April 10th, 1999.
Another year's most extraordinary April—the first day of school under a bright spring sky.
Inori was wearing an outfit from Yasuho's wardrobe. The style wasn't all that different from 2039 Japan, and the colors were actually bolder than what that era had to offer. Yasuho owned a closet packed with every shade imaginable—reds, oranges, yellows, greens, a dizzying rainbow. Inori picked a white hoodie, paired it with mid-length shorts and sneakers.
A perfectly unremarkable look. She hadn't tied her hair up or put on any makeup. Her loose pink hair caught the light as it swayed, smooth and gleaming, and the gentle April breeze embraced her as she walked down the quiet but far from empty streets of the small town.
Leading the way in front of her was Koichi Hirose in his black school uniform. Since it was the opening ceremony, he'd gone the extra mile and dressed up—hair gelled upright in a stiff, clean sweep. It should've looked mature and street-smart, but paired with his stunted height and baby face, the effect landed somewhere closer to comical.
"Morioh really is a strange and wonderful place."
Inori glanced around at the passersby while waiting at a crosswalk. Every face wore a contented smile.
"I think so too, Sis."
Koichi turned back and grinned at her.
He'd started calling her that on his own. Inori carried herself with a maturity that exceeded her apparent age—she was sixteen, a year his senior—and since they were temporarily living as family, the address felt natural to him.
Inori's true age was really only about two years. She wasn't a normal person, after all. Her appearance hadn't changed since the day she walked out of the hibernation pod. She understood that she was fundamentally a tool, an artificial being created to interface with the virus. Her body wouldn't grow, and her lifespan was almost certainly limited—twenty years was probably the ceiling—but she figured she'd find a solution to that problem before then.
"The ceremony starts at nine, right?"
Inori checked her watch. The hour hand had barely crept past eight.
"I think we left a bit early. Sorry, Sis... how about I buy you some ice cream?"
Koichi scratched the back of his head sheepishly, then gestured across the street toward a dessert shop.
"Sure. Chocolate for me."
At the mention of food, Inori's face lit up.
Well, this wasn't like the last world, where she'd earned more money than she could spend as a singer. Here, internet technology hadn't even started catching on, and signing a formal entertainment contract didn't align with her priorities. She wouldn't be leaving Morioh until every mystery was solved.
I need to find a part-time job. Can't keep mooching off Yasuho's family forever—I can't even afford snacks. I'm not that clueless girl who just woke up from the pod anymore. Using King Crimson to steal things is out of the question... I'm not that shameless. And besides, Morioh is crawling with Stand users. One wrong move and I'd have a real problem on my hands.
...
...
...Oh, God. Her hands. Like the feeling of a first love.
Lurking in a shadowed corner, a certain man watched the pink-haired girl holding her chocolate ice cream cone, utterly transfixed.
Those fingers—slender, flawless, each line a work of art. They looked soft enough to squeeze water from. Because she was holding the cone aloft, her sleeve had slipped down, exposing a delicate wrist. If he could just press that hand against his face and rub... it would make him the happiest man alive. He could barely keep himself from getting aroused.
But he couldn't make a move. Not yet.
What exquisite, masterfully crafted hands. Such a shame they were attached to a person—and that person happened to be a terrifyingly powerful Stand user.
Restrain yourself, Yoshikage Kira. Be patient. The day will come when you claim those... hands.
He told himself this, then noticed on the opposite sidewalk a tall young man with a peculiar pompadour hairstyle and the unmistakable look of a delinquent.
Hmph. This time... this is how I'll do it.
...
...
"Sis, you're a high schooler too, right?"
Koichi clearly lacked experience talking to girls—especially pretty ones. His desperate attempts to keep the conversation going were almost endearing.
"I don't remember exactly, but probably."
Inori extended her tongue and licked her ice cream.
"...Whoa, that guy's really tall. And he's wearing the same uniform as me... is he an upperclassman?"
Just when Koichi was struggling for something to say, he spotted a young man on the far sidewalk—bizarre hairstyle, yawning as he walked.
"Good genes, I guess."
Inori had of course noticed the outrageously sculpted pompadour. That was the Fourth JoJo, Josuke Higashikata, protagonist of this story. Running into him here wasn't surprising—the fountain plaza up ahead was where everything began. The place where Josuke, Koichi, and Jotaro Kujo first crossed paths.
A flutter of excitement stirred in Inori's chest. She was finally going to meet the invincible Jotaro! Granted, the twenty-eight-year-old version was past his prime, but getting on his good side early could only be an advantage. Maybe she could even squeeze some funding out of him.
"But his hair is really—"
"Shh. Don't say it, Koichi." Inori caught the look on his face—he was about to roast Josuke's hairstyle just to make conversation—and cut him off. "That's rude, commenting on other people's taste like that."
"S-sorry, Sis..."
Josuke Higashikata might look imposing—tall, broad-shouldered, easily over 180 cm even if he didn't quite reach the Joestar standard of 195 cm—and that delinquent hairstyle only added to the image. But in reality he was an incredibly kind young man. His Stand, Crazy Diamond, could restore anything to its original state, an ability almost identical in function to Hare Menjou's Void, Lover's Bandages.
Josuke had a good temper, with one glaring exception: the instant anyone criticized his beloved hairstyle, he would fly into a blind rage. He'd even hit his own nephew over it.
"Hey!"
But Josuke seemed to have heard them. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned toward Inori and Koichi, his handsome face twisted into a murderous glare.
"What did you just say about my hair!?"
"Huh? No, I didn't say anything... you must've misheard?"
"You think I'm stupid!?"
Josuke hurled his school bag to the ground and jabbed an accusatory finger at them.
"You two are the only ones near me! I heard the voice coming from right over there! You just said... 'cow-dung,' didn't you!?"
"No, I didn't! You definitely misheard!"
Josuke's sheer intensity had gentle Koichi shaking from head to toe.
"Um... excuse me, but there's been a misunderstanding."
Inori frowned. Something was off.
She'd stopped Koichi before he could say anything sensitive. As for "cow-dung," she'd only thought the word—she hadn't spoken it aloud. Crazy Diamond didn't have any kind of mind-reading ability. Those words hadn't come from her or Koichi. And yet... Inori scanned their surroundings. Just as Josuke said, there were no other pedestrians nearby. The closest people were a group of schoolgirls sitting outside the dessert shop behind them, enjoying breakfast. Was Josuke hearing things?
"When someone insults my hair I get so pissed I can't stop! You two... apologize right now and then let me punch you once! Then I'll forgive you!"
As he spoke, Josuke was already striding across the road toward them with the swagger of a man who feared absolutely nothing. Good lord—just like the source material said, the moment his hair was criticized, all reason went out the window.
"Crazy Diamond!"
He was still in the middle of the street when he called out his Stand, charging straight at Inori and Koichi.
"DORARARARARA—!!!"