Chapter Text
Josuke was fortunate his bedroom window faced east - the sun woke him daily, relentlessly burning his eyes. His mother had inconveniently chosen to wash the curtains, leaving only flimsy tulle that provided no relief. This particular morning felt unusually hot and stifling, the air thick and harder to breathe than normal. When Josuke opened his eyes, sunlight immediately forced him to bury his face in his pillow. His sleep-swollen eyes stung sharply. He groaned into the pillowcase, fingers clutching the fabric. The distinct smell of sweat nearby made the morning even more unpleasant. Worse still, someone's leg weighed heavily on his torso, making breathing difficult. Okuyasu lay beside him, snoring innocently with one leg draped over Josuke and the other tangled in blankets. Nijimura's hair fanned across the pillow, his eyelashes occasionally fluttering as he squinted in sleep. Between the snoring, stuffy heat, and burning light, a dull ache formed at the base of Josuke's skull.
"Dude, wake up," he mumbled, his sleep-rough voice barely audible over the snoring. "Get off me already."
He tried pushing the leg away but his muscles remained too relaxed. His eyes drifted to the bedside clock.
"Come on, it's 7:32," he said, shoving his friend again. Okuyasu merely stirred slightly, smacking his lips like a child. "I'm serious, get up."
That his mother had allowed Okuyasu to stay over on a school night was miraculous - normally they wouldn't sleep before 3 AM during sleepovers. The SEGA refused to release them earlier, and confiscating it had proven an effective solution to their insomnia. They'd gotten lucky - a light rain had begun in Morioh the previous evening, gentle and sporadic without thunder. Josuke had deployed his best pleading expression, insisting no kindhearted woman would make Okuyasu walk home in such weather, while Nijimura himself stood silently behind him, wide-eyed with confusion. Eventually, Josuke struck a deal with his mother: window washing and curtain laundering in exchange for Okuyasu staying over. Truthfully, Tomoko adored Okuyasu regardless - Josuke had volunteered for chores unnecessarily. Besides, he detested removing curtain rods.
Another kick to Okuyasu's shoulder finally roused him.
"Stop pushin'," he grumbled, voice gravelly with sleep. "M'a guest here."
Josuke barely swallowed a curse.
"You're sprawled on me like some beached seal," he complained, shoving his friend toward the bed's edge. "It's boiling already without you—" He exhaled sharply. "Get up!"
As Nijimura finally rolled away, Josuke could breathe properly again.
"Why? S'weekend," Okuyasu mumbled, dragging the blanket up to bury his face between pillows. "What's the rush...?"
Josuke's hair persistently fell into his eyes despite repeated attempts to tuck it back. Worse, his ear piercing had become infected - the lobe swollen and red. Higashikata felt thoroughly miserable.
"Keep dreaming. It's Friday," he said, propping himself up—just as Okuyasu's arm flopped onto his stomach. "Not joking, move."
He shoved the arm away, prompting a scowl from Okuyasu, who remained stubbornly eyes-closed while puffing his lips out. A half-awake fist connected with Josuke's ribs.
"You're getting bold," Josuke snapped, retaliating with a kick. "In my house. My bed."
"Thanks for havin' me. Real comfy," Okuyasu muttered, elbowing Higashikata's thigh.
"Don't mention it," Josuke said, driving his fist into Nijimura's solar plexus. "Make yourself at home."
The punch knocked Okuyasu's breath out—his eyes flew open as he clutched his chest, gaze turning dangerous.
"Oh, you're too kind," he said before punching Josuke's shoulder. Higashikata hissed, rubbing the spot.
"Happy to help!" Josuke planted his foot against Okuyasu's thigh and shoved him toward the edge. Again. And again. Until Nijimura teetered precariously.
"Lemme return the favor!"
"Please, don't trouble yourself!"
After several more kicks, Okuyasu finally toppled off with a thud, the impact forcing out a choked gasp as he rubbed his head. Josuke grinned triumphantly, rubbing his hands together with devilish satisfaction. He could only see part of Okuyasu from the bed, but he sensed mischief brewing. An angry voice growled from the floor.
"Can I repay your hospitality?" Okuyasu asked through gritted teeth. Josuke chuckled nervously.
