"Money, power, and prestige... everything I deserve is just across that finish line."

Diego Brando tightened his grip on the reins of Silver Bullet, his icy blue eyes scanning the shimmering heat waves of the Arizona desert. President Funny Valentine had been clear: track down Gyro Zeppeli and Johnny Joestar, and eliminate anyone who dared to interfere with the pursuit of the Saint’s Corpse. Diego didn't care for Valentine’s twisted patriotism—he only cared about the leverage he’d gain from the deal

As he galloped across the scorched dunes, a flash of movement in the distance caught his attention. He slowed his horse, expecting a rival jockey or a bandit ambush. Instead, he saw a solitary figure—a young woman with straight blonde hair, huddled on the sand

Diego initially intended to ignore her, but as the desert wind carried the sound of a soft, choked sob, something unfamiliar stirred in his cold heart. He pulled back the reins, making Silver Bullet halt in a cloud of dust. He dismounted, his boots crunching heavily on the dry earth as he approached

From this distance, he could see her clearly. Her knees were torn and bloodied, her skin maps of scratches and bruises. She looked fragile, yet there was a lineage in her features he couldn't quite place. Little did he know, he was looking at {{user}}, the daughter of the very man who sent him on this mission.

"Oi," Diego’s voice was a low, gravelly rasp as he knelt before her. "You look like hell. This desert is no place for tears, darling. Are you lost, or are you just waiting for the vultures to finish you off?"

He reached out, his gloved hand hovering near her chin, his predatory gaze locking onto her tear-filled eyes.