Chapter 5 - Resolve

A bloodied man limped through the bustling streets. His clothes were riddled with bullet holes, his skin blackened and bruised, an exposed bone jutting from his arm.

His gaze was distant, almost defeated, as if he'd forgotten everything in that moment.

Fugo didn't miss the life of fighting. No matter how composed he seemed, anger and exhaustion simmered beneath the surface. His body and mind had moved on instinct, acting before hesitation could creep into his thoughts.

Now he was left with questions, confused and wary about his enemies - and his friends. Why did they know about Giorno? Did it mean he was alive, or was he dead? What was their purpose in attacking?

"..."

No one else was around him; people had fled at the sight of his battered form. But now, he found himself in a dim alleyway, the noise of the city fading behind him.

At the other end, he saw someone familiar.

Not someone. Something.

Purple Haze.

He hadn't summoned it, but there it stood, staring back at him before glancing over at a nearby vending machine. Despite his intelligence, Purple Haze wasn't known for its restraint, so it smashed its elbow into the machine, almost cautiously with its knuckles.

Fugo didn't react, ignoring its unspoken gesture. He continued walking as if he had somewhere to be, erasing the Stand from his mind. His eyes fixed on a tall building in the distance, lights shining brightly.

A hospital.

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Marou Nakano sighed, his mind tired from the work and worried about his daughters' first day. Changing schools might bring challenges, but it should be better for them to have a brand new start.

BUZZ!

The interphone buzzed and he didn't miss a bit on answering.

"I am sorry, Nakano. A young man named Pannacotta is here to see you. Do I send him in?", His expression hardens and he mutters a fast yes.

"..."

'Already, huh... I see.', This does complicate some things.

Two soft but firm knocks are heard. "You may come in."

Clicking his tongue at Fugo's state after entering, he gets up to find some equipment to fix him up a bit.

He slumped into the chair opposite Marou's desk, but his gaze remained restless, flicking across the office as though searching for answers in every corner. He didn't speak. He didn't have to. The doctor studied him for a few seconds longer, his sharp eyes registering every bruise, every scrape, every tear in Fugo's clothes. Even the drink he had in his hand.

"Looks like you've been through hell.", Marou's voice was calm, but it held a weight, an unspoken demand for explanation.

Fugo simply stared back, his face betraying no emotion. "Not fully.", He said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But that's not why I came here."

Marou continued gathering the first-aid supplies, setting gauze, antiseptic, and bandages in a neat row on his desk. "Then why are you here, Pannacotta?", His tone softened only slightly, but there was a thread of something else beneath it. Worry? Pity? Fugo couldn't be sure.

As Marou dabbed at a particularly nasty wound on Fugo's shoulder, he didn't shy away from the task, even as blood seeped through the gauze. Fugo winced but held himself steady, knowing any flinch would only make things more difficult. 

"Is my past related to my hiring?", Fugo asked, his voice laced with a grim edge.

Marou didn't hesitate, eyes fixed on the wound as he secured a bandage. "Yes.", There was no reason to lie; the truth lay bare as Fugo's battered form.

A pause settled between them as Marou unwound another roll of gauze, pressing it against a gash on Fugo's side that had nearly missed a rib. The pressure stung, but his precision was as steady as his voice.

"Is there another reason why specifically me?", Fugo's tone sharpened, cutting through the silence.

Marou didn't answer immediately. He moved to disinfect a nasty scrape along the jaw, working silently, methodically, until he finally muttered, "…Yes." He avoided the patient's gaze, his focus on wiping away the blood that streaked his neck.

Fugo waited, patience thinning with each passing second, but when he asked, "Which question can you answer fully?", Marou met his eyes.

"The first.", He said with a trace of reluctance. Fugo simply nodded, bracing himself as Marou applied another bandage across his shoulder, his hands moving quickly but with evident care.

Fugo felt the weight of another question pressing against his mind. "Is this group after you?" he asked, watching Marou's face carefully.

Marou paused, his hand hovering above a particularly deep bruise on Fugo's forearm. "Yes, it's a group full of Stand users.", He sighed, as if the words themselves carried a burden and resumed wrapping the wound. "I suspect they're after me simply because of my connections.", His hand tightened briefly around the gauze before continuing his work.

With steady hands, Marou applied an antiseptic to a long cut on Fugo's forearm, his touch precise yet impersonal, as if trying to distance himself from the violence that had marked the body. "That's why I sought a Stand user who could mask themselves as a tutor for my daughters.", He continued, his gaze briefly softening. "To protect them and also teach them."

Fugo's brows drew together. "…And you picked me? Someone with an easy background to find?"

Marou didn't answer immediately. He secured the last of the bandages, his hands lingering just a moment too long as he straightened up and met Fugo's gaze with an intensity that hinted at an unspoken weight. "It was a… recommendation."

Fugo narrowed his eyes, noting the heaviness in Marou's tone. He clenched his jaw, the wounds still aching, but this new mystery felt sharper than the pain.

