Rome, Italy, 1989. Noio Gioco was born to Verita and Ezio Gioco.
At age two the baby Noio won his first game of Ave Caesar against his parents.
At age five, Noio won a two-hour long game of monopoly against his cousins and grandparents.
At age ten, Noio steps foot inside a casino, accompanying his father. His father leaves a millionaire.
At age twelve, Noio is the talk of the playground, being unbeatable in scopa, riscola and tresette.
At age eighteen, Noio's parents bring him on a holiday to Vegas. They pay for their tickets and accommodation twenty times over. Noio and his family become the tenth richest family, behind Miuccia Prada.
At age thirty, the Gioco family owns and produces 2.3% of Italy's gross domestic product. Noio was a frequent visitor of Venice's most exclusive casinos and betting rings. Everyone knew he always won – he never bet any real money anymore, just blanks. He liked keeping it fair.
At age thirty-seven, he decides to join his local mafia, to see what it's like.
At age forty, he sits in Accademia Illmagistrale's staff room, reading a newspaper.
Accademia Magistrale
Staff Room
Matito read the summary of Noio from his Stand ｢Take On Me｣. 'Holy shit, this guy is richer than Joestar! Like actually, what the fuck?! 2.3% of Italy's GDP ten years ago? What is it now?!'
"Is that your Stand? That notepad? That's cute. What does it do?"
"I'm not telling you that."
"Fine. What shall we play?"
Matito paused as he remembered a game he read about in his Stand's description of Noio. "Scopa."
Noio nodded, and a deck of forty playing cards manifested on top of the table, missing the picture cards and the jokers. "This is my Stand: ｢Poker Face｣. It's automatic, so you don't have to worry about me cheating."
Matito didn't even have to look at the Stand to know that he was full of shit.
In Scopa, the game starts with forty cards total (no picture cards). Four cards are placed in the "pot," or the middle of the table, and each player is dealt three cards. You may only ever play one card at a time, and your goal is to collect as many cards from the pot as possible. If you take the last card in the pot, you've played a titular scopa. You've swept the board. If you cannot pick up a card, you must put one down. Certain types of cards are worth more than others, which is calculated at the end of the game.
Fragi picked up the mysterious deck of cards and set the board. When both players were ready, Matito was given the first turn. He instantly slammed his 9 of diamonds on the table, snaking the 5 of hearts and 4 of clubs back to his collection pile. Noio looked up to see a pair of very determined eyes staring back at him.
"Your turn."
Noio looked at his own hand and at the pot. He slowly placed his ace of hearts down, unable to pick up any cards. "Have you much experience in this game?"
"I've played my fair share," Matito replied confidently.
Matito's turn. He captured the 8 of hearts with his 8 of clubs. Noio responded by capturing the 3 of clubs with his 3 of spades. Matito played his last card of the round: a 6 of hearts, into the pot. Noio put his last 10 of diamonds in the pot.
Round two. Fragi dealt the next three cards into each hand. Matito played a 9 of hearts into the pot, and Noio quickly responded by using his 7 of diamonds to take the ace of hearts and 6 of hearts that he'd put down last round.
"The seven of diamonds – worth one point itself," Fragi announced. Noio gave Matito a cocky smirk. He could feel his heart speeding up.
Matito played his 9 of spades and took the 9 of hearts he'd just put down. Noio, having no other move, played his ace of spades. The two took turns throwing moot cards into the pot, before round three came along and they got a new hand.
"Can you speed this up? I'm getting bored." Matito played his 10 of spades to capture the 10 of clubs in the pot. Noio smirked. "You play well, for a beginner."
He laid down a 6 of hearts. Matito's eyes widened as Noio picked up the 4 of hearts, the ace of diamonds, and the 2 of diamonds. The three remaining cards in the pot, all adding up to his 7 of hearts. He tantalisingly picked up each card one by one and turned his 7 ninety degrees in his collection pile.
"Scopa."
It was a scopa. One point to add to Noio's final score. The most powerful play in the game. Now Matito had no choice but to play a card and waste a turn. He played his 8 of spades. Noio spared him by playing his 6 of spades. The round ended with another 9 and Matito reclaiming his 8 with another in his hand. Noio's eyes were darting around the board, taking quick glances at Matito's strong poker face.