"Really, don't bother."
"Oh, I insist."
A translucent hand materialized above the bed—the kind that still haunted Josuke's nightmares. Before he could summon his Stand, a piercing resonance filled the space, and suddenly Josuke found himself suspended in the air while Okuyasu smirked up at him from the floor, arms crossed smugly. An instant later, Josuke crashed down onto him, their foreheads colliding painfully as Okuyasu's folded arms jammed into his chest. Both boys cried out simultaneously—Josuke rolling aside while Okuyasu rubbed his forehead.
"Idiot, you'll kill yourself like that," Josuke hissed, clutching his chest as he crawled over his friend. "Think sometimes, moron."
"Who's the moron here?!" Okuyasu retorted, pushing himself upright.
His forehead—much like Josuke’s—was already turning a furious red. The boy clenched his fists tightly and turned toward Higashikata, who, in turn, beckoned him with a catlike grin, as if taunting a bull at a rodeo. They would’ve ended up rolling on the floor, pinching, biting, and shoving each other if not for Tomoko, who walked into Josuke’s room just in time. She paused in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, and stared at the two brawlers with tired, hollow eyes. At some point, Okuyasu finally noticed Miss Higashikata on the threshold and yanked Josuke back by the collar of his T-shirt just as he was about to throw a punch. Both boys stared at Tomoko with awkward smiles.
"Good morning, Tomoko-san," Okuyasu said, loosening his grip on Josuke’s shirt and smoothing it out carefully.
"Hey, Mom. We didn’t wake you, did we?"
Josuke shuffled away from his friend and tried to fix his hair, which had tangled into a bird’s nest. Tomoko only sighed, heavy and matter-of-fact.
"Hardly. I’ve been up since six." She leaned forward, squinting. "Both of you have eyes red as tomatoes. How late were you up last night?"
The boys’ grins widened, growing even more ridiculous, before they spoke simultaneously.
"Only till twelve."
"Eleven, Tomoko-san."
Already sensing his doom, Josuke squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. Tomoko raised her eyebrows, scrutinizing them with a piercing look. Both boys exhaled heavily.
"One," Okuyasu muttered, his voice small and almost pitiful.
"Two," Josuke blurted at the same time, and they gaped at each other, wide-eyed.
Josuke clicked his tongue and lightly punched Okuyasu’s shoulder.
"Shut up…" he hissed, and Nijimura clapped a hand over his mouth.
Tomoko didn’t look away.
"Half past two, honest!" Josuke threw his hands up in surrender and bowed his head apologetically. "It won’t happen again, really."
When he fell silent, the room filled with a thick, oppressive quiet, and Josuke could’ve sworn his mother’s skeptical, mocking stare scared him more than most Stands. Her eyes flicked between the two boys, but her expression didn’t change, making Higashikata swallow hard while Okuyasu sat like a guilty puppy, staring at the floor. Then, as if on cue, Tomoko’s face shifted from stern to light and carefree. She smiled and giggled. Josuke’s heart sank.
"Alright, I think you’ve both suffered enough. I mostly came to make sure you hadn’t wrecked the place," she said, twirling a finger around the room. "Sounded like an elephant stampede in here. Whatever—you’ve got school soon. Get ready and come down for breakfast."
She turned to leave but glanced back over her shoulder.
"And we’ll talk about the console later."
All Josuke could do was roll his eyes as he listened to his mother’s footsteps fade down the stairs. He cursed under his breath, then turned to Okuyasu, who sat hugging his knees, staring at him with frightened eyes. For a moment, they just looked at each other before the tension vanished in an instant, and they burst into laughter, grabbing each other’s shoulders. Okuyasu nearly toppled backward, but Josuke yanked him up by the arm.
"Damn, I thought I was gonna die right there," Okuyasu rasped, wiping tears from his eyes.
"You’d be dead, but I’d still have to live with her."
Yet, despite all their bickering and petty fights, Josuke felt profoundly grateful for the person sleeping beside him that night, unconsciously pressing close. It was because of him that something beautiful began growing in Higashikata's heart - safety, peace, certainty. The events of that fateful summer had shattered both his physical and mental health, with nightmares and visions haunting him night after night.
