Interrupted Replay

3:26 PM.

Through Moody Blues's replay, Abbacchio, Bucciarati, and the others saw what had happened to Li Qing twenty minutes prior:

He was fighting, fighting a terrifying monster with a massive, bloated, distorted body, all in the name of "saving the world."

"There's a monster like this in Naples?!"

"Is this also a Stand?"

Even Bucciarati, the team captain with exceptional composure, couldn't help but feel a tremor of fear at the existence of this mass of flesh.

As Naples's de facto guardian, he felt an even greater urge to worry about the city's fate:

"This mass of flesh seems completely devoid of reason. If it's left unchecked, it's very likely to cause widespread destruction in Naples."

"So... what happened to it afterward? Did that bald guy's plan succeed?"

No matter how worried he was, it was already a past event that had transpired twenty minutes ago.

Bucciarati could do nothing but place his hope in the hero who had stepped forward to fight the mass of flesh twenty minutes ago.

And ironically, this hero was also the target of his current mission:

"Abbacchio."

Bucciarati said with a complex tone, "Keep playing; let's see what happened next."

"Understood."

Abbacchio nodded and had Moody Blues revert to Li Qing's appearance from twenty minutes ago, commanding it to continue moving forward along Li Qing's original trajectory.

Thus, Moody Blues flawlessly recreated Li Qing's actions at the time:

It rode a non-existent motorcycle, moving at high speed towards the front in a bizarre, suspended posture.

It twisted the "throttle," accelerating faster and faster, leading Bucciarati and the others to quickly approach the devastated battlefield.

Then...

Moody Blues's movements abruptly stopped.

It halted dead in its tracks outside the ruins, littered with bricks and rubble everywhere, like a water-damaged, old cassette tape.

Everyone was engrossed in watching and was caught off guard by this sudden "pause."

Bucciarati, with his calm demeanor, was fine, but Fugo, with his impatient nature, immediately shed his "intellectual" facade, turning to urge Abbacchio with a shout:

"Hey, hey, newcomer!"

"Why did you stop at such a crucial moment? Hurry up and play it!"

"Yeah!"

Narancia echoed excitedly, "What happened afterward?!"

"Afterward..."

Abbacchio's expression grew subtly awkward:

"There's nothing afterward."

"Nothing?!"

Fugo, entering a state of rage, stomped over to Abbacchio, who stood at a towering 188cm. He first tiptoed slightly to compensate for his not-yet-fully-developed height, then unceremoniously grabbed Abbacchio by the collar:

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"Do you think this is a TV drama?! Stopping like this at a critical plot point can get you killed!!"

"There's nothing I can do."

Abbacchio sighed helplessly.

He raised his hand and pointed to the ruins, which had been ravaged by the mass of flesh into nothing but rubble and broken stones:

"The 'location' where the incident happened has been completely destroyed."

"My Moody Blues reads the memory of a specific event's location. Both 'time' and 'location' are indispensable elements."

"Like this..."

Abbacchio moved Fugo's hand away:

"No matter how angry you get, Moody Blues won't be able to replay it."

The destructive power of the mass of flesh was truly terrifying; it left nothing alive in its wake.

It was like a colossal mop, relentlessly pursuing Li Qing while simultaneously erasing every trace he had left behind.

"What..."

"It's impossible now?!"

Although Fugo understood Abbacchio's meaning, his excessive anticipation for the subsequent plot made him so furious he wanted to jump up and down:

"Newcomer, your Stand is useless!"

"Don't throw a tantrum."

Bucciarati promptly stopped his companion's useless anger and calmly asked Abbacchio:

"What do we do now?"

"Is there any way to continue tracking Li Qing?"

"This..." Abbacchio thought for a moment before replying, "This area was too thoroughly destroyed. The memory of '20 minutes ago' is completely gone."

"Furthermore, judging by the destructive power of that mass of flesh..."

"Wherever it traveled, traces of anyone else should have been completely erased."

"So, we can only search for clues nearby, and try to find any traces Li Qing left outside the battlefield after he escaped the mass of flesh. No matter what, he definitely had to leave that battlefield after the fight concluded. If we can't read the 'memory' of the battlefield, we can just read the memory from outside it."

"If we can skip this damaged 'memory' and jump directly to a later time and location, we can pick up the broken trail again."

"Alright, if that's the case..."

Bucciarati sighed softly:

"Fugo, Narancia, Abbacchio, the four of us will split up and search for clues around this ruin."

"He only appeared here twenty minutes ago, so the time difference isn't too great. There might still be witnesses nearby who saw his movements back then."

As always, he gave his orders cleanly and efficiently.

Fugo and the others nodded, then tacitly split off in three different directions, searching the vast expanse of the ruined battlefield for any trace of Li Qing.

Bucciarati himself took on one direction.

After his three companions left, a subtle ripple appeared in his usually unwavering gaze:

"I hope we can find him."

"If that guy isn't dead."

For some reason, Bucciarati suddenly found himself hoping that the person he was supposed to kill was alive.

Two minutes later.

Abbacchio separated from his teammates and searched outward in the direction he was assigned.

The search wasn't going well.

Local residents and tourists had long since fled due to the commotion, making it difficult to find anyone to ask for clues.

He only encountered one or two American soldiers rummaging through the debris as he walked. After approaching them and asking a few questions in accented English, all he received were a few unhelpful and rather rude greetings.

However, Abbacchio had another way to search, relying on luck.

He could have Moody Blues follow him, and as he moved from place to place, use "fast-forward" to review the memories imprinted on this land from the past twenty minutes.

This method also yielded no results for the time being.

Abbacchio had no choice but to retrace the past events of the places he visited with Moody Blues while continuing to walk forward, looking for any passersby to question.

Finally, on a deserted street right next to the ruined battlefield, he spotted someone he could ask:

The man sat gloomily on the curb, muttering to himself. His simple green shirt was covered in dusty grime, and his slightly youthful face was lightly swollen and red, as if he'd been beaten not long ago.

"He looks so disheveled, he clearly went through the commotion twenty minutes ago."

"If I ask this kid, I might get something out of him."

Abbacchio, having been a police officer, quickly regained his professional instincts and caught the scent of a clue from the dishevelled young man.

At this moment, the young man in the green shirt also noticed him.

Perhaps it was because Bucciarati's attire after joining the gang was excessively fashionable, but for some reason, the young man stared intently at Abbacchio with an expression of great surprise.

"Huh?"

Abbacchio vaguely felt something was amiss, but he suppressed the doubt and walked forward:

"Hello."

"Excuse me, did you see a bald East Asian man around here twenty minutes ago?"

"Uh..."

The young man lowered his head, avoiding Abbacchio's questioning gaze, and stammered in reply, "No, I didn't see anyone."

"You really didn't see anyone?"

Abbacchio pressed on, feeling a sense of unease.

"I said I didn't, so I didn't!"

The young man suddenly puffed up with spirit and raised his voice:

"It was so chaotic back then, I was too busy trying to escape to pay attention to any bald guys!"

"Alright..."

Abbacchio withdrew his gaze with some disappointment, preparing to turn and leave.

However, the doubt in his heart only grew stronger:

Something's wrong, this situation is a bit strange.

The kid subconsciously avoided my gaze just now, his eyelids fluttering rapidly as he spoke – all instinctive tells of someone lying.

And then...

Why was his expression so surprised when he first saw me?

Why was he staring at me like that back then?

No.

Abbacchio carefully recalled the direction of the young man's gaze at the time, his expression immediately turning solemn:

"He wasn't looking at me at all back then; he was looking at Moody Blues!"

"This kid..."

He stopped his retreating steps: "Is a Stand User!"