Morning.
Narancia suddenly opened his eyes.
In his view was a familiar ceiling.
He sat up in bed, scratching his head in confusion, “So it was just a sleepy haze.”
Mista and Abbacchio getting defeated by the enemy, how could I dream of such a thing?
At that moment, the door opened.
Bucciarati walked in.
Seeing Narancia awake, his expression noticeably relaxed. “Narancia, how are you feeling? Any discomfort?”
“Listen, Bucciarati,” Narancia said excitedly, “while I was asleep, I had an interesting dream. I dreamt our team was completing a mission for Polpo, but…”
He trailed off, noticing the unmistakable bitter smile on Bucciarati’s face.
“Bucciarati?” Narancia asked, puzzled, “Did I say something wrong?”
Bucciarati hesitated, thinking carefully about his words.
After a few seconds, he took a deep breath and said, “Actually, that wasn’t a dream. We really did lose badly.”
Narancia: ∑(△｀)?!
“And…” Bucciarati continued, “Our team is no longer part of ‘Passione.’
Now, you, me, Mista, Abbacchio, and Fugo are outer members of the ‘J’ organization.”
“Wait, my head is spinning!” Narancia said, full of questions.
Then, he suddenly realized, “If that’s true, won’t ‘Passione’ hunt us down to the death?”
Bucciarati smiled, ruffling Narancia’s messy hair, “You’ve been asleep for three days. A lot has changed in Naples.
Under the pressure from Mr. Joestar and the others, ‘Passione’ is on the brink of collapse. Not just small fry like us, even big shots like Polpo are in trouble.”
At this point, Bucciarati shuddered, recalling a terrifying figure.
Jon Joestar.
That guy is a devil!
I often say, that if Giorno could become a gang boss in nine days, I, Jon, could become the godfather of the Italian Mafia in just seven days.
—Jon Joestar.
Naples, a villa.
“Mr. Joestar, please allow me to pledge my loyalty to you.”
The elderly Tocker knelt on one knee, humbly kissing the young man’s ruby ring on the chair.
Jon’s expression was indifferent, “From now on, follow the rules. I don’t care about other things, but some business I really dislike.
Don’t touch that kind of business again, understand?”
“Of course, of course. Your words are like the Lord’s decree, Mr. Joestar.”
Tocker nodded repeatedly, nervously dabbing the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
This young master was a born calamity. In just three days, he had wiped out countless members of the ‘Passione’ organization. If he decided to take his old life, there wouldn’t even be a place to cry.
“Hmph.”
Jon showed no goodwill to such old schemers and dismissed him after a few words.
Once Tocker left, Jon turned to Giorno, who stood stiffly behind him, and smiled, “Recognize him?”
Giorno opened his mouth, “The boss of the black market docks…”
Someone who was once a distant figure of power now looked like a groveling dog.
This contrast had a huge impact on Giorno’s inner world.
Three days.
In just three days, this man named Jon Joestar had reshuffled the power structure in Naples.
Anyone could see, that ‘Passione’ was finished!
Jon noticed Giorno’s reaction and smiled, about to speak.
Suddenly, a red-eyed man approached.
“BOSS,” the man said solemnly, “I’ve brought the people you asked for.”
“Good,” Jon nodded, “Thank you, Risotto.”
Risotto Nero, the leader of the ‘Hitman Team’ who had died by Jon’s hand in another world.
In this parallel world, having lost Diavolo’s trust, the ‘Hitman Team’ had long been sidelined, used only when needed.
A day ago, Diavolo ordered Risotto to assassinate Jon.
Instead, Jon successfully turned him.
Risotto had many subordinates, a total of six.
They were Formaggio (stand: Little Feet), Illuso (stand: Man in the Mirror), Prosciutto (stand: The Grateful Dead), Pesci (stand: Beach Boy), Melone (stand: Baby Face), and Ghiaccio (stand: White Album).
Seeing Jon, the six had mixed expressions.
Risotto cleared his throat.
The six reluctantly greeted, “BOSS.”
Jon’s expression remained unchanged, “I know each of you has exceptional skills and doesn’t respect me.
That’s okay. I’ll give you a chance to challenge me.”
He looked over them, adding, “And yes, you can come at me together.”
Such arrogance!
Even the six felt their eyes twitch.
This young BOSS was completely different from their old, cunning BOSS.
This was going to be tough.
Jon chuckled internally.
Illuso, Ghiaccio, Prosciutto—defeated enemies.
Pesci, Melone—not worth mentioning.
The only somewhat threatening one, Formaggio, had low power and speed stats.
When the time comes, Jon would summon Jotaro, drop a time stop, and if anyone remained standing, he’d consider it his loss.
“BOSS, they didn’t mean that,” Risotto said, having sparred with Jon and having a rough idea of his strength.
They might excel at assassinations, but in a head-on confrontation, they’d be utterly defeated.
Having just switched sides, it was better not to be too arrogant…
“Apologize to the BOSS!” Risotto glared.
The six, though not respecting Jon, were loyal to Risotto.
Hearing his order, they reluctantly bowed their heads, “BOSS, we were wrong.”
“No worries, I’m very forgiving. I never hold grudges over small matters.”
Jon’s smile was radiant.
“To show my welcome, tomorrow, I’ll take everyone out for some team-building… Oh, I mean, a fun trip, and I’ll cover all the expenses. How does that sound?”
A new BOSS who was so down-to-earth, willing to bond with his subordinates?
The six couldn’t believe their ears.
Only Giorno, who had spent four or five days with Jon, subtly rolled his eyes.
Whenever this guy smiled like that, someone was going to get played.
Sure enough.
Jon immediately continued, “To eliminate any barriers and move forward together.
I’ve decided that tomorrow’s activity will be to crush the ‘Passione’ BOSS Diavolo. Everyone must participate enthusiastically.”
From fighting the Boss in one world to becoming the Boss in another.
From battling the Hitman Team to facing Diavolo’s guards in a different world.
The only constant is…
Poor Diavolo, facing death once again. (Hands clasped in prayer).
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