What angered Josuke most was Jotaro's face when he visited him in the hospital after the Yoshikage incident. Kujo's expression practically shouted that he knew what awaited Josuke. That he'd been through it himself, and that Josuke had no choice but to accept it - the crushing sense of worthlessness, the guilt over mistakes, the heavy responsibility for loved ones he couldn't always protect. Jotaro's furrowed brows and those soft, almost pitying eyes seemed to say "Get ready, the real fun's about to begin" as he sat cross-legged by Josuke's hospital bed.
Higashikata had been sedated at the time and only understood the meaning of that moment much later. Yet the very next night he woke up drenched in cold sweat with a scream trapped in his throat. His mother, who'd been dozing in that same chair while holding his hand, immediately jumped up and grabbed his face. She was saying something, probably words of comfort, but he couldn't hear her - the ringing in his ears drowned out her anxious reassurances.
He feared imperfection. Feared not being fast enough. Feared being seen as he truly was - broken, scared, flawed. Not the town's protector and reliable friend, not an ally and leader, just a boy. A boy who worried, made mistakes, stumbled. His grandfather always told him to be a man, to stand up for the weak, to be an example of courage for himself. What Josuke saw in the mirror - split lips, bruises, tangled hair, salt on his lashes - only revealed his fears. He was terrified he wouldn't be accepted like this.
Then, after so much time had passed, so many long months, he finally allowed himself to relax, to unclench his fists and breathe as deeply as possible. His companion's presence stopped him from tormenting himself with thoughts of loneliness, while another's breath near his ear confirmed Okuyasu was alive, safe, unharmed. That rough, heavy arm draped across his chest calmed him with its weight, and he breathed steadily, without hurry.
When he first asked Okuyasu to stay, to let him be close just to hear his heartbeat and feel his warmth, Okuyasu didn't protest. He was the kind of guy who didn't care what anyone thought, and more importantly, Josuke sensed Nijimura needed this support too but was too embarrassed to ask. Their bond, their friendship that brought new meaning and new feelings into Josuke's life, remained strong. It stayed just as solid during their next sleepover, when Okuyasu didn't even need to be asked to hold him - he just wrapped an arm around Josuke's waist and lay there silently, barely moving, barely breathing.
Josuke still couldn't believe friendship could be like this: this close, this necessary, this emotional and physical. Sometimes he even thought that if he started a romantic relationship with someone, it would feel far less meaningful than these nights spent in whispered conversations, touches, shared glances. And on that first night wrapped in silent embrace, Josuke finally slept peacefully.
That Friday, he and Okuyasu managed to dodge the class rep’s wrath and slip outside during lunch break. They still had about twenty minutes before the next class. The guys figured it was manly enough for them—hiding from their petite fifty-kilo class rep under the decades-old dark green elm in the school’s back yard just to avoid cleanup duty after school. The grass they sat on was already turning rusty, tinged with copper.
Okuyasu’s head and the back of his skull dug uncomfortably into Josuke’s knee while Nijimura kept waving magazine pages in his friend’s face. Higashikata, meanwhile, lazily sipped juice from a carton.
"Dude, check this out—all black, just how I like ’em. My type," Okuyasu grinned shamelessly, staring at the magazine spread. "And tiny. You know I like ’em small. They’re just… handier, y’know? Look at her and you just think—mine."
Higashikata only gave a half-interested grunt.
"Wanna just hide her away, keep her all to myself. And that bumper—" Okuyasu hummed dreamily, closing his eyes, "—gorgeous. Remember that Queen lyric? Told my girl I’ll have to forget her…"
Josuke looked down at him with curiosity, and Nijimura lifted his head just to thump it against the other’s knee.
"Oh, c’mon, don’t play dumb. I know you love this song. When my hand's on your grease gun…" Okuyasu smirked up at him, grinning like a smug cat, elbowing Josuke’s outstretched leg until he couldn’t resist.
"Oh, it’s like a disease, son."
"I’m in love with my car! Gotta feel for my automobile!" And just like that, they were singing in unison, broad grins on their faces.
