Master's Academy
Venice
Morning

Viale hesitated when he got to the door.

It wasn't anything special. The door itself wasn't intimidating. Sure the doorknob could use some cleaning, but that wasn't what he was afraid of worried about.

It was what was in the middle and behind the door. In the middle of the door was a plaque that read 'Luigi Teripio', and behind the door was presumably the man with that name.

"It will be good for you," Esposito had said. Viale scoffed internally. 'Yeah, as if. The only good this will do is waste my time,' he thought.

He steeled himself. Esposito had made him promise he'd see this through, and Viale did fancy himself something of a reliable guy. Reliable enough to go to therapy, or something. Viale hummed, and banished the flawed reasoning from his mind.

It was time to therapise.

Without stopping to ask himself if 'therapise' was a word, he knocked on the door. A set of wobbly footsteps responded. 'Great, a geezer,' Viale thought, 'too late now.'

The door opened. Viale's assertion was correct. The man was old. Old-old. Queen Elizabeth II-old.

"Mr. Giovanna, please come in. I've been expecting you." He beckoned Viale in. He hesitated. "There's no need to worry, I don't bite."

"I doubt those dentures could do any real damage," Viale responded off-handedly, as if it were second nature.

The man replied in youthful laughter, "Haha! Yes, very funny! What quick wit you have!"

Viale raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, I guess?" He finally ventured through the door. Inside, he found what you'd expect a therapist's office to look like. Calming, rustic style, oak furniture. The typical therapist couch was across the right wall, a table in the middle with a few books on it, and a lounge chair on the left. It was a thin and long room, being only a few paces wide. A desk sat in the far side, overlooking the two chairs and tables. Above it, a diamond-shaped window, giving view to the rather bad storm that was brewing.

The most interesting thing – or things – in the room were the hundreds upon hundreds of books littering every free space of wall in the room – even on top of the window sill. Bookshelves had replaced the common man's wall in this room. Books ranging from every topic: politics, modern warfare, mathematics, physics, chemistry, children's books, and even psychology. That last one seemed like the only relevant one.

"Yours is the face most have when first entering my office." Viale almost forgot about the man himself, who'd made his way past Viale and through to his comfy chair. Viale shook the shock off his expression and slowly walked towards the empty couch.

"Nice place. Is this your couch?"

He shook his head in the negatory. "A great man gave that to me a long time ago."

Viale examined the couch. It didn't seem that old. Sure, there were a few screws loose, a symptom that seemingly afflicted the chair's owner.

"Let us get to it, shall we?" The man's eyes shone with wisdom that would be expected from one that elderly. Luigi sat down, hands resting on his cane

"What am I in for, Doc?" Viale sat too.

He grimaced and shook his head, "Nothing good, my friend. A bad case of repression."

A raised eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he questioned, "you've been involved in numerous fights, seen much gore, and have sustained serious injuries. These things tend to have an adverse effect on the psyche."

"What, like PTSD? Please, give me a break, Doc. I've won all of my fights."

"That's not the point," he sighed, "If you would please lie down, and we can begin.

Viale shook his head dismissively and lay down. As he did so, he felt his mind wander back, back to a different time.

Gio was six years old. The year was 2018. MeToo was in full swing, Giuseppe Conte had just been elected Prime Minister, Morandi Bridge collapsed in Genoa, 43 people were killed.

And in lesser-known news, Giorno Giovanna returned to Italy with his family. The United States was quite the place, but home was home for Giorno Giovanna.

The three had just touched down. Their own private jet, of course. Giorno Giovanna spared no expense. He had made the right call appointing Fugo underboss while he made calls in America.

Phone calls were a common occurrence in the Giovanna's household. Washington is 6 hours behind Italy due to timezones, so six-in-the-morning conference meetings were the norm.

The 'break', as Giorno called it, was set aside so he and Grace could raise Gioviale properly, but more times than often, it was Grace doing the raising. Giorno regrettably had mere brief encounters with his son.