Round four. Matito instantly started by playing his ace of spades. Noio took the 6 of spades with his 6 of diamonds. Matito grimaced and played his 5 of clubs. Noio put a 2 of hearts down, which Matito gobbled up by combining it with the 5 of clubs to equal his 7 of spades. Noio, not being able to do anything more, played his 3 of diamonds.
Round five. Matito played a massive 10 of hearts to capture the ace of spades and 9 of clubs. Noio grumbled and played a 2 of clubs. Matito's mouth quirked as he slowly put down his 5 of spades to take the 3 of diamonds and 2 of hearts.
"Scopa!"
He gained another point. A scopa. The rest of the cards in their hands filtered into the pot until there was only one round left. Round six.
"No more scopa from here on out. Whoever last picked up a card at the end of the game gets the remaining pot."
"Fine by me," Matito declared.
Matito dealt his 4 of diamonds to pick up the 4 of spades in the pot. Noio responded by playing a 2 of spades. Matito saw his opportunity for a setup and placed the ace of clubs. Noio smirked and took that ace and the 2 of spades to equal his 3 of hearts. Matito's heart sank as his final gambit blew up in his face. He and Noio did the whole song and dance of placing cards they couldn't pick up. A 5 of diamonds, and a 6, 7, and 9 of clubs. All went to Noio.
"Time to tally the points."
Noio had 18 cards, Matito had 22 cards. Point to Matito. Noio had 5 diamonds, Matito had 5 diamonds. No points. Noio had the 7 of diamonds. Point to Noio. Noio had three 7s, Matito had one 7. Point to Noio. They each had one scopa.
3-2, game to Noio.
Florence
Italy
"So where is this informant?" Beneficci questioned, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space.
The train station at Florence, officially named Firenze Santa Maria Novella, had tall ceilings and grand pillars that loomed over them as they exited the platform. The station was bustling with travellers, the air filled with the sounds of rolling suitcases, distant announcements, and the murmur of conversations in various languages. Viale hadn't been there in many years, having visited it with his parents on some kind of Passione business once. Despite being much taller since the last time he was here, he felt he hadn't grown at all. The memories of his childhood visits seemed to shrink him back to that time.
Giorno had asked the group to get off the train after Fugo called him about a possible lead on Mercurio's background.
"This informant was once a part of Apatia, but was outcast after he was no longer useful, and set up by his old gang to be locked up for something he did many years prior," Fugo had explained over the phone.
"My information may be outdated," Giorno responded, "the latest I know is that he was in prison for assault, but that was many years ago and he may have been released. I will check the prison first, as my status should get me through without much effort."
"Do we have a profile?" asked Beneficci, her brow furrowed in concern.
"I've never met him myself – I don't even know his name. He should be an old man by now, around seventy years old. Take Viale with you. Those with combat-oriented Stands pair up with one without. Segnaposto, you're with me. Rossi, go with Joestar. We must be ready for an attack at all times."
The three groups split off, each with a clear mission. Giorno and Vuoto found the prison on Google Maps and followed the directions there, weaving through the narrow, cobblestone streets of Florence. The city was a blend of ancient history and modern life, with scooters zipping past Renaissance buildings and tourists snapping photos of every corner.
Sana and Shizuka decided to search around the streets. "Not many elderly ex-inmates can afford an apartment," Sana reasoned, her eyes scanning the faces of passersby for any sign of their target.
Beneficci and Viale decided to search bars and pubs. "If ex-cons and old people have one thing in common, it's alcohol," Viale stated with a smirk. They entered a dimly lit bar, the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hitting them immediately. The bartender eyed them suspiciously as they approached.
"We're looking for someone," Beneficci began, "An ex-con, around seventy years old. Have you seen him around?"
The bartender shrugged, wiping a glass with a dirty rag. "Lots of old men come through here. What's he to you?"
"Just an old friend," Viale interjected smoothly, slipping a few euros across the counter. "Any information would be appreciated."
The bartender pocketed the money and nodded towards a corner table. "A guy like that was here a few nights ago. Likes to keep to himself, but he's a regular."
"Thank you," Beneficci said, turning to Viale. "Let's keep looking. He might be nearby."
As they continued their search, the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the city. The streets grew quieter, and the shadows lengthened. Each group moved with purpose, knowing that time was of the essence.
Giorno and Vuoto arrived at the prison, the imposing structure looming before them. Giorno's status as the boss of Passione granted them easy access, and they were soon speaking with the warden.
