Give Him a Chance

Abbacchio landed in a lush, tree-lined city park.

The park is a villa for the poor.

In Rome late at night, in places untouched by neon lights, there are always some characters who live secretly, unnoticed by ordinary people.

Beggars, drunkards, hooligans, drug addicts, and vagrants—these lowly creatures roam and rest in twos and threes among the park's shady trees, making this beautiful and natural park during the day terrifying and dangerous at night.

Abbacchio moved swiftly through the dimly lit, tree-lined path.

He couldn't help but feel a little nervous:

As a former police officer who graduated with high marks from police academy at the age of 18 and had a year of practical work experience, his nervousness certainly did not stem from the homeless people in the park who were usually avoided.

Abbacchio was worried about Diavolo and Diavolo's men.

Since the enemy had prepared a trap with missiles, their offensive would not stop so easily.

At this very moment, under the dim light and amidst the dense foliage, an unknown and formidable enemy could appear at any moment.

While the Moody Blues team excels in intelligence gathering, they are essentially relegated to the role of a water cooler in combat.

This means that once he is alone, his situation becomes extremely dangerous.

Fortunately.

With perfect weather and a favorable wind, as Abbacchio landed over the city park, he noticed with delight and relief:

Bucciarati, who had jumped out before him, unexpectedly landed in the same spot as him.

"Bucciarati!"

Abbacchio quickly traversed the park's woods, following the direction of Bucciarati from his memory.

He shouted Bucciarati's name as he tried to get closer to the other man's location.

"Abbacchio?"

Bucciarati recognized Abbacchio's voice from the dim shade of the trees.

"Very good"

Bucciarati felt quite fortunate to be able to reunite with his companions immediately after being separated.

He quickly followed the sound and found Abbacchio, asking somewhat impatiently:

"Abbacchio, are you alright?"

"How are the others? Have you noticed their whereabouts?"

"I'm fine."

Abbacchio didn't waste much time on pleasantries, but quickly and concisely explained the situation:

"The others are still missing, and it seems that only the two of us ended up in this park."

"Then, let's set off quickly—"

He proposed without hesitation:

"Just like you said on the plane, our top priority now is to get to the Colosseum of Rome."

"Hmm." Bucciarati nodded.

Although he was very worried about Narancia and the others, now was not the time to look for companions.

At least

Bucciarati looked around at the dense, deep forest and the dim light filtering through the heavy foliage:

At the very least, they need to leave this place, which looks extremely dangerous, as soon as possible.

Just then, as Bucciarati was preparing to move quickly for fear of an enemy attack, a murderous stranger suddenly sprang out from the dark woods:

"Aaaaaah!"

"Go to hell, you demon!"

Amidst a series of indistinct, strange roars, a tall, thin young man suddenly rushed out, brandishing a knife.

His clothes were filthy and disheveled, his face was pale and bloodless, and the veins on his bare, thin arms bulged, making him look especially frightening in the dim light.

"An enemy?!"

Bucciarati and Abbacchio realized what was happening at the same time.

Having just survived a man-made plane crash and now stranded in this dimly lit forest, they were already feeling a sense of unease and paranoia.

Upon seeing someone suddenly rushing towards them with a knife, they immediately charged forward with all their might:

"Steel Chain Fingers!"

The first to act were naturally Bucciarati's Steel Chain Fingers.

The humanoid stand of Speed A appeared out of thin air in front of the two of them, and in an instant, it unleashed a blue punch shadow that was difficult to see with the naked eye under the dim light.

For Bucciarati, this punch was merely a test of his enemy.

And that "enemy," that skinny bamboo pole wielding a switchblade, came charging in with murderous intent.

The punch caused him to freeze in his tracks, his whole body trembling violently, as if he were about to fall apart like a broken table or chair in the next second.

But the attacks he suffered did not end.

When Bucciarati sensed something was wrong and stopped using the Steel Chain Fingers, Abbacchio instinctively lunged forward at the uninvited guest.

Abbacchio is a master of hand-to-hand combat, and his close-combat abilities surpass those of most people, and even some humanoid Stands (including his own Moody Blues).

Before the "enemy" could even recover from the pain of that punch, Abbacchio slapped the blade out of his hand and then slammed him to the ground with an over-the-shoulder throw.

