The tall, thin guard standing outside the cell crossed his arms, his expression stiff with forced authority.
"This isn't some luxury hotel," he snapped.
Before the words had fully settled in the air, Jotaro calmly reached down and picked up a can of beer from beside him. No hesitation. No explanation.
He took a ballpoint pen, pierced the bottom of the can with practiced precision, then pulled the ring tab on top.
Pop.
Foam surged out through the small hole at the base. Jotaro tilted his head back slightly and caught the flow with perfect ease, taking a long, unhurried sip.
Shintaro, watching from the corner, almost laughed out loud.
There it is, he thought. That scene.
The guard's eyes went wide, nearly falling out of his skull. "That — that's —!" He pointed at the can, his voice cracking. "This is a jail cell! Where did you get beer?!"
Jotaro set the empty can aside and exhaled slowly.
"I told you," he said flatly. "It's the 'Evil Spirit.' It brings things."
He tilted his chin, indicating the radio, the toy car, the scattered magazines — objects that had absolutely no business existing inside a detention cell.
Both guards stared. Their faces had gone the color of old paper.
"How..." the tall one muttered, cold sweat forming at his temples. "How is that even possible...?"
Jotaro rose to his feet.
The air inside the cell shifted the instant he stood — pressure building like a storm front rolling in. He stepped to the iron bars and tugged the brim of his hat lower.
"Wait," he said. "If this is all I show you... you'll still insist on letting me out, won't you?"
Without warning, he reached forward.
The air warped.
A faint, blurred purple outline formed — an arm emerging from nothing.
It shot forward with surgical precision.
Snap!
The belt at the tall guard's waist snapped cleanly in two. Before either guard could even process the sound, the gun vanished from its holster, passed cleanly through the gaps in the iron bars, and landed solidly in Jotaro's hand.
From start to finish, less than a second.
Only Shintaro and Holly saw the purple arm.
The guards simply stood there, frozen, staring at the impossible absence at the man's hip.
"M — my... gun?" the tall guard whispered, hands shaking as he felt empty air. "H — how did he —?"
"This..." the second guard croaked, his face paper-white. "This is really bad..."
Shintaro didn't blink.
Here it comes, he thought. The proof.
Jotaro raised the gun.
His breathing deepened — steady but heavy, the kind of breath a man takes when he has already made a decision. His eyes sharpened to something cold and precise.
He pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The gunshot thundered through the corridor.
But Jotaro's head didn't explode.
Star Platinum's arm flashed into existence at the exact instant the bullet left the chamber, fingers closing around the spinning round mid-flight. The bullet rotated between its fingers, smoke curling from the superheated metal.
Shintaro and Holly saw it clearly.
The guards didn't.
To them, the bullet simply stopped in mid-air — then dropped to the floor with a soft clink.
Silence crashed down over the cell.
The guard with thinning hair lost all strength in his legs and sank straight onto the ground.
"What... what...?" the other one breathed, eyes unfocused, breath coming in shallow pulls.
Holly stared at Jotaro, her expression complicated — fear and worry and something dawning tangled together all at once.
Shintaro turned his head away and bit down hard on his lip.
He was seconds away from laughing.
Because the scene before him made one thing painfully, beautifully obvious.
Star Platinum had been suffering.
Loyal to the point of absurdity. Endlessly protective. Dragged into prison alongside its master and branded an "Evil Spirit" for its trouble.
To keep Jotaro entertained during his self-imposed confinement, it sneaked out through the bars every single day — lifting food from supermarkets, hauling back drinks and magazines and toys. It crushed mosquitoes so Jotaro wouldn't get bitten. It fetched cans of coffee and set them beside the bunk without being asked.
And what did it get in return?
A prison sentence and a bad nickname.
If Shintaro had been Star Platinum, he would have had a full emotional breakdown by the third day.
He finally failed to hold it in.
"Pfft —"
The laugh escaped cleanly, echoing sharp and clear through the cell.
Four pairs of eyes locked onto him at once.
The tall guard whipped around, arm trembling violently as he pointed. "H — he even brought someone in here?!"
Jotaro didn't bother responding. He turned toward Holly, adjusted his hat, and sighed.
"Yare yare... You've seen it now. Stop trying to get me out."
With that, he walked back to his bunk and lay down, as if the previous two minutes had been entirely unremarkable.
As for who Shintaro was, or why he was in this cell at all — Jotaro clearly didn't consider it a question worth answering.
Left hanging awkwardly in the middle of the room, Shintaro could only force the most polite smile he could manage at the two pale, trembling guards.
"...Hello~?"
"Aaaaaah!!"
That was the last straw. The guards abandoned all dignity, scrambling down the corridor in blind panic, their footsteps clattering away and fading into the distance.
Holly watched them go and let out a quiet sigh.
She turned back toward Jotaro. He lay on his side, still, giving her nothing but his back.
"Wait for me, Jotaro," she said softly. "Mama will get you out of here."
Then she left.
The corridor fell silent.
Shintaro stared after her, privately criticizing the guards. Not only had they failed to release Jotaro — they were now apparently too frightened to even deliver meals.
Fortunately, the so-called "Evil Spirit" was nothing if not considerate.
Every day, Star Platinum brought food.
Rice balls. Bread. Once, a full box of fried chicken — still warm, still fragrant, almost certainly liberated from right under a fast-food restaurant's surveillance camera without so much as a second thought.
A golden-hearted spirit, Shintaro thought dryly, watching the purple figure pass through the bars with quiet purpose. Definitely not evil.
Jotaro, too, seemed to be gradually understanding that he could control the "Evil Spirit."
His expression remained impatient as always, but his use of that power was becoming smoother, more deliberate — the way someone learns to work with a tool they initially resented.
His attitude toward Star Platinum, however, hadn't shifted even slightly.
Still just an "Evil Spirit."
Shintaro leaned against the wall and watched as the purple figure slipped silently through the bars once more, setting a fresh can of coffee beside Jotaro's bed with a gentleness entirely at odds with the "Evil Spirit" label it had been given.
He shook his head inwardly.
That's not an Evil Spirit...
That's the clearest proof yet that a certain hundred-year-old bastard has finally woken up.
Just then, the sharp click of high heels came from the corridor — accompanied by an elderly voice, energetic and fully committed to complaining, in fluent English.
"Oh my God! Why is a Japanese detention center so depressing? Is there not even a coffee machine?!"
Shintaro's eyes lit up.
He's here.
The guards reappeared, visibly trembling as they led the way. Behind them walked a tall Caucasian elder in an expensive trench coat and fedora — and beside him, Holly Kujo.
Joseph Joestar.
"Jotaro!"
"Get lost, you old bastard!" Jotaro snapped immediately. "I told you not to come near me! I'll hurt you!"
"Oh, shit! You brat!" Joseph's mustache bristled. "How dare you talk to your mother like that?!"
His gaze swept across the cell. It stopped on Shintaro.
Joseph's sunglasses slid down slightly. "Huh?" He squinted. "Who's that? Jotaro, you keeping a pet in there too?"
"Some guy I don't know," Jotaro said impatiently. "Old Man, take that woman and leave. This 'Evil Spirit' is restless today."
As if on cue, Star Platinum manifested.
A low, chilling growl rippled through the cell.
"ORA."
The iron bars hummed violently as an invisible shockwave slammed through them.
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