"We're looking for an ex-inmate," Giorno explained, giving the same description. "He was released a few years ago."
The warden nodded, flipping through a thick ledger. "Yes, I remember him. He was a model prisoner, kept to himself. He was released on good behaviour. Last I heard, he was staying at a shelter nearby."
"Thank you," Giorno said, turning to Vuoto. "Let's go."
Meanwhile, Sana and Shizuka had no luck on the streets. They decided to check the local shelters, reasoning that an elderly ex-inmate might seek refuge there. They entered a small, run-down building, the smell of disinfectant and old wood filling the air.
"We're looking for someone," Shizuka said to the receptionist, giving the description. "Have you seen him?"
The receptionist nodded. "He comes here sometimes. Usually in the evenings for a meal."
"Thank you," Sana said, glancing at Shizuka. "We might be close."
As night fell, the three groups reconvened at a small café near the shelter. They shared their findings, each piece of information bringing them closer to their goal.
"We're on the right track," Giorno said, his eyes determined. "Let's find this informant and get the answers we need."
"Man… you thought you had that one, didn't you?" Noio taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.
Matito sat up straight, wriggling in his chair, unsure of what he had to do to 'give up his soul' like his enemy wanted. His mind raced, trying to find a way out of this dire situation. "So what happens now? Are you gonna… kill me?"
"Hmm, nah, that's too boring. Poker Face, do your thing."
A joker card appeared and shot at Matito. It stopped short of his face and started spinning, creating a small vortex. Fragi watched in horror as the card sucked the soul out of Matito, his empty body falling limp in the chair. The room seemed to grow colder, the air thick with an eerie silence.
"Matito!" Fragi's voice cracked with desperation.
Noio gave a menacing smirk. "Ah, that was a good game, all things considered. I can't believe he didn't even use his Stand! Not that it would make a difference."
"What did you do?!" Fragi demanded, his fists clenched in anger.
"What does it look like? I took his soul. Things like money and land don't appeal to me anymore." Noio's eyes gleamed with a sinister light as he gathered the discarded cards into a pile. "Now," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "you want a shot?"
'Shot… yeah, I want a shot,' Fragi thought, his mind racing. He took a shaky breath in. "I'll tell ya what," he started, trying to steady his voice, "Let's play a game."
Noio raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A game, you say? I quite like games," he said dismissively. "What kind of game?" he chuckled, clearly underestimating Fragi.
Fragi paused for dramatic effect, his eyes locking onto Noio's. "Russian Roulette."
Noio's eyes widened, and his cocky, playful demeanour shifted. His face hardened, and a manic smile crept onto his face. "Good."
Viale and Beneficci decided they would check the north side of town for the old man, who they had gotten a picture of from the wall of shame at another bar he'd been kicked out of. No one had recognised him when Viale sent it to the group chat.
Their search led them to an old rundown bar named Barra di Risposte.
It was a dingy place, a few buckets on the ground, catching stray droplets left over from the recent storm. The bar itself looked like it was on its last legs. Deteriorated stools, glass stained (not in the good way), and more broken glasses than intact ones.
There were two men – the bartender, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, and their man, hunched over and unshaven. His wifebeater was more yellow than its natural white, and his jeans had more holes than a block of cheese.
Beneficci told Viale to go ahead as she kept lookout. Viale approached him cautiously, making sure his feet made sound so as to not startle the man.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying. Go away!" the man grumbled.
"No– I'm not selling anything. I have some questions." Viale felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but ignored it.
"Bah! Questions. When has that ever been a good sign?"
Viale sat down in a stool two apart from the man. Not because he was scared, but because it was the only one left with a cushion on it. "Just a few minutes of your time and I'll get out of your…" he noticed the man was bald. "...face."
"Look kid–" the man turned to face him. He paused and his eyes narrowed, watching Viale with scrutiny. "Wait, you're… Giorno…?"
The tension in the room was palpable as Noio reached into his coat and pulled out a revolver that certainly wasn't there before. He placed it on the table between them, the metallic clink echoing in the silent room. Fragi's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his gaze steady.
"Let's make this interesting," Noio said, his voice a low growl. "The winner takes all. The loser… well, you know what happens to the loser."
"No. Let's make this even more interesting: if I lose– if I get shot, I win."
Fragi nodded, his resolve firm. He couldn't let Matito's sacrifice be in vain. He reached for the revolver, his hand trembling slightly. Noio watched him with a predatory gaze, his fingers drumming on the table.
