『Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap』—abbreviated 『D4C』.
- Destructive Power: A
- Speed: A
- Range: C
- Stamina: A
- Precision: A
- Developmental Potential: A
Its ability is to transform the space between two objects into a gateway leading to a parallel universe. Across infinite parallel worlds, infinite Valentines exist—but only this world possesses D4C and the Holy Corpse.
Because the same object cannot exist twice within the same world, when two identical items from parallel timelines meet, they are drawn together and annihilate each other completely. The President, however—possessing the power to traverse dimensions at will—was exempt from this rule.
That was precisely how he had dealt with Sandman: before the man could even react, Valentine sent him tumbling into a parallel world to fend for himself.
To say that Valentine's Stand was D4C would be slightly inaccurate. It was more that D4C's Stand was the President. When the President of the Corpse-world dies, D4C can still pass through the clamped zone into a parallel timeline, transferring the Corpse-world President's memories into another Valentine's body—resurrection, complete.
[—] This is precisely why, after going to cause trouble for Johnny Joestar, he had managed to successfully "slim down." That cripple had kicked him to death as well.
Others might agonize over the question: Is a resurrection through memory still truly me? Valentine never did. Every iteration of himself who inherited D4C's memories cherished the same thing—the homeland of this Corpse-world. He believed this to be true resurrection, and so he had never once felt lost at the prospect of approaching death.
"The Holy Corpse will bestow miraculous power—and the one who obtains it will never be some random nobody."
Only one piece remained: the skull.
This time, the Corpse had not presented any directional indication toward the next fragment as it had before. But Valentine showed no urgency, no anxiety. The Corpse would inevitably gather itself whole through destiny's design, and he—standing firmly on the side of justice—would be its final chosen one. Just as the pieces had assembled before him without effort, the last would follow. This was fate.
By now, another day had passed.
Valentine returned to his manor in perfect ease, unaware that an unexpected guest already waited inside. She had come at the invitation of his wife, Scarlett—Lucy Steel, the nominal wife of the SBR race's chief organizer.
More precisely: Lucy had seduced Scarlett into extending the invitation.
Every household has its troubles. America's First Lady, Scarlett, harbored no love for her husband—she had married purely for his power and wealth. Worse still: she preferred women.
Lucy had no concrete proof of this, only intuition pieced together from impressions and rumor. But she had deliberately gambled on it: borrowing a book of lilies from the library, engineering chance encounters in the parks where Scarlett liked to walk, and making certain… physical suggestions.
"He should be napping soon—you shared a train carriage with him once, so you may know: he sleeps for twenty to thirty minutes every day," Scarlett said, sipping her tea, her words loaded with meaning.
The "he" in question was, of course, her husband—Funny Valentine.
"No… I didn't know that." Lucy shook her head softly.
"Ah, of course—you two have no particular connection." Scarlett shifted sideways, letting her hand drift, seemingly by accident, toward the space between Lucy's thighs. She spoke as though musing to herself: "Our relationship is terrible—I married him purely for his power and his money." A beat. "Ha—I'm joking, of course."
As her words drifted on, Scarlett's hand pressed closer, sliding inward with unmistakable intent.
Lucy's gaze wandered. On instinct, she pressed her knees together to block any further advance. "What about you, Scarlett—do you sleep in separate rooms if things are that bad? Then don't you have the habit of napping anymore? I always need a short rest at this hour to stay sharp—might I borrow your room?"
Scarlett's breath hitched—not only because Lucy had responded to her suggestion so far beyond expectation, but because being addressed by name alone had tripped some private switch inside her.
She had no idea that the innocent girl beside her was simultaneously fixated on her husband.
Lucy's position was complicated. The spine had been taken by a frog-like creature, and even invoking Mountain Tim's name had failed to earn the full trust of those two. Turning up with neither concrete goodwill nor any trace of pursuit to support her story, her words had carried no weight. From the outside, she was entirely aligned with the President's camp—though out of sympathy for a girl her age, Johnny had escorted her to safety, at least keeping her out of Valentine's immediate reach.
But sitting idle while Valentine completed the Holy Corpse was out of the question. Once he had all of it, his first thought would inevitably turn to the Steels.
Lucy's plan was reckless—even by her own assessment. At its smallest scope: steal the Holy Corpse from under the President's nose. At its most drastic: act while he slept and—no. If it came to that, neither she nor her husband would escape suspicion.
"What are you waiting for, Lucy?" Scarlett had already kicked off her heels and stretched out on the bed. "Mm—do you sleep in your undergarments? What style do you prefer?"
Lucy bit her lip—a small reflex that made Scarlett pause, not from suspicion, but because that particular curve of her lips had snagged something specific.
The girl lay down beside her. She was already half-regretting her failure to prepare some sedative in advance—but given her position, obtaining anything of the sort without drawing attention was simply impossible.
Scarlett narrowed her eyes, smiling. "What's the matter? Don't tell me you have a habit of napping fully dressed?"
"I… would it be all right if I held you from behind while we slept? I just want to feel the rhythm of your breathing. No pretending to be asleep." Is this too obvious? Lucy kept her voice deliberately put-on and sweet, even to her own disgust.
"Just holding?" Scarlett paused—then brightened unexpectedly. "Well—you're a genius, you really are." She turned over on her own and presented her back.
…
Valentine had concealed the Holy Corpse fragments in a secure location, insurance against losing everything while he hunted for the final piece.
With that done, he turned to head back to his room for his daily rest—and caught his own reflection in the half-length mirror.
Unlike the body that had grown heavy with the weight of the presidency, he remained, even past forty, every bit the handsome man he had been in youth. His mind drifted unbidden to a gala more than ten years ago—himself playing the mandolin with his foot, commanding the room—and to the woman he had met that night.
Pity the marriage had yielded nothing but cold silence. Some days they exchanged not a single genuine word.
The thought softened something in him. He walked to Scarlett's room and knocked. "Scarlett—is now a good time?"
"You?! Wait—just a moment!"
Why such alarm?
Valentine's brow furrowed. His mind snapped to a detail: Diego, after being rescued, had offered another piece of information as his second bargaining chip.
Diego—a riding prodigy beyond even Johnny Joestar—possessed not only masterful horsemanship but the uncanny ability to read a horse's habits within minutes, finding angles no ordinary man would think to look for.
That same extraordinary observation had allowed him to read the hoof prints and determine that someone had been sharing Johnny's horse that day—a female weighing less than fifty-one kilograms. She was the one who had betrayed him.
"Was it you—Scarlett?!"
Valentine summoned D4C and smashed the door to pieces with one blow.
Two figures in his wife's bed. His business partner's wife, curled intimately against his own wife from behind. Both of them women.
He had indeed been betrayed—just not in the way he had anticipated.
"Scarlett…"
Valentine pressed a hand to his chest and stepped back.