Stand Awakening

Guido Mista had been born in an ordinary village in the countryside outside Naples.

Unlike his energetic, ever-striving peers, this young man who had grown up basking in the gentle Mediterranean sea breeze had dreamed of a comfortable, leisurely life since childhood.

And Mista had carried out that ideal quite faithfully:

After graduating middle school, he had stopped attending classes and instead wandered the streets of Naples, enjoying life.

He enjoyed sleeping and liked watching branches sway or clouds drift beneath the sun.

He enjoyed the fragrance of wine and liked tasting delicious cheese.

Whenever he saw a pretty girl, he would go up and flirt with her, even if it meant getting cursed at.

Whenever he ran out of pocket money, he would return to the front of the movie theater, beat up the guys who cursed Clint Eastwood while waiting in line, then take their money.

Of course, that description was entirely Mista's own artsy version of his "little blessings."

From everyone else's perspective—especially the villagers back home who used Mista as a negative example to teach their children:

Guido Mista was nothing more than a useless dropout, an idle hooligan, a thug who harassed women, a street punk who robbed and fought, unrecyclable wet garbage.

If he kept going like this, sooner or later he would become the kind of trash who lived off government handouts, a lowly errand runner for the mafia.

But—

Even a Mista like this, even a little punk despised by everyone, knew what was right and wrong, what was justice and evil.

Although that bald man named Li Qing had stolen two of his motorcycles and one of his phones, then punched him in the face when he instinctively pulled out his gun to fight back, leaving him sprawled on the road for over ten minutes before he woke up.

Mista knew that Li Qing was righteous.

After all, Li Qing had risked his life to save him from that terrifying Meat Chunk, then fearlessly sealed it beneath the ground and saved this city from the brink of disaster.

Therefore.

When a tall man with silver hair draped over his shoulders, exposed chest muscles, and a flamboyantly sleazy stance—someone who looked like a thug and a villain at first glance—came asking about Li Qing's whereabouts, Mista instinctively, subconsciously, without a second thought, chose to cover for Li Qing.

"No, I haven't seen him."

Without even considering the consequences that lying to a villain might bring him, Mista unhesitatingly took the side of the man who had robbed him not long ago.

That clumsy lie seemed to have fooled the other man. The villain did not press further and simply turned to leave.

Only then did Mista have time to think:

"That bald guy said his situation was dangerous now."

"Sure enough, someone came to investigate his whereabouts so quickly."

"In other words."

"The man in front of me and that Meat Chunk from before are actually on the same side?"

Thinking of the Meat Chunk that had rampaged through the city and nearly swallowed him whole, Mista immediately regarded the silver-haired man before him as an inhuman terrorist who would stop at nothing.

His eyes filled with even greater disgust.

But at that moment, the silver-haired man suddenly stopped walking away and slowly returned.

"What did you come back for?" Mista asked uneasily.

"Um."

Abbacchio silently moved a little closer to Mista:

"I just wanted to ask."

"What number is this?"

As he spoke, he commanded Moody Blues to extend its blue hand before Mista and casually hold up several fingers.

"Four."

Mista answered instinctively.

"You really can see it!"

Abbacchio's expression changed as he immediately confirmed that Mista was a Stand User.

Stand Users were not something one encountered everywhere. This Stand User had appeared in a sensitive place at a sensitive time and was clearly covering for Li Qing; there was a strong chance he was an enemy of the organization.

So Abbacchio immediately lunged forward and struck without warning, driving a powerful elbow into Mista's completely unguarded, vulnerable waist and abdomen.

Although his Stand, Moody Blues, was not a combat-type Stand specialized in fighting, Abbacchio himself was a powerfully built Stand User with perfect hand-to-hand combat skills.

Abbacchio put his full strength into it, and that single blow left Mista's insides churning and his blood surging.

Clutching his heavily struck stomach, he instinctively doubled over. His skin flushed red from the intense pain, making him look like a boiled shrimp:

"W-What are you doing?!"

Mista painfully forced out a low growl.

Abbacchio showed no mercy.

He knew that one could not relax even slightly when dealing with a Stand User. If the opponent managed to use some terrifying Stand ability, the situation could reverse in an instant.

Thus, Abbacchio completely ignored Mista's cry, which faintly carried the meaning of a plea for mercy. While Mista was crippled by pain, he fiercely chopped at the vital point on the back of his neck.

"Ah!"

Mista cried out in pain, his bent body folding even lower.

"He didn't pass out?"

"This guy's physique is really impressive."

Abbacchio was somewhat surprised and became even more wary.

He immediately bent his knee from behind and pressed it onto Mista's back. One hand pinned Mista's neck down while the other twisted Mista's arm behind him, using a standard police hold to firmly press him to the ground.

Mista's head was pinned tightly to the pavement. One arm was firmly twisted behind his back by Abbacchio, while the other was trapped beneath his own body. He had no way to fight back at all.

At the same time, the silver-haired man pressing down on him kept increasing his strength, using his palm to compress the nerves and blood vessels in Mista's neck.

Clearly, the other man had no intention of speaking with him. He wanted to beat him unconscious directly.

"No."

"This guy is one of those inhuman terrorists. I absolutely can't fall into their hands!"

Relying on his almost inhumanly strong physique, Mista struggled to remain conscious.

He used all his strength to move the hand trapped beneath his body, groping until he gripped the revolver hanging at his waist.

"He can still move?"

Abbacchio was even more surprised:

The enemy had suffered several heavy blows without losing consciousness, yet he had not summoned his Stand to counterattack.

Could it be that his Stand ability was "being especially tough"??

Abbacchio did not understand, so he increased the force in his hands further, trying to knock Mista out in one go.

His Stand was not suited for combat. If his close-range sneak attack failed to render his opponent unable to resist, the following situation would be extremely unfavorable for him.

"Urgh..."

Mista groaned in pain, and his consciousness finally began to blur from insufficient blood flow to his brain.

The revolver he had managed to grip was also firmly pinned beneath him by the crushing pressure on his body.

No matter how Mista struggled or fought desperately, he could not pull his gun-holding hand out from under himself, much less aim the barrel at the villain behind him.

"Damn it."

Mista was beginning to despair:

"I can't move at all. I have no hope of fighting back!"

Amid that despair, his consciousness became even more muddled.

Then, perhaps because his mind had already become confused, several unfamiliar yet clear voices suddenly rang beside his ears:

"Mista—"

"Shoot!"

"Shoot? Shoot what?" Mista answered dizzily in his mind. "I can't even aim the barrel properly. How am I supposed to hit anyone by shooting?"

"It's okay."

"Trust us, Mista!"

In his haze, Mista felt as though six little people were flying around before his eyes:

They were only about the size of bullets. Their yellowish appearance also made them look like bullets, but they had hands, feet, heads, faces, noses, and mouths. Even their expressions were vivid and natural.

"Mista, shoot!"

They flew, leaped, and danced before Mista's eyes, urging him in unison:

"You can hit the target without aiming, because—"

"Bullets can turn!"

PS: Stand Panel

Stand Name—"Sex Pistols"

User—Guido Mista

Destructive Power: E

Speed: C

Range: The bullet's flight distance

Persistence: A

Precision: A

Growth Potential: B

Ability: A tiny humanoid Stand capable of controlling a bullet's trajectory after it is fired. It can ride bullets and change their direction with kicks, rapidly altering their trajectories. By combining the power of multiple units, it can split bullets and strike multiple targets.

A six-member team, each with its own consciousness. Their numbers range from No. 1 to No. 7; because of Mista's insistence, there is no No. 4.