Far from the low-lying town, the group headed toward the center of Rome.
Giorno was driving the ownerless car they had picked up, focused intently on the road.
Dawn sat in the passenger seat. His mind returned to his body, and he couldn't help feeling a little worried about Abbacchio's situation.
"I hope everything goes well for Abbacchio."
Dawn murmured softly, his words carried away by the wind outside the window.
The rest of Bucciarati's team hid in the secret room inside the turtle, the atmosphere oppressively heavy.
Narancia's eyes were swollen and red from crying, but he was still wailing loudly.
"Bucciarati, did you really not find Abbacchio underground?"
Mista asked again, unwilling to accept it, though he already knew the answer.
"I followed that Stand User until I finally killed him.
Abbacchio died right before my eyes, just five meters away from me."
Bucciarati lowered his head and clenched his fists. His murderous hatred for Boss Diavolo was almost overflowing.
Narancia rolled around on the ground. Mista went over to stop him, but in the end, he lost his temper and punched Narancia in the face.
Dong~ Dong~ Dong~
A bell tolled. Everyone froze in place, confusion showing in their eyes.
Only Dawn continued to admire the passing scenery, calm as still water and completely unaffected.
"Did it work, Abbacchio?"
Dawn's lips curled into a smile. From the feedback of [Stand: Beyond Imagination: Scales of Resolve], he understood everything.
Abbacchio had escaped death.
In a small Italian town across the sea, a police officer who seemed both familiar and strange blended in with the townspeople.
The officer had exceptional investigative skills, keen insight, and an unshakable determination to pursue the truth.
His name was—Abbacchio.
The secret room inside the turtle.
Narancia scrambled to his feet and lunged at Mista, claws bared.
"Mista! Why'd you hit me?"
Mista looked at his fist, just as confused.
Narancia wasn't about to let Mista off the hook. The two immediately grappled, yanking at each other's hair and leaving bite marks all over one another.
Bucciarati, sitting on the sofa, stared wide-eyed.
Why did he feel such intense hatred?
And beyond that hatred, there seemed to be an even deeper sense of regret and guilt.
As these complicated emotions gradually faded, the grimace on Bucciarati's face slowly disappeared, and his usual calm, friendly expression returned.
"That was strange. Why would I feel something like that...?"
Bucciarati murmured to himself, then shook his head, dispelling the thoughts from his mind.
He lay on the sofa, resting his head on his arm and curling up as he drifted into a light doze, recovering his depleted mental energy.
He was exhausted.
Outside, Giorno drove while chatting with Dawn.
"Mr. Dawn, have you noticed anything strange?"
Dawn opened a can of beer, took a sip, and smiled. "What's strange?"
Giorno shook his head. "I just feel like I've forgotten something. But never mind. If I've forgotten it, it probably wasn't important."
Giorno focused on driving again.
Dawn made no comment. Abbacchio had made his choice, and Dawn wouldn't interfere too much.
The car headed toward central Rome. With the sky darkening, there weren't many pedestrians on the streets, just a few taxis looking for passengers.
Dawn glanced out the window. Suddenly, a young man with red hair caught his eye.
"Diavo... No, that's Tobio."
A glint of murderous intent flashed in Dawn's eyes. If he killed Tobio here, Diavolo, who shared a body with him, would die too.
But a moment later, Dawn shook his head.
Changing the outcome of Abbacchio's death was an important experiment.
Roughly altering the plot could provoke fate's displeasure and trap them in the predetermined outcome of death.
A subtler change would have a negligible impact.
For example, Scales of Awakening had revived Abbacchio and erased everyone's memories of him, allowing Abbacchio to start a new life.
This gentler approach had worked well. Fate's reaction wasn't very strong; it had even tacitly approved.
"Pull over for a moment. I need a light."
Dawn waved Tobio over, resting an arm on the car window as he held out a cigarette.
"Kid, got a light?"
Tobio froze, and a strange sound suddenly came from his mouth.
"Brrr-l-l-l-l~"
"Brrr-l-l-l-l~"
Giorno stared at Tobio in surprise, instinctively about to step on the gas.
The guy probably had some kind of mental illness. Who acted so strangely?
Tobio took the cigarette Dawn offered, looking a little annoyed. He backed away a few steps, covered his mouth, and grumbled under his breath, "Calling me at a time like this? Couldn't have picked a worse moment!"
"Are you trying to get us exposed?!"
Diavolo sounded somewhat alarmed as he lowered his voice to warn him. "Tobio, be careful around that guy Dawn. If you can, follow them, but don't let them see you."
Tobio felt a little speechless. He hurriedly ended the call, tucked the cigarette into his mouth, and patted his pockets.
"Sorry, I forgot mine too."
Tobio forced himself to stay calm and made up an excuse. "There's a twenty-four-hour convenience store up ahead. I was going to buy some. I can get one for you too, if you want—but you'll have to tip me."
Dawn smiled without saying much, rolled up the window, and signaled Giorno to keep driving.
The group soon left.
Tobio's eyes twitched. Diavolo's voice sounded again.
"Where are they going? They seem to have a clear destination. No, I have to follow them."
Diavolo looked around, then hopped on a motorcycle parked by the roadside and chased after them.
The motorcycle's owner had just finished relieving himself against a lamppost while drunk. When he turned around, he panicked and shouted.
"Hey, you thief! Stop! You're stealing from a local, too?!"
After making their way to the city center, Bucciarati's team discussed things and decided to split up to look for the mysterious man.
Of course, no one would go alone.
They'd search in pairs: Mista with Narancia, Trish with Giorno, and Bucciarati with Dawn.
Dawn had arranged it that way on purpose. He couldn't stop the plot from unfolding, so the birth of Silver Chariot Requiem was all but inevitable.
Besides, Polnareff's body was steadily deteriorating. If things went as they had in the original story and he switched bodies with the turtle, that might not be such a bad thing.
At the very least, he could live for a few more decades.
A thousand-year-old tortoise and a ten-thousand-year-old turtle—those weren't just sayings.
Everyone settled on a plan, agreed on a way to keep in touch, and immediately split up to search.
Bucciarati and Dawn headed toward the other side of the road. A car sped past, nearly hitting Bucciarati.
Dawn reacted quickly and grabbed Bucciarati by the collar, saving him from being sent flying.
"Bucciarati, something's wrong with your eyes."
Dawn studied Bucciarati's dull, lifeless pupils and warned him, "Your body is slowly dying. You've noticed, haven't you?"
Bucciarati wasn't surprised. He simply accepted it calmly.
"I noticed. I can't see objects, and I can barely hear. It's getting worse. I don't have much time left."
"We have to find that man quickly, Dawn."
"I understand."
Dawn glanced at the alley behind them, then turned and helped Bucciarati across the road.
Inside the alley.
Tobio pressed his back against the wall, chest heaving as he gulped for air.
"That was close... I almost got caught."
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