At least, until a couple of upperclassmen walked past, smirking at them, and the two instantly clammed up, embarrassed. The second the older students disappeared around the corner, Okuyasu snorted and turned back to Josuke.
"Man, you know I don’t know squat about cars," Higashikata groaned, crumpling the juice carton in his hand. He sounded downright pathetic.
"Bro, you don’t know cars, you feel ’em. Like, take this one—" Okuyasu jabbed a finger at one of the models on the page, "—that ain’t a car! That’s a black box!"
"You know what a black box is?"
"Not the point, man! Just look—compact, stylish, and 110 horsepower, everything in," the photo beside it read Toyota bB, and Okuyasu was practically drooling, "—hell, I’m already in love. Imagine picking up girls in this thing!"
Josuke snorted, his leg shaking under Okuyasu’s head. His hand sank into the slightly damp but already sun-scorched brown grass. Josuke felt good. Even if he barely understood half of what his friend was saying (which was rare), it was nice to finally take a break from endless classes and homework. Okuyasu always brought this sense of mischief into his life.
"Pfft, anyone can pick up girls in a car. Now, imagine rolling up in a tank! A T92, for example. Lightweight, by the way. Or a T28—super heavy."
Nijimura raised an eyebrow, which looked absolutely ridiculous to Josuke since Okuyasu’s face was upside-down from his angle.
"Showin’ off now, huh?" Okuyasu teased, and Josuke burst out laughing, nodding. "Yeah, yeah. Still, cars are way more practical. Where the hell you gonna find a tank in Morioh? And why do you even know this stuff?"
Josuke clapped his friend on the shoulder before leaning back, bracing himself on one arm. His back, sore from hours of sitting, arched pleasantly.
"General knowledge. Once you get the basics down, I’ll tell ya more."
"Oh, listen to Mr. Genius over here—!"
Okuyasu was about to lift himself off Josuke’s bent knee when both boys heard quick, rapid footsteps. Someone was running straight for them, and the two instinctively tensed—until Koichi burst around the corner. Disheveled and red-faced, he sprinted toward them, nearly slipping on the damp grass. No textbooks, no Yukako (which was even weirder), and his face was pure terror. His eyes were wide, fists clenched.
"Koichi, what’s wrong?!" Josuke shouted before Hirose could even get a word out or reach them. Koichi stumbled, knees hitting the ground with a yelp.
"Yukako… Yukako…" he repeated like a madman, scrambling up and dusting off his pants in a panic, "It’s—it’s Kazumi, she asked for my home number, and I—"
He whipped around like he was afraid someone was chasing him.
"—I gave it to her. God, I’m such an idiot. Yukako’s there—"
Koichi suddenly went silent, and if Josuke and Okuyasu thought he couldn’t look any more frantic, they were dead wrong. His eyes somehow widened further, pupils darting side to side. Trembling hands flew to his face.
"I’m an idiot, a complete idiot! Why did I run?! She’s gonna kill her!"
Josuke and Okuyasu, now propped up on his elbows, exchanged confused glances and shrugged. Then Koichi took off again—only for Yukako to round the corner before he could even reach the wall. She was wound tight as a coiled spring, eyes blazing, the tips of her hair writhing.
"Koichi…" Her low voice carried even from the tree, and Yamagishi clenched her fists.
Hirose shrieked so high-pitched Josuke and Okuyasu winced. Koichi bolted back toward them, screaming for help.
"Oh hell no, you deal with this yourself," Josuke yelped, scrambling away as Koichi tried to hide behind them. Okuyasu just flopped face-first into the grass.
Later, Josuke would realize that was a mistake.
Yukako advanced like she was ready to slaughter all of them, not just Koichi, who was trembling beside them. And then, as if things weren’t bad enough, another figure appeared—familiar, and clearly already mauled by someone’s long hair. The conflict had a third party now: Koichi’s classmate, Kazumi, sprinting toward them—or rather, toward Yukako. A thick lock of black hair was still wrapped around her neck. Apparently, Yukako had underestimated her opponent, and Kazumi wasn’t about to take the humiliation lying down.
Annoyance flashed across Yukako’s face—someone was interrupting her very important confrontation with Koichi. Yamagishi turned to finish what she started, her hair whipping even more violently.
