saying obscene things. Mista overheard it and immediately hit him.
"I hate men who bully women the most," Mista said, expressing his profound disgust for drugs at the same time.
When asked why he was there, he unhesitatingly said he was an escaped convict, planning to leave under the cover of darkness.
After resolving Mrs. Mary's situation, Bucciarati gave Mista some money to clean himself up and told him to come to the restaurant where he often stayed.
He thoroughly investigated Mista's reason for imprisonment and his various deeds. He knew that he would gain his first companion; this was heaven's arrangement.
At that time, relying on his accurate judgment, he discovered in Mista—
Justice, bravery, foolishness, good luck, loyalty.
I should have known, it was I who forced him. Even if my hot-blooded self had thought about it for a moment back then, I should have known that I absolutely shouldn't have brought Mista along.
Bucciarati sighed silently. Mista's betrayal must have required an immense resolve, a resolve that must have tormented him like a grasshopper on fire.
I'm very sorry.
This feeling of apology and trust made him disbelieve that Mista would reveal all of his team's information, because
In the cold alley, Mista deftly dodged. His ability was well-suited for alley combat. If Abbacchio hadn't been there, and he had fought Johnson Joffrey alone, his chances of winning wouldn't have been very high.
After all, Abbacchio and he had cooperated several times, understanding how to work together and seize opportunities.
Just as Abbacchio was about to chase Mista, Bucciarati stopped him. Suspicion gleamed in Abbacchio's purple eyes, as if to say, 'Are you still holding onto hope for him?'
"No," Bucciarati saw through Abbacchio's thoughts and said decisively, "I no longer have any ties with him, but I understand him."
Bucciarati paused, frowning, his dark eyes filled with stubborn resolve. He said, "Mista is not the kind of person who runs away when he knows he can't win. If Johnson Joffrey's order to him was to fight us, he would undoubtedly fight until his last breath."
"My judgment is never wrong, because that's the kind of person he is."
"The reason he ran away is simple: to buy time."
"Damn it! Giorno is in danger!"
Abbacchio also suddenly understood. Abbacchio, of course, knew Johnson Joffrey's strength. Through several collaborations, he also realized that Giorno, though very young, was not weak, and he had also seen his loyalty to this team.
He had originally felt that Giorno was just a child, and his own sense of justice couldn't accept a youth joining the mafia, so he tried to scare him off with his fierce exterior. Unfortunately, the youth didn't back down at all; instead, he became even more stubborn and persistent.
Bucciarati and Abbacchio ran wildly through the intricate alleys, and at one corner, they nearly collided with Giorno, who was holding Trish.
"Giorno!" Bucciarati called out, then grabbed his shoulder, "Are you alright?"
Giorno smiled, "I'm fine, Bucciarati. Although it took some effort, Johnson Joffrey was too arrogant, and I was lucky enough to defeat him."
Abbacchio frowned, walking over to Giorno, "You say you're fine, but your shoulder is injured."
Only then did Bucciarati release his grip, realizing he was pressing on Giorno's wound. He quickly withdrew his hand, "Sorry, Giorno."
"Oh," Giorno tilted his head, feigning slight surprise, and said, "I didn't even notice. It must have been hit by rubble."
When people are in combat, their emotions reach a peak, and for a time, they might even forget pain. Even with this, Giorno handled it very well.
"Hiss," Mista gasped, looking at the wound on his shoulder. Since he had left Bucciarati's range, the zipper disappeared, leaving only an unexplainably smooth cut.
His entire arm was hanging by only a single tendon, bleeding profusely.
Note:
Dear readers,
The Lunar New Year is approaching, and I wish you all a new year filled with success, good fortune, and prosperity!
Holiday Announcement:
I'm writing this to announce that I will be taking a short break from posting to celebrate the holiday from February 15th to February 22nd, 2026. I will officially return to work on February 23rd.
Don't worry though! During this break, I'll be busy prepping a bunch of new chapters so I can post them consistently once I'm back. I promise the upcoming parts will be even more exciting, so please stay tuned!
Thank you so much for your understanding and for always being such a supportive community.
Happy Lunar New Year!