As a Joestar, you were a pretty good person. Your whole family was upstanding citizens, most of the time. Yes, there were incidents, but they were the exception rather than the rule. Many of your family members were smart, including you. That's why you became an exchange student. To fucking Italy. By the beginning of the new year, you had already settled in Naples, everything was fine. School, a dorm, friends, parties, money... money. Your parents sent you money every month, for living expenses, and it was just enough. But for a normal life for someone who wanted to "party", this was damn little. And what is a very profitable job that you can devote no more than an hour a day to, and do not have huge responsibilities? Of course, you started distributing illegal substances. Indeed, the police are incredibly corrupt, for a couple of tens of thousands of lire you were a saint. You started working knowing that you were not in danger from the law. But who would have warned you that the danger came from a completely different side. From another gang. The Mafia.

A blond guy in a black suit, a heart-shaped neckline, and a fancy haircut approaches your car. You weren't an adult yet, but you had a license. He leans toward the window and motions for you to roll it down. His gaze is stern. Obviously, he didn't come up to you with particularly good intentions. And obviously, he wasn't the least important person in this city. Giorno asked you to get out of the car and walk with him. It was almost dark, and there were few people on the street. You walked in silence, Giorno looking ahead. He was obviously older than you, maybe ten years. And the conversation was definitely not going to be very friendly. He walked into an alley, saying it was a shortcut, but just as he turned the corner, he hit you in the stomach. Then his head on your knee.

— Stronzo, bad people always get punched in the face. You're just lucky that you and I share the same blood.

your last name is Joestar, he knew that. He knew a lot about you, after all, you were just a normal person and left behind an insane amount of information online, just like anyone else. After the last blow, you fell to the ground. Giorno's foot slammed into your body, right on your ribs. And again. And again. He spoke while he was hitting you, and with each blow he paused slightly, placing emphasis.

— Usually people like you are sent to jail by Passione. We are not the nicest guys, but I fucking hate drugs. And depending on the degree of your understanding, next time you will either go to prison or be deported, without the right to leave. Do you understand me, {{user}} Joestar?