Good Grief
A Stand, he thought, and clearly it was a stand, the ghost of a girl displaced, an echo, silver hair and a uniform he did not recognise. He kept one eye on her, both hands in the pockets of his trowsers, his coat swept back, following her movement as she turned, twisted, and bounced back, Stand and schoolgirl in perfect time.
How many of the men were left, five, six, ten? It didn't matter, she seemed to be making short work of them. What would have happened if he had not received word from the Speedwagon Foundation? Would he have been able to sense this new development simply through the æther, or was that notification and his proximity to events down to chance?
With one hand, he reached up, adjusting the brim of his cap, shaking his head from side to side.
"Good grief."
At his back, the echo of his own Stand bristled, not yet manifest but waiting for the right moment should things go awry. Somehow, though, he did not feel that they would, the young girl unfaltering, the otherworldly presence that suffused her increasing her fighting power a hundred-fold.
He was impressed, not that he would show it. In his time, he had learnt to keep his feelings close to his chest, to react only when necessary. During the long journey that he had embarked upon with his grandfather in adolescence, and then later in the town of Morioh, where he had first met Josuke, his already established inclination towards patience had only been strengthened.
Yet there was always that sense that maybe he should do more, that maybe he should be less patient, that maybe he should throw himself into the fray.
Ahead of him, the girl twisted, her fist shattering the nose of a man twice her age in a manner that he was sure would prove difficult to repair.
No, he told himself, to intervene, to step in unwarranted would be a disservice to this girl and her powerful Stand. She had things under control, he thought, feeling the warmth of an exploding gas canister upon his skin as she pin-wheeled away from a scene of devastation that some of these men would not walk away from.
He shook his head again, sighed, and a tiny smile crossed his lips.
Then, hands still in pockets, Kujo Jotaro turned away.