At the airport, his mother walked a few paces behind his father, Gioviale followed closely behind his mother, and was surrounded by numerous men in black. Gioviale did not understand why there was a posse nearby at all times.

"Why are these people always around us?" he asked his mother in a brisk walk to keep up with the longer-legged adults.

Grace pondered how to explain this to a six year old. "Your father is an important man, Gioviale. These people are here to protect him, and us."

The memory faded to white, and returned in a scuffle. The airport was in quite the rush, with people crying out and running around.

Gioviale once again did not understand. The men were gone, his mother was chaperoning him into the bathroom. Somehow, he heard people talking over all of the hustle and bustle.

"You rui–d me, Giov—a!" It was a woman's voice. He heard his father's next.

"Y–u ru–ned your–lf, fool."

It was hard to hear, and his mother ushered him through a door. Before the door closed, Gioviale heard a few splats, and caught a glimpse of the woman–

Viale sat up with a start, ｢Mr. Blue Sky｣ appearing on instinct at the same time thunder rumbled outside.

"Calm down, son." He whipped around, expecting someone different to be calling him son, but it was just the good doctor. "Disorientation is quite common."

Viale held his head. "What did you do to me?!" Mr. Blue Sky looked around alarmed, standing behind the user with quiet vigilance.

"I have no idea what you saw," the passé man responded sagely, "an unfortunate downside to my ability."

Viale groaned, his Stand disappeared once it was sure there was no threat. "Another Stand user? I just can't catch a break."

"I assure you, I am no enemy. I have only the best of intentions."

Viale glared. "Alright then, show me your Stand."

Teripio shrugged lethargically. A bright light shone from behind him, a small rainbow appearing with a cartoon sun climbing up it. Both sides of the rainbow ended in fluffy clouds, and the sun's rays had an antenna protruding from it.

"This is my Stand, ｢What A Wonderful World｣," he exclaimed with a small amount of pride in his voice, "It is very helpful, if I do say so myself."

Viale was still cautious. "What exactly is your game here?"

Teripio exhaled. "As I was saying before, my theory is that you aren't acknowledging what you're really feeling."

"What makes you say that?" It was not a question, but an inquisition – a challenge.

Teripio took him up on the challenge. He adjusted himself in the chair, pulling his sleeves further up. He moved to get a book from the table in front of him.

"Sigmund Freud. Born on the sixth day of May, in the year eighteen-fifty-six, died on the twenty-third day of September, nineteen-thirty-nine. He was a pioneer in his field of psychometrics and the mind. He wrote this book," he showed the book in his hand, "'The Interpretation of Dreams'."

"Yeah, I've heard of him." Viale turned away from the door as his curiosity was tickled. Why was he bringing up Freud, he asked himself.

"He was a good friend of mine, in fact he gave me that chaise longue you were sitting on."

Viale paused as he was about to fall into the chair, but rather slowly lowered himself onto it, both out of respect for the dead, and the fact that he might break it.

"You said he died in nineteen-thirty-nine; how were you friends with him? You shouldn't have been alive too long before he died."

The man chuckled. It seemed like Viale had caught his slip. "I assure you, I'm older than I look." He shook his head, "But let us get back on track. Freud believed that memories of traumatic events could be repressed into the unconscious. While you might remember your recent Stand battles, I have it on good authority that you have been involved in this world much longer than you think."

Viale recalled the memory that What a Wonderful World had dug up. Maybe the geriatric had a point. He'd learned that his father had been operating as a Stand user for many years before his conception.

"Furthermore, I believe that this, along with your paternal relationship complexities, has evolved into some rather obvious defence mechanisms. Notably when I answered the door, you hid your discomfort with a joke."

Viale narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying I have daddy issues?" he accused.

He paused before nodding. "Well, yes, I guess I am. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I myself didn't have the best relationship with my father."

Viale stood up again, this time in mild outrage. "Get serious, Doc. I barely know my dad, and we've been talking more recently! I called him the other day."

He hummed, "That may be the case. I congratulate you for taking that step without help. However, the issue may be more underlying than that. May I ask, what did you see when I used my Stand on you."

