Disclaimer: Look, Hirohiko Araki had nothing to do with this. It's just a thing that occurred to me.

Sun, clouds, and stars raced across the sky. Rohan's pen matched them in speed as it raced across the page. He hadn't felt so alive in years – thirteen years, in fact. He hadn't felt like this since the first time he'd encountered other Stand users. The manga he created through this would be magnificent.

It was obviously the work of a Stand. Koichi and the fools were probably out trying to figure out how to stop it, but Rohan couldn't be bothered. He had deadlines to meet. They came faster and faster as the earth spun on its axis. The world was turning fast enough to topple, and he didn't have time to worry over things he really didn't care about.

His readers were waiting.

Rohan kept drawing. A lamp stayed permanently lit on his desk as day and night blurred together. He had no intention of keeping his readers waiting. The fax had sped up along with time itself, so whether his manga was late depended entirely on his skill.

His readers deserved only the best, and Rohan Kishibe delivered.

And then everything changed.

Something was wrong. It felt like the world had restarted, and he wasn't sure who he was supposed to be.

Like, if the world really had been rewritten, the hack doing the writing hadn't accounted for him. That was the laziest of writing. You had to consider all your characters. It must be an amateur with no real experience. He thought that, and then he tried to puzzle out what was missing. A Stand?

What were Stands?

There was someone he was supposed to know. Who was it? It had slipped right out of his mind.

It all changed again.

"Sensei!" called a teasing voice. He stirred. Reiko was leaning in through the door to his work room. He roused himself and looked over at her.

"Your editor just called," she explained, leaning against the doorframe. "He said you're a bit faxing him your manuscripts, and he got worried since you're always so punctual." She pushed off and stepped lightly into the room. "Were you sleeping?"

He looked down at his desk. "I . . . yes, i must have been." His manuscript was done; he gathered the pages together. "I'll fax him now."

Reiko giggled. "I know manga artists keep odd hours, but falling asleep in the middle of the day while you're working seems like something an old man would do."

"Mm." He wasn't a great conversationalist. One of the things he liked about Reiko was that she didn't ask him to be. She talked when she wanted to, was quiet when she felt like it, and never demanded a proper reply. He was content to listen.

"Quick! We have to do something impulsive to stave off middle-age!" she joked, brushing a stray strand of light-brown hair from her face. "How about a picnic down by the beach? You don't have to start next week's chapter yet, right?"

That did sound nice.

But there was something niggling at the edge of his mind.

"Soon," he said. "I think i was having a really interesting dream. It would make a good manga. I need to note it down before i forget."

"Oh, Hiro," she said, but there was a smile in her eyes. "You're going to put me off for weeks, aren't you?"

He'd already returned to his desk and was scribbling frantically. "No, i'll go," he insisted. "Just – give me a minute."

He didn't see Reiko roll her eyes. "All right," she said, fond and exasperated at the same time. He meant well, she knew, but once a manga artist started working he lost all track of time.

It didn't matter. She'd wait for him.