"Bang!"
The car door slammed shut with a loud noise.
Bucciarati sat in the passenger seat and saw Giorno and Trish, who was leaning back in her seat, in the rearview mirror.
If he learned from Giorno that this Trish was the real Trish, then their mission was now over, and they had to recall Fugo and Narancia, who were still outside.
However, no matter how they tried to contact them, Fugo and Narancia didn't reply.
They had no choice but to contact the Boss first, as per the Boss's orders, they had to personally deliver Trish into the Boss's hands.
The interior of the car had a unique scent of car air freshener mixed with the smell of gasoline, which made them a bit dizzy and lightheaded. The air conditioning being too cold was also a problem, giving them goosebumps all over.
Bucciarati's gaze fell on Trish. He saw Trish's sleeping profile; she was just a teenager, yet she was being forced to get involved in gang conflicts. But it was still good, at least her father was willing to pay any price to find her.
Bucciarati's helpless sigh made his gaze fall on the computer. The Boss still hadn't replied. Where exactly should they take Trish?
Besides that, Fugo and Narancia were also nowhere to be found.
"As long as we hand Trish over to the Boss, our mission is complete. Giorno, are you sure this girl is the Boss's daughter?"
Giorno, who was looking out the window, was roused by Abbacchio's voice. He nodded, believing that Johnson Joffrey would at least not lie to him about this matter.
"That's right, Johnson Joffrey said it himself, this Trish Una possesses a Stand."
A Stand? Partially derived from an arrow, partially innate.
Clearly, Giorno and Trish both belonged to the innate kind.
Bucciarati also agreed with Abbacchio's words. Finally getting Trish and successfully completing the mission was the best outcome for Bucciarati's Team. However, the battle wasn't over yet. The Boss hadn't given the final order, telling them where exactly to take Trish.
"Cough, cough—"
Just as everyone was immersed in silent worry, Trish, who had been asleep, suddenly coughed twice, and her emerald eyes slowly opened.
Johnson Joffrey hadn't hit her hard and had never hit a woman. It was basically a light tap. The sharp pain made Trish faint for less than ten minutes. She even heard some of the conversation, including the part where Giorno deceived Bucciarati about the fight.
With the inherent caution and extraordinary talent in her genes, Trish used her future talent as a big star to trick Giorno.
She didn't want to wake up, out of fear.
"You're finally awake," Bucciarati said, turning around.
Trish clutched her neck, the pain making it difficult for her to accept for a moment. After a while, she said, "It hurts so much."
Bucciarati quickly opened a bottle of water and handed it to her, saying, "Drink more water."
Drink my ass, Trish thought, but she still took the water.
"Who are you?" Trish asked fearfully.
Bucciarati took a deep breath and said solemnly, "I am Bucciarati, your father's subordinate. As you can see, your father is the Boss who leads the Italian mafia 'PASSIONE'."
"Now there are traitors in the organization, the people who knocked you out. They are looking for you everywhere to uncover your father's true identity."
"We are the people the Boss sent to save you."
Bucciarati fell silent after speaking. Trish trembled slightly. She often fantasized that her unseen father was a big shot, but she never expected him to be a gang leader.
What kind of person was such a man? If he truly loved her, why didn't he come for her mother earlier?
Such a man only sent people to pick her up when his own interests were affected.
Will he kill me? Is he fierce? Will he lock me up? What does he look like?
Trish hugged her knees. Although escaping from Johnson Joffrey's hands was a good thing, the thought of facing her unseen father made her terribly afraid.
"Are you scared?" Giorno suddenly asked.
This struck Trish's stubborn heart. Looking at Giorno, who was roughly her age, she felt a surge of frustration. She didn't want to be the kind of girl who was afraid to even meet her father.
She needed to Stand tall, just as her mother had taught her, always maintaining Audrey Hepburn's elegance and Joan of Arc's courage.
She needed to ask her never-before-seen father why he abandoned her mother.
"I am not!" Trish shouted at Giorno.
Giorno ignored her facade of strength, which was merely a bubble that would burst with a single poke. An eerie silence fell over the car.
After a long time, Trish hugged her knees, curled up in the leather car seat, and looked at Bucciarati's wheat-colored skin, characteristic of southern Italians.
"Can I trust you?" Trish asked, feigning calmness, but a tremor she couldn't hide was in her voice.
Bucciarati lowered his gaze, then looked back at Trish, placed his hand on his chest, and said, "Of course, please trust us."
Trish took a deep breath and resolved, "My mom is in the hospital right now. Can you take me to see her? Maybe the traitors you mentioned will come for her."
Hearing this, Bucciarati was thunderstruck, his eyes widening—
"Damn it! The Assassination Team will definitely go after Trish's mother," Bucciarati stomped on the gas pedal, starting the car. "Damn it, I actually forgot about this."
The engine spewed exhaust, and Bucciarati made a sharp turn, speeding towards the hospital.
— — — —
A pair of crimson eyes rotated within a pitch-black eggshell. Johnson Joffrey wasn't sure if he was under a Stand attack.
He roughly understood where the strange discomfort he had just felt originated from—
Reversed Hierophant was him, and he was Reversed Hierophant.
Everything Reversed Hierophant felt and heard was manifesting within me exactly as it was. I almost understand this feeling.
It was conveyed to me by Reversed Hierophant.
Like a newborn crescent moon, that feeling was... Johnson Joffrey felt his consciousness slowly awakening, and new power began to gather in his body... making him suddenly think of the ability of Koichi Hirose, the true protagonist in the fourth part of JoJo—Echoes.
The desire for power, the desire for salvation, slowly allowed him to completely transform—
The pitch-black eggshell began to crack. Reversed Hierophant's black arm, with a fist that seemed to wear dark red gloves, punched through the pitch-black eggshell, slowly crawling out—
Like a new snake shedding its skin.
Reversed Hierophant·ACT2