"Ah--"

The young man let out a scream.

However, he seemed oblivious to the pain, collapsing to the ground and yelling, "Die... die! Hand over the money! Give it all to me! I... I want it! I want more!"

Abbacchio paused slightly, then proceeded to deliver a flurry of punches to the guy's face.

Punch after punch.

The "enemy's" continuous, eerie roars quickly became even more indistinct due to the blood gushing from its throat.

"Etc!"

It looked like Abbacchio was about to kill the other man.

Bucciarati finally couldn't hold back and stopped him:

"Abbacchio, we've made a mistake. This isn't Diavolo's man."

"I know."

Abbacchio stopped his Riot Games, which was now stained with blood.

The drops of blood shimmered crimson in the dim light, reflecting a chilling light in his deep pupils.

"But he wasn't a good person either."

"Skin and bones, bloodshot eyes, sallow skin, incoherent speech, mentally unstable, and wielding a sharp weapon; highly aggressive."

"When I was a policeman, I dealt with this kind of scum all the time. The stench on him was so strong that I could smell it with my nose. It was obvious that he was an incurable madman, a drug addict who made a living by robbery."

"If I don't kill him, he'll only harm others as long as he lives."

Abbacchio said this so coldly.

"."

Upon hearing this, Bucciarati fell silent for a moment.

He could also see what kind of person this young man was:

Like those lost young people in Naples whose bodies were ravaged and whose lives were ruined by drugs, this guy in front of him had embarked on a path of no return.

"That's right."

"He's completely beyond saving."

Bucciarati sighed deeply.

He looked at the young man on the ground, groaning in agony, and a hint of pity crept into his eyes.

"But that should not be a reason for us to kill."

"Should we let him live?"

"Letting such scum live will only hurt others in the end."

Abbacchio's tone remained cold.

But his body was trembling slightly, because he was recalling some unpleasant experiences:

Just a few months earlier, when he was still a police officer, he had negligently let a criminal go free—and when they met again, that criminal had shot and killed his most trusted partner.

That incident, along with the various surreal realities he encountered at work, profoundly changed Abbacchio's worldview.

He is no longer the policeman who dreams of upholding justice.

He joined the gang not because of any grand ideals, but simply because he was utterly disillusioned with society and wanted to give up on himself in the darkness.

But what Abbacchio never expected was that on his very first day officially joining the gang, he would be tricked by a gang leader named Bucciarati into becoming a "messenger of justice".

I know what you mean.

Bucciarati gently patted Abbacchio on the shoulder:

"But killing won't solve the problem."

"Let's go, we don't have much time left—go defeat Diavolo, change Passion Organization, change this country."

"This is the only way to truly solve the problem."

Bucciarati's voice has a power that can touch people's hearts.

Abbacchio slowly loosened his Riot Games, a helpless smile appearing on his lips:

"Ha, you really don't seem like a mafia member."

"Same."

Bucciarati said noncommittally, "You don't seem like a policeman either."

"Indeed. I'm no longer one."

Abbacchio sighed softly, finally letting go of the murderous intent that had inexplicably surged into his heart.

"So."

He glanced at the drug addict who was staggering to his feet.

After being brutally beaten, the guy, with blood streaming down his face, finally regained some of his senses:

"Are we just going to let this go unchecked?"

"He attacked us with a knife this time, and next time he might hurt other innocent people."

"This"

I want to give him a chance.

Bucciarati remarked with a sigh.

At the same time, the Steel Chain Fingers unleashed a flurry of punches in an instant:

"Ali Ali Ali Ali Ali!"

The addict felt a sudden gust of wind in the air in front of him, and instantly, zippers appeared on each of his shoulders that he couldn't even see.

The next second, both zippers were pulled open at the same time, and both arms were severed.

"I broke all his arms that could attack people."

"Hopefully, after losing both hands forever, he will change for the better."

Bucciarati said in a complicated tone.

His gaze toward the drug addict was filled with pity and tenderness.

But the guy looked at his arms lying on the ground, and his shoulders, which were now completely bare.

His expression changed as he regained some clarity, and then he screamed in utter terror:

"A demon! This is a demon!!"

Second update later