Guido Mista was born in a typical village in the outskirts of Naples. Unlike his peers, who were full of youthful energy and constantly striving forward, this boy, who grew up bathed in the gentle Mediterranean breeze, yearned for a leisurely and carefree life.
Mista diligently pursued this ideal:
After graduating from junior high, he didn’t continue his education but instead roamed the streets of Naples, enjoying life. He loved sleeping and watching the swaying of branches or clouds under the sun. He enjoyed the aroma of wine and loved tasting delicious cheese. When he saw a pretty girl, he would hit on her even if it meant getting scolded. When he ran out of pocket money, he would beat up people who cursed Clint Eastwood while queuing at the cinema and rob them.
Of course, the above description is the “small but certain happiness” literary version from Mista’s perspective.
From others’ viewpoints, especially the villagers who used Mista as a negative example to educate their children:
Guido Mista was just a school dropout, a useless delinquent, a loafer, a womanizer, a thug who engaged in robbery and fighting, and an irredeemable piece of trash. If he continued down this path, he would inevitably become a burden on society, living off government relief or working as a low-level grunt in the mafia.
However…
Even such a Mista, despised by others, knew what was right and wrong, what was just and evil.
Though Lee Sin had stolen his motorcycles and phone and punched him in the face when he reflexively drew his gun, knocking him out for over ten minutes in the street…
Mista knew that Lee Sin was just. After all, Lee Sin had risked his life to save Mista from that terrifying meat chunk and bravely sealed the monster underground, saving the endangered city.
So…
When a tall man with silver hair draped over his shoulders, exposing his chest muscles and standing in a flamboyant manner, clearly a thug, approached and asked about Lee Sin’s whereabouts, Mista instinctively, without hesitation, chose to cover for Lee Sin.
“No, I haven’t seen him.”
Without considering the consequences of lying to a thug, Mista stood by the man who had robbed him not long ago.
This clumsy lie seemed to have fooled the man, who turned to leave without further questioning.
Only then did Mista have time to think:
“That bald guy said he was in a dangerous situation.”
“Sure enough, someone has come to investigate his whereabouts so soon.”
“Which means…”
“This man in front of me is actually an accomplice of that meat chunk?”
Recalling the meat chunk that had rampaged through the city and nearly devoured him, Mista immediately regarded the silver-haired man as an inhuman terrorist.
His eyes showed even more disdain.
But at that moment, the silver-haired man suddenly stopped and slowly walked back.
“What do you want now?” Mista asked nervously.
“Well…”
Abbacchio silently approached Mista:
“I just wanted to ask…”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
Saying this, he commanded Moody Blues to extend its blue hand in front of Mista, holding up a few fingers.
“Four.”
Mista instinctively answered.
“You can see it after all!”
Abbacchio’s expression changed, confirming Mista’s identity as a Stand user.
Stand users aren’t common; this young man, appearing at a sensitive time and place, obviously covering for Lee Sin, was likely an enemy of the organization.
So, Abbacchio immediately lunged, aiming a powerful elbow strike at Mista’s undefended abdomen.
Though Moody Blues wasn’t a combat-type Stand, Abbacchio himself was a robust, battle-ready Stand user.
Using his full strength, Abbacchio’s blow sent Mista reeling, his insides churning.
Doubling over in pain, Mista’s skin flushed red from the intense pain, resembling a cooked shrimp:
“What… what are you doing?!”
Mista groaned in pain.
Abbacchio showed no mercy.
He knew that fighting a Stand user required constant vigilance; otherwise, the situation could quickly turn if the opponent used their Stand ability.
Ignoring Mista’s cries, Abbacchio delivered a swift chop to the back of his neck.
“Ah!”
Mista cried out, bending further.
“Didn’t knock him out?”
“This guy is pretty tough…”
Abbacchio was slightly surprised, increasing his caution.
He immediately pressed his knee into Mista’s back, one hand pressing his neck, the other locking his arm, using standard police restraints to pin him down.
Mista’s head was pressed against the ground, one arm twisted behind him, the other trapped under his body, leaving him unable to fight back.
Meanwhile, the silver-haired man above him increased the pressure, trying to knock him unconscious by pressing on his neck’s nerves and blood vessels.
“No…”
“This guy is an inhuman terrorist… I can’t fall into their hands!”
Relying on his unusually strong physique, Mista struggled to stay conscious.
He desperately reached for his revolver, strapped to his waist.
“Still moving?”
Abbacchio was even more surprised:
Despite the severe blows, the enemy hadn’t lost consciousness or summoned his Stand.
Could his Stand ability be “extremely tough skin”?
Uncertain, Abbacchio increased his pressure, trying to knock Mista out quickly.
Moody Blues wasn’t a combat Stand; if his surprise attack failed, the situation would turn against him.
“Ugh… ah…”
Mista groaned in pain, his vision blurring from lack of blood flow to the brain.
His hand finally grasped the revolver but was trapped under his body, unable to aim at the thug behind him.
“Damn…”
Mista felt despair:
“I can’t move… there’s no way to fight back!”
In his despair, his vision blurred further.
Then, possibly due to his confused state, he heard several unfamiliar yet clear voices:
“Mista—”
“Fire your gun!”
“Fire? Fire at what…” Mista groggily replied, “I can’t aim; how can I hit him?”
“Trust us, Mista…”
In his daze, Mista saw six “little men” flying around:
Each was about the size of a bullet, yellowish like a bullet, but with hands, feet, heads, faces, noses, and mouths, and vivid expressions.
“Mista, fire your gun!”
They flew and jumped around Mista, urging in unison:
“You don’t need to aim; the bullets will hit the target because…”
“Bullets can turn!”
PS: Stand Profile
Stand Name: [Sex Pistols]
User: Guido Mista
Destructive Power: E
Speed: C
Range: The bullet’s travel distance
Persistence: A
Precision: A
Development Potential: B
Abilities: Controls the trajectory of bullets after being fired, Stand resembling tiny men. They can ride bullets to change direction and kick to rapidly alter the trajectory. They can split bullets and hit multiple targets by combining their strength.
A team of six, each with its own consciousness, numbered No.1 to No.7, with no No.4 due to Mista’s superstition.
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