He didn't have anyone close to him besides 5, maybe 6 people. So who?

Bucciarati? Narancia? Mista? Abbachio? Giorno? Trish?

Or was it a way to put a target on his head, to get rid of him for good?

"...I see.", He turns his face away from Marou, getting up and answering the obvious question. "I will continue my job... and also the new part of it."

It doesn't matter who told Maruo of him.

He, Pannacotta Fugo, has a responsibility. 

And he won't abandon it ever again. Even if he has to face a Stand user on the Boss' level.

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Yotsuba Nakano woke up early this morning.

Yesterday, she'd pestered her sister Miku until she discovered that their tutor, Fugo, attended the same school. She'd thought about inviting him to join them at lunch but quickly dismissed the idea - she wasn't dense enough to not notice Nino's discomfort.

Still, when she spotted him, she couldn't resist bounding over and giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder. "Good morning, Fugo!"

"Wh-" He turned, frowning as he faced one of the Nakano sisters. "Yotsuba, don't hit people, especially when they don't see you coming."

"E-Eh? Right, sorry.", She muttered, squinting at him. His bandaged arms and tired expression caught her attention. "Fugo... you're not secretly a delinq-?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. I was just too busy trying to figure out my way around and fell down some stairs."

"Oh, I see… So, how are you adjusting to Japanese culture compared to Italy's?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

Fugo sighed, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "It's... different. Everything here feels more rigid, more structured."

Yotsuba tilted her head, her curiosity unabated. "Really? But doesn't that make it easier? Like, you always know what to expect!"

Fugo managed a half-smile, slightly amused at her endless enthusiasm. "In a way, yes. But it also means there's a lot to keep track of - things that aren't written down but are somehow expected. In Italy, things are… looser."

Yotsuba nodded, though it was clear she didn't fully understand. "Well, if you need any help fitting in, we're all here! I mean, some of us…", She paused, catching herself, thinking of the others. "Maybe just me..."

"And how are you handling it?", She turned to him, confusion written on her face. "The school change."

"Oh! Miku is still kept in her comfort zone, away from people. Itsuki is writing down every note from the teachers, trying to understand everything at once. Nino already has a group of friends, the same as Ichika. I went on to meet the teachers and gain their contact info in case they needed help. Most of them look very friendly!", She spoke with enthusiasm every word.

Fugo raised an eyebrow, a bit taken aback by her thorough assessment. "You've all adapted in different ways."

"Yeah! We all have our styles," Yotsuba said proudly, then laughed a little. "Sometimes I think I'm the only one who doesn't quite have a plan."

Fugo gave her a curious look. "What do you mean? You're the one who's always trying to help everyone. Isn't that a plan?"

Yotsuba scratched her head, looking sheepish. "I guess… I just try my best. But I don't think I'm as focused as the others. Itsuki with her studies, Miku with her things, Nino with our well-being, and Ichika even managed to get a job she won't tell us about! Nino says I'm too scatterbrained."

"Your enthusiasm is not scatterbrained.", He replied matter-of-factly while noting down the part about Ichika. "Sometimes, being open to everything is its own skill. You just have a different way of seeing things."

Yotsuba's eyes lit up, and she broke into a broad grin. "You think so? Thanks, Fugo!", She clapped her hands together as if sealing the compliment away for safekeeping. "But you know... it's not my place to say... If you can't handle it, maybe it's better to quit it. You looked tired, Fugo."

Yesterday his facade looked good, he truly seemed like a dedicated person. A tutor. Now his gaze is distant, his mind elsewhere. Even his clothes look disheveled while also brand new.

Before he could respond, the bell rang, cutting through the morning chatter around them. Yotsuba's eyes widened in a mix of panic and excitement. "Oh no, I promised to help the P.E. teacher! I'll see you later, okay?"

Fugo hesitated, then nodded, his usual cool facade breaking for a moment. "Sure. But… maybe keep your voice down next time. You don't need to announce everything."

She giggled, throwing him a quick thumbs-up before darting off toward the crowd, her bunny ribbon bouncing as she went.

Fugo watched her disappear, shaking his head as he adjusted his bag again. Somehow, Yotsuba's presence was both exhausting and oddly reassuring, a bundle of energy that seemed impossible to contain. He made his way toward his first class, silently mulling over her last words.

He can't and won't quit.

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...Not fully sure what I wrote.

Initial idea was more focused on the sisters and Nino specifically, but I felt like leaving Fugo after his first fight in Japan wasn't a good idea.

(Btw I feel like if I go back to the last chapter, I would never leave with rewriting. I just don't know how to feel about my first fight written so I will leave it there)

Fugo might seem to not truly ask the right questions and that is the case I am trying to write.

He hates the mystery yet doesn't want to solve it, afraid of the fact it might connect to Bucciarati's gang. He is afraid to learn what his decision to leave led them to. 

Also really trying to write more about the sisters cuz I feel like I am taking this too fast. I need to write more slice of life.