Then something shifted around Kazumi. A fierce, malevolent aura. Something flickered behind her.
Kazumi—as the guys barely registered—pulled something from her blazer pocket and threw it at Yukako, who dodged just in time. Behind Kazumi, a hazy figure materialized—yet another reason to send Jotaro a report on Morioh’s new Stand users.
Koichi, still standing, managed to leap aside. Whatever Kazumi had thrown, it sailed past Yukako and Koichi—straight into Josuke and Okuyasu, still sitting in the grass.
A shrill scream from Koichi. Someone’s panicked shout.
And then, for Josuke, everything went dark. His consciousness drowned in black. He heard nothing else.
"Josuke, bro, I’m sorry. Please, forgive me! For spilling juice on you in class, for not lending you those two thousand yen for the shoes. Just wake up, c’mon."
The smell of metal clung to his nose, the same foul taste coating his tongue. Josuke’s head was splitting worse than usual, but now every limb ached. He felt hands shaking his shoulders, someone’s head pressing against his chest, unfamiliar eyelashes brushing his neck.
"Please, don’t die, Josuke, don’t you dare die!" The voice was hoarse, and Josuke’s feverish brain finally recognized it. "And—and I’m sorry for calling your mom hot, too! I can’t help it, it’s true!"
A raspy chuckle bubbled up in Josuke’s throat. He managed a weak smile and forced his eyes open.
"Oh, please. Remind me of that again."
Okuyasu jerked his head up, his face so overjoyed Josuke wondered how his eyeballs hadn’t popped out of his skull yet.
"Bro, you’re alive!" Okuyasu yelped, torn between relief and adoration. He tried to school his expression back into cool indifference but failed miserably. "Was kinda hopin’ your SEGA would finally be mine."
Josuke snorted. He didn’t feel like getting up.
"Who said I’d leave it to you?"
Okuyasu clutched his chest in mock offense.
"I’m willin’ to leave you my whole damn house, and you’re stingy with a SEGA? Not cool."
"Not cool to divvy up inheritance when I’m still in my prime," Josuke grunted, pushing up on his elbows before suddenly squinting at Nijimura. "Wait, were you serious?"
Okuyasu stared at him like he was an idiot.
"Who else am I gonna leave my crap to, Stray Cat?" He crossed his arms, then jabbed a finger into Josuke’s chest. "He’s comin’ with my dad, by the way."
"Hell no," Josuke burst out laughing. When Okuyasu frowned, he clarified, "I mean, don’t worry about your old man, but I ain’t goin’ near that cat. He’d starve. Be responsible, think this through."
Okuyasu rolled his eyes and finally hauled Josuke to his feet—only for Higashikata to yelp and drop back onto his ass the second he noticed their surroundings.
Doors.
Everywhere.
Left, right, above, below—an endless, horrifying sprawl of doors suspended in a vast, grayish void. Josuke and Okuyasu themselves were just floating midair, though they could still feel solid ground beneath them. The doors were all different: wood, metal, plastic, glass. One was even wedged under Josuke’s elbow, and he scrambled off it the second he realized. They stretched endlessly, packed so tightly his vision swam. The whole thing was surreal.
"What the hell? Where are we? That girl’s Stand attack?" Josuke asked, uneasy. Okuyasu shrugged.
"Dunno. Thought you were a goner, wasn’t payin’ attention. And, uh…" He hugged himself, uneasy. "Kinda didn’t wanna look. What if it’s, like, the ocean out there? Or… Mars?"
Josuke raised an eyebrow as he got to his knees.
"Mars?"
"What happens to a guy if he ends up on Mars?" Okuyasu asked, genuinely curious. Josuke actually paused to think.
"Pressure’d probably rip you apart."
"Can’t let that happen," Okuyasu declared. "Koichi owes me ten grand."
Josuke stared at him like he’d just sprouted clown makeup, his expression utterly deadpan.
"Yeah. That’s definitely the only issue here, buddy."
Finally standing, Josuke dusted himself off and scanned the void. Okuyasu waited expectantly—he hated making big decisions.
"So… which way?" he asked, just as Josuke’s gaze locked onto a maroon door hanging level with them, neither higher nor lower.
