Chapter Text
The Joestar estate held a different kind of quiet than the streets.
It was not the uneasy stillness of a city holding its breath, nor the fragile calm that followed conflict. It was structured. Controlled. Every sound belonged somewhere. Every movement had purpose. Even the silence felt deliberate, shaped by long-standing expectation.
In one of the inner rooms, removed from the busier halls, Mary Joestar sat near a tall window, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Light filtered through thin curtains, softening the edges of the room and casting pale patterns across the polished floor.
She had been waiting.
Not impatiently. That was not her way.
But with a distant kind of attention, as though her thoughts were not fully anchored in the present moment.
“Lucy,” she called gently.
The response came quickly.
“I’m here.”
Lucy Steel entered with an easy familiarity, closing the door behind her. Though she moved with respect, there was nothing stiff about her presence. She belonged here in a way that went beyond her role.
“You asked for me?” she said.
Mary inclined her head slightly. “Yes. I would like Johnny brought here.”
Lucy studied her for a moment, as though measuring something unspoken. “Of course.”
She turned, pausing briefly before leaving. “Is there anything else?”
Mary’s gaze drifted toward the window. “No.”
Lucy nodded and stepped out into the corridor.
Finding Johnny was not difficult.
He was where he often was, positioned just outside the center of things. Not hidden, but not engaged either. He leaned against a column, watching the preparations continue with a distant expression.
“Johnny,” Lucy called.
He glanced over. “That sounds serious.”
“It isn’t,” she replied. “Not yet, anyway.”
He straightened slightly. “That’s reassuring.”
Lucy smiled faintly. “Your mother wants to see you.”
Johnny hesitated.
It was brief, but noticeable.
“Now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He exhaled softly. “Alright.”
They walked together in silence for a few moments.
Then Lucy glanced at him. “You could try looking less concerned.”
“I’m not concerned.”
“You look it.”
“That’s just my face.”
Lucy huffed a quiet laugh. “Work on it.”
When they entered the room, Mary turned her attention from the window to them.
“Johnny,” she said.
He nodded. “Mother.”
Lucy remained near the door, as she always did during these conversations. Close enough to be present. Far enough to give space.
Mary studied her son for a moment.
Not critically.
But not warmly either.
There was a distance in her gaze, something measured and careful.
“How old are you now?” she asked.
Johnny blinked once. “You know how old I am.”
“I would like to hear you say it.”
He paused, then answered. “Seventeen.”
Mary inclined her head slightly. “Seventeen.”
Lucy shifted her weight subtly, her expression thoughtful.
“He’s younger than he looks,” she added lightly. “Still finding his place.”
Johnny glanced at her. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“It never is,” Lucy replied.
Mary’s attention returned to Johnny.
“You are at an age,” she said, “where certain considerations must be made.”
Johnny said nothing.
He had heard this tone before.
“You understand that,” Mary continued.
“I understand that you think I should,” Johnny replied.
Lucy pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile.
Mary did not react outwardly, though something in her expression tightened slightly.
“There is a gathering tonight,” she said.
“I know.”
“You will attend.”
“That was also implied.”
Mary paused.
Then continued, her voice steady. “There will be someone there.”
Johnny tilted his head slightly. “Someone specific?”
“Yes.”
Lucy watched him closely now.
“And who would that be?” Johnny asked.
“Diego Brando.”
The name settled in the room.
Johnny’s expression did not change immediately.
Then, slowly, something sharper entered it.
“I see.”
Mary continued as though she had not noticed. “He is well regarded. Intelligent. Capable. His standing speaks for itself.”
Johnny let out a quiet breath. “You’ve given this some thought.”
“I have.”
Lucy stepped forward slightly. “He’s… impressive,” she said carefully. “In the way people tend to be impressed by.”
Johnny glanced at her. “That sounds like a warning.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
“It still sounds like one.”
Mary folded her hands more tightly. “This is not a matter for deflection.”
Johnny’s attention returned to her.
“I’m not deflecting,” he said. “I’m listening.”
“Then listen clearly,” Mary replied. “You are expected to meet him.”
There was no hesitation in her tone.
No room for misinterpretation.
Johnny considered this.
“Meet him,” he repeated. “And then what?”
Mary held his gaze. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On how the meeting proceeds.”
Lucy exhaled softly. “In other words, don’t ruin it.”
Johnny gave her a look. “That’s helpful.”
“I try.”
He looked back at his mother.
“And if I’m not interested?” he asked.
Mary’s expression did not shift. “Interest can develop.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then you will reconsider.”
Johnny was quiet for a moment.
Not defiant.
But not yielding either.
“You’re asking me to approach this like a decision that’s already been made,” he said.
“I am asking you,” Mary replied, “to approach it with understanding.”
“Understanding of what?”
“Of what is expected of you.”
The words settled heavily.
Lucy stepped in again, her tone softer. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” she said. “Just… observe. Talk. See what you think.”
Johnny glanced at her. “And that’s enough?”
“For now,” she said.
He considered that.
Then nodded once.
“Alright.”
Mary watched him carefully.
“Good,” she said.
The conversation might have ended there.
But Lucy, as she often did, chose not to let it.
“You know,” she said, shifting the tone slightly, “when you were younger, you used to hide during gatherings like this.”
Johnny frowned faintly. “That’s not relevant.”
“It’s a little relevant.”
“I grew out of that.”
Lucy smiled. “Did you?”
He crossed his arms. “Mostly.”
Mary observed the exchange quietly.
“You were easier to guide then,” she said.
Johnny’s expression softened slightly. “I was easier to ignore then.”
The room fell quiet for a brief moment.
Lucy glanced between them.
Then spoke again, gently. “Things change.”
Johnny nodded. “They do.”
Mary’s gaze lingered on him.
Then, after a moment, she inclined her head.
“You may go,” she said.
Johnny hesitated.
Then turned toward the door.
Lucy followed.
In the hallway, the atmosphere felt lighter.
Not entirely free of tension.
But less contained.
Johnny exhaled as they walked.
“Well,” he said, “that went about as expected.”
Lucy tilted her head. “You handled it well.”
“I agreed to something I’m not sure I believe in.”
“That’s not the same as failing.”
He glanced at her. “You’re very good at making things sound reasonable.”
“It’s a skill.”
Johnny looked ahead.
“Diego Brando,” he said after a moment.
Lucy nodded. “Yes.”
“You’ve met him.”
“I have.”
“And?”
Lucy considered her answer carefully.
“He’s… confident,” she said.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“He knows what he wants.”
“And gets it?”
“Usually.”
Johnny was quiet for a moment.
“That sounds exhausting.”
Lucy laughed softly. “It can be.”
They slowed as they reached the edge of the main hall, where preparations were nearly complete.
Servants moved quickly, adjusting final details. Light reflected off polished surfaces. Everything had been arranged with precision.
“It’s just one evening,” Lucy said.
Johnny nodded. “I know.”
“Try not to overthink it.”
“That’s not something I’m good at.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He smiled faintly.
Then his expression shifted, something more thoughtful settling in.
“Do you think,” he began, “that people can really decide things like this?”
Lucy glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“Meeting someone,” he said. “Being told it matters before it even begins.”
Lucy considered that.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that people decide things in different ways.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only honest one I have.”
Johnny looked back toward the hallway they had come from.
Then forward again.
“Right,” he said.
Behind them, in the quiet room, Mary Joestar remained by the window.
Her posture had not changed.
But her expression had softened, just slightly.
Not with certainty.
But with something closer to hope.