Viale stood for a few more seconds. "I saw… an airport. I was young, maybe six or seven. I was with my mother. Father was there, with his… bodyguards, I guess you'd call them?" He sat back down. "Then it skipped forward. Father and some other woman were arguing. I think she was a Stand user." He lay down fully. "Hey… I have a question. How does your Stand work?"

Teripio hesitated to answer. "I can make a relevant random memory bubble to the surface of your consciousness. More often than not, they will be memories you've forgotten."

Viale absorbed the information. "Any time limit?"

"No, no, just a willingness to remember."

Viale braced. "Give me another one."

Luigi raised an eyebrow. People didn't tend to ask to be put under the effect of a Stand. He conceded. "Very well. What a Wonderful World!"

Viale saw the Stand's bright light before he fell in.

Viale was thirteen years old. The year was 2025. The Renewable Energy Act 2025 had been passed in the Italian congress, Giorgia Meloni wass halfway through her term.

The Giovanna family was back home in Naples.

Viale had just graduated primary school, and was moving to Lower Secondary school. His mother was delivering him for the first day – he was going to have to walk with a bodyguard from then on.

They stood outside the front gates.

"Papa has gotten the best for you, Gioviale. No acting up, you hear me?"

The younger Viale frowned. "I keep telling you, he started it!"

"Uh uh uh~" she interrupted. She got down to his level. "The problem isn't that he started it, it's that you continued it. No more hitting, okay?"

He grumbled, "Okay…"

The memory faded to white, and returned in a scuffle. There was a big crowd. Viale had taken a few good hits, and the other kid was much worse for wear.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" the other kids chanted.

At this point Viale was the tallest in his class. His blond hair was scruffy and messy from the exertion. He was about to go back in for a few more hits but a loud deep voice interrupted him.

"What is going on here?!"

A second fade. He reappeared in the principal's office, a multitude of clocks lining the walls and desk.

"Do you know why you're here, Mister Giovanna?" the portly principal asked.

Viale gave him the silent treatment.

"Not even past recess on your first day and you're already causing trouble. If it were up to me, I'd send you away and never look back." he sighed, "Unfortunately, your father is an important man, so I'm only going to send you home."

Viale rolled his eyes. "So my mama is going to come get me? One of the bodyguards?"

The door flung open. Giorno Giovanna stood in the doorway, boring a hole into the back of Gioviale's head. Viale, suddenly stricken with fear, slowly turned his head to face his father.

They didn't speak. They never did. Giorno Giovanna, at least to his son, was a man of few words.

Almost imperceptibly, at the sight of Viale's look, his own eyes softened.

"Gioviale. Come with me." He turned to the principal. "Thank you for contacting me."

This time, Viale wasn't disorientated. Rather he 'woke' with a small start. He groaned and rubbed his forehead as he heard thunder grumble once again. A glass of water appeared in his vision, What a Wonderful World's hand holding it steadily.

"Thirsty?" the crusty voice beside him asked. He graciously took it, and sculled it down. "I don't mean to rush you, but what did you see?"

He topped off the water and set it down on the table. Blood rushed from his head as he sat up. "I saw my first day of Lower Second. I got into a fight."

Teripio scribbled something down in his notebook. "Did this happen often?"

"Yeah, at least once a week, before then." He leaned back. "It was usually mama or one of our bodyguards that would come and get me. But this time," he paused, "this time it was the Boss himself."

"Tell me about that."

His face scrunched up. "He never—" he hesitated, trying to put the feelings into words, "he was never my father— my papa. He was always the Boss."

"The Boss? Of what?"

"I don't know. I didn't know he was a mafioso at the time," he clarified, "I just know he was "The Boss" of something. That's what Uncle Guido called him."

Teripio cleared his throat. "I think I am starting to get the picture. Feel free to interrupt if I am wrong." He flipped back to a prior page in his notebook. "Your father, Don Giovanna, paid little to no attention to you, so you acted out by starting fights in school. But eventually, you got his attention, and it was not what you wanted. Is that right?"

