The desert sun beat down on the Pakistani village, but the atmosphere around Jotaro Kujo was far colder.

He began to read. "For the bridge... for the drinks... for the kick to my shin... and for making my grandfather suffer." He looked up, his eyes burning with a blue intensity. "The total comes to a price you can't afford."

Jotaro walked over, his shadow looming large. He reached out, but instead of scratching, he paused.

"This is a receipt," Jotaro said, his voice a low rumble. "For everything you’ve done today."

Jotaro didn't say a word. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out the notebook he’d been carrying. He flipped it open to a page filled with neat, dense handwriting.

For hours, Steely Dan—a man whose arrogance was as loud as his flashy outfit—had treated Jotaro like a personal servant. Because Dan’s microscopic Stand, , was held hostage inside the brain of Joseph Joestar, any damage dealt to Dan would be reflected tenfold onto Jotaro’s grandfather.