"Jotaro, you've got it all wrong."
Joseph Joestar's voice echoed through the corridor as he removed his sunglasses. Behind the lenses was a sharp, searching gaze — one that carried far more experience and weight than his flamboyant exterior suggested.
"What you're calling an 'Evil Spirit' is neither a curse nor a ghost," Joseph said, his tone turning serious. "It is the materialization of your life energy itself."
He raised a finger and pointed directly at the towering purple figure standing behind Jotaro.
"Because it stands beside you like a guardian," Joseph said deliberately, emphasizing every word, "I have given it a name."
"— A Stand."
"Stand...?" Jotaro muttered the word, testing it.
Then he snorted and looked away slightly.
"The name doesn't matter, Old Man. Whatever you call it, I still can't control it. If I leave this cell, someone is going to get hurt."
The temperature in the air shifted.
The Egyptian man who had been standing quietly at the rear — Mohammed Avdol — took a slow step forward. His expression was composed, but his eyes burned with clear intent.
"Mr. Joestar," Avdol said, his voice deep and measured, eyes fixed on Jotaro, "it seems words alone won't move your grandson."
"If he refuses to leave willingly — I'll have to use a more direct method to force him out."
Joseph glanced instinctively toward Shintaro in the corner, his mouth opening as if to say something —
Too late.
A wave of searing heat detonated outward.
"Come forth — Magician's Red!"
BOOM!
A high-pitched cry split the air as a crimson Stand erupted behind Avdol — the head of a bird, the body of a man, and flames roaring across every inch of its form in a blazing corona. The cold, damp detention cell transformed in an instant into something closer to a furnace.
The air warped. Metal groaned. Breathing became an act of effort.
What are you doing, Avdol?! Shintaro's eyes went wide.
He knew the script: Avdol would use fire to pressure Jotaro, Jotaro would counter with Star Platinum, and the confrontation would force him out of the cell.
But the anime had never shown just how small this cell actually was.
Less than ten square meters. And right now it contained: a burly delinquent with a battle-god for a Stand, a Stand made entirely of living fire, and one extremely fragile transmigrator with absolutely nowhere to run.
This will kill me as collateral, Shintaro thought, backing frantically into the farthest corner.
"Red Bind!"
Avdol raised his arm. The flames pouring from Magician's Red twisted and condensed midair, forming blazing ropes that shot forward like striking serpents.
They coiled tightly around Jotaro's limbs.
"Ugh!" Jotaro grunted, straining against them. "So this is a 'Stand'... All it does is make everything unbearably hot!"
His eyes sharpened.
Behind him, Star Platinum roared.
"ORA!"
Its muscles swelled as it tore violently against the burning ropes. They snapped apart with a sound like cracking wood.
And in the cramped space, the severed fire didn't simply extinguish — it lashed outward like a whip uncoiled, and the loose ball of flame flung directly toward the corner where Shintaro was pinned.
Too fast.
Too close.
The heat smashed into his face. His hair curled at the tips. His eyebrows singed. The sharp smell of burning filled his lungs.
I'm going to die —
Fear wiped his mind completely clean.
In that split second, the faint static-like sensation he had felt before — the one humming quietly at the edge of his awareness since he first woke in this cell — surged violently, screaming through every nerve ending at once.
Something deep inside him cracked open.
Block it —Block it for me —!!
A silent scream tore through his mind.
Pop.
A faint, quiet sound — like a bubble bursting under pressure.
Something appeared in front of him.
Small. Black. Palm-sized.
A pitch-black figure stood between Shintaro and the oncoming flames. It had a teardrop-shaped head, a thin antenna protruding from the top, and an infuriatingly smug, lewd-looking grin plastered across its face.
It looked weak.
Ridiculous.
Like the punchline to a joke that hadn't been told yet.
Then —
BOOM!
Magician's Red's flames crashed into it head-on, engulfing the tiny figure completely in a roaring column of fire.
"Oh no!" Holly cried, covering her eyes. "That child —!"
"Oh my God!" Joseph grabbed his head. "I didn't have time to warn you there was someone else in there!"
Avdol's expression cracked immediately. "Damn it! Mr. Joestar, why didn't you say so?!"
The flames dispersed.
And everyone froze.
Shintaro stood there, panting heavily, clothes soaked through with cold sweat.
Not a single burn mark on his body.
On the ground in front of him, the black figure still stood.
Untouched. Its glossy black skin wasn't even scorched.
Only its expression had changed — from smugly satisfied to openly, personally offended.
"...Hey," the small black figure said, its voice sharp and arrogant. "Who did that just now?"
"That was hot, you bastard."
Then something stranger happened.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Soft, rapid sounds as the black figure's body simply... split.
One became two. Two became four. Four became five. Identical black figures emerged rapidly from each other, crowding the floor in front of Shintaro — same antenna, same face, same unbearably punchable grin on every single one of them.
They immediately began arguing among themselves.
"Damn, that was close." "Almost got roasted alive." "Who's the idiot playing with fire?" "Should we beat up that chicken-headed guy?" "This place is way too small. Can we merge and get bigger?"
The cell fell into complete, stunned silence.
Even Jotaro and Avdol had stopped moving.
Joseph stared at the cluster of black figures, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses. He had seen countless Stands in his time — but never anything remotely like this. "That... that thing," he said slowly. "Kid, don't tell me..."
"Is that your Stand?"
Shintaro stared down at the group of arguing black figures in a daze.
As a lifelong otaku, there was absolutely no way he didn't recognize them.
The smooth pitch-black bodies. The antenna. The obscene, smirking grin worn on every identical face.
This was Black Sperm.
The Dragon-level monster from One-Punch Man.
"...This," Shintaro said weakly, his voice barely above a murmur, "is my Stand?"
Despite the completely absurd art style, he could feel it — a clear, undeniable mental link connecting him to every single one of them, like a thread tied to each finger of both hands.
Which meant —
With enough stamina and enough food...I'm basically an immortal, self-replicating army.
Shintaro took a slow, deep breath and forcibly pressed down the storm of shock inside him. He remembered what he knew about Stands: they were tied directly to mental strength and willpower.
How many can I maintain?
He looked up at Joseph and forced a bitter, somewhat helpless smile.
"Mr. Joestar... I know this is hard to believe, but it looks like I've also awakened a rather... troublesome Stand of my own."
Jotaro's sharp gaze swept over the floor full of Black Sperm, then back to Shintaro.
"...Yare yare."
Avdol had already withdrawn Magician's Red. He wiped cold sweat from his brow and dipped his head slightly.
"My apologies. I nearly harmed you."
Shintaro looked at the man's honest face and waved it off. "It's fine. If anything, thanks to you, my Stand finally awakened."
Yeah, right, he added internally, with feeling. This was absolutely Joseph's fault.
From the moment the old man had called him a pet, everything had gone sideways. Avdol probably hadn't even noticed Shintaro existed — he'd walked straight up to the bars and apparently started meditating with his eyes closed.
Damn it. Tequila Joseph.
_____________________
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