Fragi spun the cylinder and placed the gun to his temple. He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Noio's. The room seemed to hold its breath as he pulled the trigger. Click. An empty chamber.
Noio's smile widened as he took the revolver.
"Your turn," Fragi said, his voice dripping with anticipation. Noio spun the cylinder and placed the gun to his own temple. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. Click. Another empty chamber.
The game continued, each click of the revolver echoing like a death knell. Sweat dripped down Fragi's forehead, but he refused to back down. He knew this was his only chance to defeat Noio and avenge Matito.
Finally, it was Noio's turn again. He spun the cylinder, his eyes gleaming with madness. "This is it," he said, his voice a whisper. "The final round."
Giuseppe Giovanna felt he was the unluckiest man in the world. He had gotten married in his early thirties to a beautiful Japanese woman whose only flaw was that she'd come with a bastard brat. His step-son, Giorno, had taken his name and nationality in the marriage. He was a weird kid, and Giuseppe did his best to even him out, but the kid had found friends in a powerful man in Naples, and he wasn't to lay another finger on the boy.
Once he'd grown up, Giuseppe had to use much of his money to give Giorno a 'school experience' that any normal kid would have. The last time Giuseppe saw his step-son was at age fifteen, when he left to stay on campus at school. After that, he didn't come home, and Giuseppe was free to do what he wanted, without the threat of the mafia down in the back of his mind.
The first thing he did was leave Naples, about half a year after Giorno had gone missing. His wife waited for her son, seemingly deciding she cared about him. That was the end of their marriage.
The divorce took most of what Guiseppe had, so he turned to the families in Florence for help.
He wasn't special. He was expendable. And after years upon years of service to Apatia, he was thrown under the bus by a particularly tricky legal battle, and sent to jail.
So there he was, an old man, drinking his sorrows away in a grungy bar. Until a boy sat down next to him.
"Wait, you're… Giorno?"
"Uh, no, I'm Viale. Viale Giovanna."
It was like a small icepick to the skull, hearing his own name come out of someone else's mouth. The kid looked a hell of a lot like his step-son. The golden hair was shorter and a bit darker, he was taller, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a while.
"You're Giorno's… son? He's alive?"
"Do you know him?" Viale said cautiously, ready to hit and run at a moment's notice. Giuseppe chuckled at the wariness.
"Yes… I knew him. I haven't seen him in twenty or so years. I'm his step-father."
"So you're my… my step-grandfather…?" Beneficci looked over her shoulder, obviously listening in on the conversation.
"Ha, maybe. I don't think my son likes me very much." Giuseppe looked down into the depths of his beer. "But don't worry about me. I'm just an old man, thinking about his mistakes." Viale stayed quiet. "Right, you had some questions, right?"
"Oh! Yes, about Apatia."
"Apatia… alright. I owe you that much. But I might not have what you want – it's been a while since I was involved in that life."
Viale procured his phone (now free from its d20 prison) and opened his notes, where Giorno had rewritten questions. He also made sure to text the others.
Modern Crusaders (name pending)
V.G: I found the informant.
G.G: Excellent. Everyone convene on Gioviale's location.
Viale closed the message app paying half a mind to how he's going to explain to his father who the informant is.
As Giorno got the text, he brought out his Stand to sense the blood connection he and Viale shared, as a guide.
Gold Experience shimmered, and took a cursory look around.
"Hey! You're one of those losers!" Giorno heard someone shout out.
Giorno turned around slowly. "What did you say?"
"A loser! A Stand loser!"
Giorno's eyes widened slightly. "You mean a Stand User?"
"No, I'm pretty sure it's Stand loser."
"I don't have time for this." Giorno signalled to Vuoto, who was looking in a shops window, to follow, but the man yelled out again.
"Why are you going with that loser, kid?! Are you one too?!"
Vuoto whipped around, shocked. "You can see me?!" He turned to Giorno. "This guy has to be a Stand loser—I mean, Stand user, right? Or did the virus reveal me too…?"
"Get back here, blondie!"
Giorno felt a hand on his shoulder and Gold Experience's fist shot out, clocking the man in the jaw. "That was a love tap, by the way. Stay away from me."
The man stumbled to the floor. "P-P-Polizia!"
"Okay. Question 1: What is the boss' deal?" Viale asked.
