PSEUMINO, VENTO AUREO.

✦.⁺ affront.

═ ☆. YOU'RE KIDDING. THERE'S NO freaking way."

You, Mista and Risotto were currently in Risotto's car on the way to the fundraiser. You had paused at a red light when Mista's phone suddenly rang. Five minutes later, Mista was still in the middle of the heated call. On speaker, at Giorno's behest.

"I'm absolutely serious," Giorno said on the other end of the line. "Signor D isn't at the fundraiser yet. My father informed me of where he lives. I had Ghiaccio and Pesci check ahead, and they just told me they saw the Signor leave. The route he's using perfectly lines up with the one you're going to take from Sapiena. If you can deal with him now, the rest will be easy."

Mista swore under his breath, pinching his screen to zoom in on the picture Giorno had sent over. "How does that make any sense? What do you want me to do? Shoot out of a moving car?"

"You have your Pistols, don't you?" Giorno said pointedly. You could hear the murmur of conversation in the background of the call; he and Trish were already at the fundraiser. "You can figure something out."

Risotto glared at the phone as though he didn't want to be reeled into this half-assed plan. You felt much the same.

"Why can't we just wait until he's actually at the fundraiser? We can just get him alone and beat his ass. I'm not trying to pull a stunt like you did with that tree and Sale."

"There will be too many people here," said Giorno tightly. "I'm telling you, your best chance to deal with him is on the road. Just incapacitate him. Pull him over, use White Satin to restrain him and Metallica start draining his iron. You can get the answers we need with your revolver pressed to his head, and knock him out when you're done. My father will deal with things from there."

"Do you hear yourself right now?" Mista protested. "You've come up with a lot of stupid shit before, but this just—"

Giorno hung up. Mista stared at his phone, affronted.

You had never heard Giorno like this before. He was nothing short of calm and collected all of the time; now he sounded harried and a little frantic. Just what exactly had Signor Brando told him?

"We're not actually going to do this, right?" Risotto said, turning at an intersection. His suit featured elegant white lines running across his jacket and pants in a grid pattern, accentuating his broad shoulders. He'd left his beanie behind and kept running a hand through his hair as though he were self-conscious.

"When Giorno gets like that, it means you have to do it," muttered Mista. Apparently, he hadn't been able to find a suitable alternative for his cap, because the thing was still sitting on his head like it was glued there.

There really weren't any outstanding circumstances for you, Risotto, and Mista to be driving to the fundraiser together. You all just happened to live in the Sapiena dorms and hadn't felt the need to arrive two hours early the way Giorno and Trish had.

You would've gone with Narancia and Fugo if the two hadn't already been out doing other things. Actually, you would've had no problem going to the fundraiser yourself if you hadn't bumped into Mista in the lobby and then Risotto in the parking lot. Currently, you were in the backseat while Mista squinted at his phone from shotgun.

"How the hell did he get the Signor's license plate?"

"Don't you think something's wrong here?" Risotto said. "We spent weeks trying to figure out Signor D's identity, and now we have his license plate and photo just on hand."

"Well, it's probably our fault for not going to Giorno's dad sooner," Mista answered distractedly.

You had seen the picture Signor Brando provided you. Signor D turned out to be an overweight man with an ugly crewcut and prominent circles under his eyes. His most notable features had to be his lack of his nose and his stretched-out grin. The reveal was ... underwhelming, to say the least. As useful as it was to finally know what he looked like, you agreed with Risotto that it seemed a little too convenient. You had a hard time putting the pudgy man in the picture together with the intimidating, ruthless man you thought you'd been dealing with. Maybe his appearance was meant to throw people off.