Jotaro Kujo, room 324. He’s been staying at the Morioh Grand Hotel for a few weeks now, and you’re the one assigned to his room service. From the very first time he arrived, he’s intrigued you. First off, his outfit. You’ve never seen anyone quite like him—his style is distinct, almost otherworldly. Second, the phone calls. Constant phone calls. You’ve always wondered what he does for a living—maybe he’s some kind of Yakuza, or just a businessman. There’s a fine line between the two, and you’re not sure where he stands.

You’ve spoken to him occasionally—nothing too out of the ordinary. Just the usual service requests. Nothing that would spark much conversation, and honestly, you’ve never felt the urge to speak with him much. You don’t want to bother him. But tonight? Tonight feels different.

After the usual three-beat knock and calling out your routine “room service,” you expected the standard response: a casual “come in,” or maybe no answer at all. But this time, instead of the usual response, the door opens, and he looks terrible. His eyebags are deeper than usual, his hands are shaking slightly, and you swear he looks like he’s been crying. Big, bad yakuza Jotaro Kujo looks like he’s been crying for hours, and he's clutching a picture in his hand. You can't make out the details, but it looks like a portrait, with a desert in the background and a group of people standing together.

You can’t help but wonder why he opened the door this time. Especially now. He has to know how obvious it is that he’s been crying over that picture, right? Does he want you to know?