Giuseppe looked down. "Well, I assume you're talking about the guy on the TV. Mercurio, right?" Viale nodded. "Mhm, he's not the boss."
"Mercurio, the man I have heard referred to as 'boss' is not the boss?"
"From what I understand, he's just a generous donor. He might as well be boss though, as the real boss is a massive pushover. He was the boss when I was there."
"Okay, who is he?"
"His name is Osso Paolo." Viale motioned for him to keep going. Giuseppe scratched his chin. "He was quite the character. Loved his seventies music, and loved musicals. I said he's a pushover, but if you fuck with his record collection, he will kill you."
"Well you don't mess with the vinyl. Everyone knows that."
Giuseppe nodded absentmindedly. "I only met him a few times. It was the weirdest thing, now that I think about it, but the only reason he lasted as long as he did was because he just wouldn't die. The man is older than me, but he just won't keel over."
Viale caught Beneficci's eye, and nodded. 'Stand User,' they agreed.
"What about the current boss, Mercurio?"
"I guess I know what everyone else knows. He's a hotshot politician – around the same age as Giorno, he recently revealed an entire secret society of super-powered people… he–OH! He cheated on and divorced his wife. His kid was born out of wedlock to the wife, but she's out of the picture, pretty much."
"Do you know who she is? The wife?"
"Yeah, ah, what was her name… right! It was Rossi, yeah. Bella Rossi."
Fragi's hand was shaking all over the place. He hesitated to pick up the gun in fear of accidentally pulling the trigger prematurely.
"What's wrong? Cold feet?"
"Cold hands, more like," Fragi whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.
"Just pull the trigger. You'll die either way. Might as well go out with a bang." Noio formed a finger gun and mimed pulling the trigger. "I don't know about you, but I'm loving this."
Fragi took a deep breath and picked up the neck of the gun. He adjusted the grip in his other hand, just as he had twice before, his fingers trembling.
"I have to tell you something."
Noio's grin widened to creepy proportions. "Oh, do tell."
"This is all a part of my plan."
"Horrible plan. What kind of plan involves you shooting yourself in the head."
Fragi let out another shaky breath and looked over at the unconscious Matito. "The kind where you know the outcome already."
BANG!
The bullet shredded through his skull and grey matter, painting the kitchen in red. Fragi slumped out of the chair and fell on the floor.
Noio chuckled, stepping closer to inspect the lifeless body. "Shame I couldn't get anything out of him about his own allies."
Suddenly, a faint glow emanated from Fragi's body. The blood began to retract, the shattered skull pieces knitting back together. Noio's eyes widened in disbelief as Fragi's body started to regenerate at an astonishing rate.
"What the—" Noio stammered, stepping back.
Fragi's eyes snapped open, a fierce determination burning within them. He pushed himself up, the last remnants of his wound sealing shut. "You see, Gioco," Fragi said, his voice steady and strong, "I'm not so easy to kill."
Noio's grin faltered, replaced by a look of sheer terror. "What are you?"
Fragi stood tall, the gun now steady in his hand. "I'm ｢Stayin' Alive｣." He aimed the gun at Noio, his finger hovering over the trigger. "And this time, it's your turn to face the consequences."
Noio's confidence shattered, and he stumbled back, realising he had underestimated Fragi's true power. The tables had turned. He seemed to forget that they went through all of the rounds in the gun already.
"W-w-wait! I-I-I'll put your friend back! See?!"
Matito slowly opened his eyes and looked around the room. "It worked?"
Fragi nodded. "Yeah, he fell for it alright. Now, I believe we had some things to ask you."
"I-I-I-He'll kill me if I tell you anything! Hell, he's probably listening right now!"
"Don't care," Matito stated. He got down to Noio's level on the floor. "Now tell me, what can Mercurio's Stand do? What is his ability?"
"Ha… ha… hahahahaha!" Noio's scaredy-cat demeanour swiftly shifted to one of giddiness. "You don't know?! How?! He doesn't hide it!"
Matito grabbed him by the collar. "Spit it out! What can he do?!"
"Nothing! His Stand ability is nothing! He doesn't have one!"
Viale left the bar feeling emptier than when he went in. How could Sana not tell them? How could she keep this from them? These were all thoughts running through Viale's mind.
Beneficci walked alongside him. "I'm sure she has a good reason for not telling us, Viale."
Viale could only agree. That didn't mean he wasn't upset.
To Be Continued =