Chapter Text
An year had passed since the last stage of the Steel Ball Run, yet the wind still carried the taste of dust and iron.
Johnny Joestar rode alone now.
Gyro's laughter used to fill the silence, echoing against the canyon walls. Without it, every hoofbeat sounded too sharp, too final. The Spin still moved in Johnny's hands, but it felt empty—like a song played for someone who would never hear it again.
He had sworn he would not return to this land.
But grief has its own gravity, and it drew him back to the place where everything had ended.
That's where he found Diego Brando again.
This was not the Diego twisted by rage and ambition at the finish line. This Diego looked worn down by survival itself—older, quieter, his pride tempered by whatever miracles or mistakes had kept him breathing.The same green eyes stared back at him, but they were shadowed by something unfamiliar: restraint.
He stood beside a dark-coated horse, his hair cut short now, a deliberate contrast to Johnny, who had let his own grow long since the race. It reminded him of Gyro.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Johnny said.
Diego's smile flickered, brittle. "Didn't expect to be here."
They didn't shake hands. They didn't need to.
The desert didn't care for greetings.
They set up a small camp before sunset. Johnny half-expected Diego's old arrogance to return, the sly remarks about winning and losing, but the words never came. Instead, Diego spoke with an almost weary honesty that felt foreign to them both.
"Zeppeli," he said at last, voice low, "he mattered to you."
Johnny's hand paused on the kettle. "More than anyone."
Diego nodded, eyes fixed on the fire. "I used to hate that about you. The way you looked at him. Like you'd already found the thing the rest of us were still chasing."
Johnny didn't answer. The wind did instead, whispering through the dunes like Gyro's voice carried on memory.
Diego leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I thought if I could beat you, I could erase that look from your face. Prove I was the one worth seeing. Pathetic, isn't it?"
Johnny finally looked at him. There was no mockery, only a tired kind of understanding. "You're not the first person who tried to fill a space that can't be filled."
Diego huffed a laugh. "And you? Still trying to spin your way out of grief?"
Johnny smiled faintly. "It's the only trick I know."
The night deepened. The fire sank into embers.
Diego rose first, brushing the sand from his gloves. "You're still the same, Joestar. Still standing on the edge of the world, trying to find balance."
Johnny tilted his head. "And you?"
Diego hesitated. Then, quietly: "Still pretending I don't care as much as I do."
For a heartbeat, the wind stilled. The words hung between them, fragile and real.
Johnny didn't step closer. He didn't pull away, either. Instead, he reached for the steel ball at his belt, letting it spin in his palm — a soft, silver hum that filled the silence like a heartbeat.
Diego watched it turn, light glinting in his eyes. "Still chasing ghosts?"
Johnny shook his head. "Maybe learning to let them ride beside me instead."
Diego said nothing. He only stood there, the firelight cutting across his face, and for the first time there was no envy in his gaze — only something quieter. Respect. Regret. Perhaps even care.
When the morning came, the two riders set off in the same direction, not as rivals or companions, but as two souls bound by the same horizon — moving forward, together yet apart, through the endless silver sand.