An unplaceable sense of anxiety pressed down on the air, thick and oppressive, like a storm that had already broken somewhere out of sight.
Shintaro felt a faint tingling crawl across his skin, as if invisible currents of static electricity were scraping against his nerves.
ゴゴゴゴゴ...
The sound reverberated directly inside his skull.
Shintaro jolted awake, his breath hitching sharply as cold sweat soaked through his clothes. His back slammed against something unyielding. Hard. Icy.
Concrete.
He lay sprawled on a detention cell floor.
Dim yellow light leaked in from a single bulb at the end of the corridor, stretching long shadows across iron bars. Those shadows resembled rows of black fangs, biting into the darkness.
"Where… is this?"
His voice came out hoarse, thin, as if it didn't quite belong to him.
Shintaro pushed himself up, palms scraping the ground. His fingers brushed against something metallic and cold. He looked down.
An exquisitely crafted remote-control race car lay beside him, its surface spotless, clearly expensive. Nearby were several unopened cans of imported beer. An old cassette radio hissed faintly, spitting static between stations. A few magazines lay scattered about—marine life, coral reefs, deep-sea creatures.
This wasn't just random junk.
Slowly, painfully, Shintaro turned his head.
His breath stopped.
In the deepest corner of the cell sat a figure that felt less like a person and more like an immovable mass of stone.
A "seventeen-year-old high school student," dressed in a black uniform.
His shoulders were unnaturally broad, his neck thick, his frame built in a way that defied common sense. If he stood up, he would easily tower over most grown men—close to two meters tall.
The brim of his hat was pulled low, forming that unmistakable integrated cap-and-hair silhouette. Only his chin and tightly pressed lips were visible, carved with stubborn resolve.
He sat in silence, completely ignoring the stranger who had just awakened beside him, calmly flipping through a marine biology picture book.
Kujo… Jotaro?
Shintaro's thoughts collapsed into blank static.
There was no mistaking it.
That outfit.
That posture.
That overwhelming, suffocating presence.
There was only one person in the world like this.
Had he really crossed into this moment?
Japan, 1987.
The detention center.
The cell where Kujo Jotaro had locked himself away.
"Hey."
A low, rough voice cut through the silence, edged with clear irritation.
Shintaro's body jolted.
Jotaro hadn't even looked up.
"When did you get in here, you bastard?"
"I—" Shintaro swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I don't know. I woke up here."
The book closed with a soft but decisive snap.
Jotaro slowly lifted his head.
"Don't know?" he scoffed.
Then his gaze sharpened.
"Don't move."
Shintaro froze.
"There's something… behind you."
Before Shintaro could even process the words, the air twisted.
A purple arm burst into existence behind Jotaro.
It was muscular, powerful, covered in strange patterns that pulsed with unnatural vitality. The movement was impossibly fast, leaving nothing but a blurred afterimage burned into Shintaro's vision.
The hand shot past him—
Smack.
A crisp, violent sound echoed through the cell.
Shintaro's body trembled as he slowly turned his head.
The purple hand hovered beside his ear.
A crushed mosquito dripped lifelessly from its fingers.
That was—
Star Platinum.
Though it had not yet been named, the "Evil Spirit" Jotaro spoke of stood unmistakably before Shintaro's eyes.
Wild hair flowed like a storm around its head. Its purple skin gleamed under the dim light. Its face was sharp, merciless, cold—like a god carved for battle rather than mercy.
"You can see it?"
For the first time, genuine surprise entered Jotaro's voice.
He stood up.
As he rose, the cramped cell seemed to shrink around him. The air grew heavy, oppressive. Fear itself seemed to take form, pressing against Shintaro's chest until breathing became a conscious effort.
"You can see that 'Evil Spirit'?" Jotaro stepped closer, looming over him. "Answer me."
Shintaro nodded violently.
Lying now would get him killed.
"I—I can see it!" he blurted out. "That purple… thing. Like a guardian spirit!"
Jotaro stared at him for several seconds.
The hostility in his eyes eased, just slightly.
"So you're not ordinary either." He adjusted the brim of his hat and turned away, returning to the cluttered corner. "Stay away from me. This thing's out of my control. It brings stuff back here and attacks anyone who gets close. Since you can see it, protect yourself."
Relief crashed through Shintaro like a wave.
He scrambled to the opposite corner of the cell, pressing himself against the cold bars.
His heart thundered in his ears.
Stand Users are drawn to one another.
If he could see a Stand, that meant he had the "qualification." Either he already possessed an ability—or would awaken one soon.
He couldn't waste this chance.
He had read the manga. He knew how cruel fate could be. How merciless Araki's twists were.
If he had entered this world, then he had to survive it. No—he had to stand with the main cast.
Click. Click. Click.
The sharp sound of high heels echoed down the corridor.
Two police officers appeared first, guiding someone forward. Then a gentle-looking Japanese woman came into view.
Kujo Holly.
"Jotaro! Mom's here to see you!" She grabbed the bars, worry etched across her face, utterly ignoring the suffocating atmosphere.
"Yakamashi, you hag." Jotaro's voice was sharp, edged with violence.
Holly didn't get angry. She smiled softly instead. "Okay~"
Then she turned to the guards, her voice gentle, almost pleading. "This child… he's actually very kind. He'd never hurt anyone…"
Jotaro rolled onto his bunk, turning his back to them as if preparing to sleep.
The guard's patience snapped.
He kicked the bars hard.
Clang! Clang!
"Kujo! Don't play games! Your mother's here to take you home!"
Jotaro slowly sat up.
He raised a hand, adjusted his hat.
His face remained hidden in shadow.
"Go back, Mom," he said calmly. "I'm fine here."
Shintaro watched in silence.
He knew what came next.
The bullet.
Star Platinum's hand.
Yet something felt off.
In the original story, there should have been other prisoners in this cell.
Four. Maybe five.
People who would rush forward, screaming, begging to be moved.
But now—
There was only silence.
Jotaro's voice rang out again, clear and steady.
"I'm possessed by an 'Evil Spirit.' I can't control it. I don't even know what it might do next."
The words fell into empty air.
No shouts.
No panic.
No witnesses.
The guards exchanged looks.
One of them stared at Jotaro for a long moment, pity slowly replacing suspicion.
Finally, the older guard leaned closer to Holly and lowered his voice. "Ma'am… this is what I meant. We were ready to release him, but he refuses to leave."
He hesitated, rubbing his hands together.
"I don't mean any offense, but… has he ever been checked by a doctor?"
He tapped his temple lightly.
The meaning was unmistakable.
______________
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