"That one looks like mine," Josuke mused, pointing. Okuyasu obediently squinted at it.
"Kinda does…" Rubbing his chin, he followed Josuke toward it before suddenly turning. "Who’s goin’ first?"
And just like that, their unshakable bro-bond was put to the test. The two stared at each other not as friends, but as rivals cutting in line—except neither actually wanted to step forward.
"I can fix you if something happens," Josuke offered, spreading his hands. Okuyasu shook his head.
"And I can yank you back."
"Yeah, along with whatever’s behind that door," Josuke muttered, holding out his palm. "Gimme your hand."
Wary but obedient, Okuyasu extended his arm. Without warning, Josuke—with a little help from Crazy Diamond—ripped a sizable chunk off Okuyasu’s sleeve. Nijimura screeched.
"The hell was that?!"
"Insurance. So I can pull you back if needed," Josuke said calmly, then gestured to the door. "After you."
Okuyasu stared at it, goosebumps crawling up his neck.
"But I don’t wanna…" he whined, voice pitching like a kid’s. Josuke sighed.
"Then we’re stuck here forever. Move it." He gave Okuyasu a light shove.
Nijimura slowly turned toward the door, his expression trembling, his eyebrows knit in something between awe and confusion. For a moment, he just stared at it, then—with a shaky, cautious motion—laid his palm on the handle. He pressed down gently, and the door creaked open just a sliver, barely enough to peer through.
"Tell my girl I love her," Okuyasu muttered, half-dramatic, half-resigned. Josuke exhaled tiredly.
"You don’t have a girl." Flat. No emotion.
Okuyasu might’ve even sniffled.
"At this rate, I never will!"
"I’m pushing you in there."
Okuyasu gave one last wet snort in response to Josuke’s deadpan tone, then carefully—slowly—widened the gap and peeked inside. For a few seconds, he just stared, head swiveling side to side, one hand braced against the doorframe. Josuke was starting to get antsy when Okuyasu finally called out to him in an eerily calm voice.
"Josuke…" He pulled his head back just enough to shoot his friend a bewildered look. "I think that’s your house in there."
"My house?"
"Yeah. Just… weird. Y’all do some remodeling?"
Josuke raised an eyebrow.
"Once. Changed the wallpaper. I was like, ten."
He nudged Okuyasu aside and pushed the door wide open—then froze.
Inside was his living room. The old flower-patterned wallpaper he mostly remembered from photos.
"Josuke, look. That’s you. Just, y’know. Tiny."
Okuyasu was pointing past him, toward the far side of the room. There, around the table, sat a small group: Josuke, his mother Tomoko, and—
"Gramps," Josuke murmured softly, staring at his grandfather’s smiling face. The old man sat beside a six- or seven-year-old Josuke, one arm draped over his back while the kid clapped his hands—or seemed to, anyway.
It was hard to tell. The whole scene was frozen, time suspended. The laugh lines around his grandfather’s eyes were etched deep, his grin wide. He looked younger than Josuke remembered. A sweet, aching warmth pooled in his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
His mother sat nearby, chin propped on her palm, watching her son and father with a fond, enchanted smile.
"Josuke, did we just… go back in time?" Okuyasu asked, mystified.
Josuke shook his head.
"Don’t think so. Probably a memory. See? They’re not moving."
Okuyasu suddenly mustered some courage and crept closer to the table. It was piled high with food—curry rice, oyakodon, chahan, all sorts of dishes—plus a few bottles of sake. Right in front of little Josuke sat a strawberry shortcake with cream and candles, their flames motionless.
Then it hit him. He remembered this day. Mostly because of one particular incident.
Okuyasu reached out, but his hand passed straight through Tomoko. He stuffed both hands back in his pockets.
"Careful. Probably a Stand attack," Josuke warned, stepping closer.
Okuyasu snorted.
"You looked like a girl when you were a kid. People ever tell you that?"
"Yeah. More than they should’ve," Josuke grumbled, folding his arms.
"Not just as a kid, though—"
Josuke shot him a look, and Okuyasu shut up.
Truth was, people had mistaken him for a girl a lot back then—something his mom still teased him about. There’d been something soft, almost delicate, in his childhood face. His lashes were always long, something his mother envied.