Viale considered the conjecture. "I think by then I didn't want his attention — by Lower Second. But I still got it? I don't know, Doc."

"Then maybe what happened was you started fights to get his attention, but you discovered you liked fighting, so you kept going. You said it yourself, that you expected your mama or your bodyguards to come get you."

Viale let out a small laugh. "Yeah, that seems about right." He thought a bit more, "I haven't exactly been adverse to Stand fights since I got here."

"Well you do have quite the tendency for battle."

Viale chuckled again. "So what now, Doc? Do you have any advice?"

He tapped this pencil on his notebook. "Stay true to yourself. Fate has a funny way of resolving things." He stood up slowly, and hobbled over to his desk. Inside one of the drawers, he fetched a tin.

Luigi approached Viale, and said, "Do you want a cookie? I have chocolate chip."

Stepping outside the office, Viale felt way lighter than normal. Sure, there were some things to work out, but that was to think about after knocking off the amazing baking skills of the old man.

"I gotta say, Doc, I owe Esposito a thanks," he said after stuffing his face with as many cookies as he could fit, "I might come back just for a top up on biscuits."

The old man let out a hearty laugh. "Come back any time, my friend."

Viale turned to face the hallway, but before he could bid his new acquaintance farewell, he noticed someone standing at the far end of the hallway.

'That's…!'

It was the woman from the Giovanna family's past. The woman from the airport. And it looked like she was back for round two.

Viale heard the thunder crackle outside. Now that he thought about it, it was thundering all throughout his session with the Good Doctor. As he listened, he dared not move, as a ghost from his family's past was standing not ten metres away.

He could only watch. He knew she was a Stand user. He'd just revisited the memory of her fighting his father not thirty minutes ago.

'What was it?' he thought, 'I know there has got to be some clue in that memory.'

"So Giovanna's brat does go here. You must be Viale," the woman declared, "My name… is unimportant. I know your father."

She said it so casually that Viale nearly forgot that she was most likely there to kill him. Viale took the time to examine the woman

She was around her early forties. She had shaggy brown hair down to her shoulders, eyes covered with a Gucci pair of sunglasses. On her lapel was a golden skull and crossbones. She had a similarly styled umbrella at her hip, with some skull engravings around the handle. The rest of her looked well prepped for the storm outside, with a saggy poncho still on, despite being inside.

"You've grown since I last saw you," she stated as she started moving towards him, "your father was very… important to me."

"Cut the shit," Viale interrupted, "Get to the point. I know why you're here."

"Hmph. You aren't as much like Giorno as I expected. You look like him," she gave him a once over, "but you sure don't act like him."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now leave before things get messy."

Viale knew his golden Stand aura was flaring up, but he kept a lid on Mr. Blue Sky for now.

"You're a feisty one! I like that. But believe it or not, I'm here on official business, and my boss and I have an appointment with your principal, so step aside."

She clutched her umbrella tight. Viale could faintly see her own purple Stand aura wisping off her.

'Think, Viale! What was wrong with that memory?! I was with my mum, and my dad, and we were going through the airport! Our bodyguards were watching over—' his thoughts paused, 'our guards. Where did they go?'

She stepped closer.

'That has to be it. I heard splats, like a meatloaf hitting the pavement. And where were the guards?' Mr. Blue Sky materialised in defence of Viale, facing the slowly approaching woman. 'Splats, guards, splats, guards—'

She opened her umbrella, pointed towards her adversary.

"｢It's Raining Men｣."

The first thing he felt was his hair going wild in every direction. 'Damn,' he thought, 'It will take ages for me to get that back down.'

The first thing he heard was wind rushing past his ears.

The first thing he saw was a blue sky, uninterrupted by clouds. 'That's odd. Wasn't it thunderstorming?'

His thoughts were cut short, as the second thing he felt was that it was really goddamn cold.

'Where am I?'

His questions were answered as he began being pelted from below by tiny ice droplets. A loud BOOM indicated his predicament.

Gioviale Giovanna was falling through the thunderstorm.

To Be Continued ===