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“Why did I come here, to San Diego? To watch the start of the Steel Ball Run like all of these other spectators? Or was it for some nostalgia for the horses I had in my past?”
Johnny Joestar. A name known for many a reason, locally and countrywide. A prodigy, they had called him. He rode horses, but controlled them like they were an extension of the self, so connected to them you could sense it by just seeing. It could never last, as most things go, and his career as an up-and-coming jockey was cut short by a gunshot injury so severe it left him paralyzed below the waist. He had lived his life confident in himself, in his ability, and cocky to boot. He didn’t care who he offended with his mannerisms, he cared about what he achieved, and the image he presented. He looked back on those times bitterly now, knowing that being more patient, more respectful, and less goddamn selfish, he could’ve avoided his lifelong, crippling disability. Having said that, now that it was all over, he’d probably not make an effort to change his ways. There was nothing to work towards, no way to fix himself by way of kindness- what a silly idea- it was the past that could’ve been changed, not the future ahead.
He lived by this ideal for a long time, a time filled with wallowing and lonesomeness. That was until he saw that man, and what he could do.
Gyro Zeppeli, and his steel balls. Something bizarre to say out loud, but there was no other way to describe them. They spun at a speed almost incomprehensible to the eyes, and the damage they caused to the body could be severe; demonstrated most effectively by the death that occurred of a common thief by their wrath only a day ago. Johnny saw their power, the ability to spin so fast they could manipulate and twist another’s body, and had the ridiculous idea to try to touch it. He didn’t know what it would achieve, but he attempted it anyway.
It jolted his legs to stand, to carry his weight for just a moment. Then, he fell with shock, limp, back into his wheelchair.
He had rolled after him, begging to learn its secrets, as for the first time in a long while, he felt hope, and the terrifying fear of losing it again.
Gyro had declined. He rode away, and said he’d be leaving to join the masses in the race, and taking the steel balls with him.
Johnny couldn’t lose this. Not his hope, not this man, and not even the smallest chance of regaining the ability to walk. Those balls held the key, he was sure. So he impulsively, and stupidly entered the race.
He tried all night to get atop a horse again, but ended up being dragged around the pen in the dirt for hours on end, too exhausted to get up. He needed to do this however, for the future he didn’t even believe in.
Throughout this ordeal, he vaguely noticed the prying eyes of others, the sounds of their laughter reaching his ears. He felt a sense of deep, bubbling embarrassment in his chest- such a highly praised rider, being tugged along through the muck by a horse- how hilarious. He hated to be seen like this, shown to be failing at the one thing he was always good at. Despite the shame and embarrassment, the fire of his determination blazed true, despite the (literal) sand being spat at his face.
Perseverance had led him to the starting line, battered, bruised and bleeding, but nonetheless alive and breathing. He lay beside these world renowned riders atop their trusty steeds, and seeing the way they looked at him, one thought reappeared more than the rest during the minutes he was resting; ‘I really don’t belong here.’
No one had to say it to him, for he was well aware. He had had his moment in the sun, his fame, the whole package, and his time in horse racing was done. He didn’t belong here, disabled and useless, with the most proficient members of the jockeying community, when he couldn’t even ride his own damn horse. His determination and unwillingness to give up didn’t matter met with the reality that he hadn’t even been able to mount his animal. What kind of idiotic notion had this been? He would never keep up with Gyro, and probably be trampled by the animals he once grew up alongside.
Just as he considered this fact for the millionth time, his horse nudged his head, and seemed to nibble at the edge of his hat and hair. He hardly had the strength to do anything about it, so he just groaned quietly, defeated before the race even began.
“Damn it…” he managed to get out through gritted teeth, craning his aching neck to look up at Gyro, sitting tall at his side on his horse–Valkyrie’s– back.
He trembled with the strain in his muscles, managing to hold up his torso with his arms to address the man, looking him in the eyes with a look that burned like molten gold.
“The truth about those steel balls… gh— I…I won’t give up. I’ll figure it out, I swear. It’s in the ‘spin’, I’m sure of it!”
His nails dug into the dry, sandy ground beneath him, and his blood stained its yellowed hue with crimson splashes.
“Even if I never catch up to you. Even after the race ends…I will, someday..!”
He huffed and doubled over with the strenuous effort of holding himself, even for that measly amount of time.
Gyro looked down at him. A hint of pity in his eyes, perhaps? Disdain? It was hard to tell, and Johnny wasn’t even looking anymore.
He sighed, and leaned over a bit so his voice was heard.
“You’ve already found the answer.”
He explained lowly, hand resting on one of the steel balls,
“If you have the will to get on the horse… why don’t you?”
Why don’t you?
How simple did that sound. Just get on the horse, and get on with it.
It sounded ridiculous, stupid, even, but something told Johnny he wasn’t being led on. ‘You already found the answer’— the spin was the key. It had to be, but… how? Just how could he harness that and mound his steed? The race was about to start any second now, and he needed to be seated!
In a flustered hurry, he turned to face his horse, and raised a hand to it.
“Come on, fella! Lick me one more time! Please, just one more time…!”
He pleaded, stretching as far as his reach would allow. The horse seemed to respond to him, and leaned down to nuzzle into his hand. He exhaled sharply, and imagined it. The spin. Where he needed to be.
At first, he wasn’t sure that he didn’t imagine it. That it wasn’t a fever dream.
In the blink of an eye, with a nauseating tumbling sensation, he suddenly felt the smooth coldness of the saddle under his backside. In shock, he felt with his hands the neck of the horse, peered at its stunning beauty. The way its muscles moved as it bent to toss its mane… it was like returning home. He steadied himself, and leaned down to pat the horse gratefully. He turned to look at Gyro, who looked to be holding back a grin before turning away.
He felt that foreign feeling of hope, bubbling like a tidal wave in his systems, filling him with a glorious sense of excitement.
He would learn the secrets of the ‘spin’, and of this mysterious man, and he would learn to walk again.