"Never thought Tomoko-san could get any prettier, but damn," Okuyasu mused, clearly just to needle him now. Josuke cracked his knuckles in warning.
He circled the table, studying the frozen faces. Looked at his younger self—weird feeling. Looked at his mom. At Gramps.
On impulse, he waved a hand in front of his grandfather’s face, snapped his fingers a couple times. Hoping—just hoping—the old man would blink to life, see him, recognize him, say something.
And he was right.
Gramps did stir. So did his mom. So did little Josuke, grinning toothlessly, eyes sparkling.
The scene moved.
A fan whirred to life against the wall. Laughter flooded the room.
Little Josuke clapped his hands, then grabbed the edge of the table, pulling himself up as his family cheered him on. He blew out the candles. Tomoko and Ryohei applauded, laughing along with him. Tomoko launched into a heavily accented "Happy Birthday."
The real Josuke’s chest tightened with warmth, with nostalgia.
This was 1990. A happy year. He’d just turned seven.
"So? Make a wish?" Tomoko asked, her voice higher, softer than it was now. Less raspy.
Little Josuke nodded eagerly, mouth already opening—but Tomoko shook her head.
"Don’t say it! Won’t come true!"
"Western nonsense," Ryohei remarked, not unkindly.
Josuke felt goosebumps prickle down his arms.
It’d been so long since he’d heard his grandfather’s real voice. The urge to cry hit him like a truck, but he swallowed it down.
Then came the moment that really made this day memorable.
Seizing his chance while the adults were distracted, little Josuke snatched Ryohei’s sake cup and chugged it.
Tomoko lunged, yanking the empty cup from his hands—too late.
The kid’s face twisted. He coughed, stuck out his tongue, flapped a hand at his mouth like he could fan away the taste.
Okuyasu burst out laughing.
Josuke barely noticed.
Ryohei slammed a hand on the table.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" he barked—or tried to. Tomoko just laughed harder.
"He learned from you," she managed, wiping tears from her eyes. She leaned down, grinning. "Well? Had enough to drink?"
Little Josuke—tongue still out, eyes watering—nodded frantically, panicked.
Tomoko lost it.
So did Okuyasu.
Only then did Josuke glance at him. And once he did, he couldn’t look away.
Okuyasu was watching the scene, smiling wider than Josuke had ever seen. Soft. Warm. Childlike. Like he was seeing himself in it.
Something tender and aching swelled in Josuke’s chest at the sheer honesty in his expression. At the quiet joy in Okuyasu’s eyes—joy for him, pure and bright, despite the ugly history weighing on Nijimura’s own shoulders.
Okuyasu glanced up, oblivious to Josuke’s stare.
"You all looked so happy," he said, simple and heartfelt, before turning back to little Josuke’s miserable face.
The scene froze again. Sound cut out. Only Okuyasu’s laughter remained. The memory was over. Okuyasu walked up to the real Josuke.
"Well. We’re still alive. Maybe Kazumi doesn’t know how her Stand works yet. What d’you think?" He elbowed Josuke when he didn’t answer right away. "Why’re you starin’?"
Josuke shook himself out of it.
"Nothing. Don’t think there’s anything else here. Door still there?" He nodded toward the exit. "Let’s bail. Be nice to see your memories too. Shouldn’t be the only one airing my life out here."
Okuyasu wrinkled his nose.
"Hope the Stand hit you and I’m off the hook."
"Not fair."
"Life ain’t fair."
Grinning, hands in pockets, Okuyasu headed for the door. Josuke watched his hunched, broad back for a second before following. Outside, the cozy warmth was gone. Just cold, empty darkness again. And doors. So many doors. But—joy of joys—right in front of them, two meters up, hung a door with a wooden plaque: "Nijimura."
Josuke grinned, pointing.
"Eat that!"
Okuyasu looked up, groaned, and let his head slump forward.
"Lucky bastard, Higashikata," he muttered. Then, throwing his hands up: "How the hell do we even get up there?"
"Your Stand can reach it, right?" Josuke shrugged.
Grumbling, Okuyasu summoned The Hand. It materialized behind him.