Steel Ocean

The air in the visitor center was thick with unspoken tension.

From the shadows of the hallway just outside the room, Isabella E.O. Speedwagon watched.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

Technically.

But she had already disabled the cameras in this section of the prison, just for a little while. Just long enough to do what she did best—observe.

Through the glass window, she saw Jolyne Cujoh sitting stiffly at the visitor's table, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Across from her sat Jotaro Kujo, a man Isabella had only met once before, years ago.

A man whose presence was as heavy as his reputation.

She could see the resemblance between them now—the same sharp features, the same piercing eyes, the same posture that made them seem untouchable.

But where Jotaro was stone-cold precision, all calculated distance, Jolyne was fire—wild, unpredictable, untamed.

They were a hurricane and an earthquake, clashing in the middle of a prison visitation room.

And Isabella could already tell it wasn't going well. 

Jolyne scoffed, shaking her head. "So what, you suddenly care now?"

Jotaro's expression didn't change. "I never stopped caring."

Jolyne let out a bitter laugh. "That's rich. You have a hell of a way of showing it."

Isabella leaned closer to the window, listening.

She shouldn't be here.

She didn't have to be here.

But something about this felt important.

Jotaro exhaled through his nose, barely concealing his frustration. "Jolyne, listen to me. You were framed. This isn't just some random prison sentence. There's something bigger going on."

Jolyne arched an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you give a damn about what happens to me?"

"I've always given a damn," Jotaro said, voice even. "You just never wanted to listen."

Jolyne's fingers dug into the table. "That's because you were never around to say anything worth listening to!"

The room went dead silent.

Jotaro's expression didn't crack, but something in his eyes flickered.

Isabella had to admit—Jolyne didn't hold back.

And yet, even as anger crackled between them, she could see it—the thing neither of them wanted to say out loud.

They cared.

They just didn't know how to show it.

Jolyne leaned forward, voice softer now, but no less sharp. "Why are you really here?"

Jotaro met her gaze, unflinching.

"To protect you."

And that was when everything went to hell.

The lights in the visitor center flickered.

Then, suddenly—darkness.

Isabella straightened, her instincts flaring.

She knew what this was.

An attack.

Before she could move, a thick mist flooded the room, swallowing everything in its path.

Through the haze, Isabella heard the sound of a Stand materializing—something cold, something insidious.

Then, a voice.

"Jotaro Kujo... your time is up."

Isabella's pulse spiked.

Shit.

Her hands twitched toward her belt, toward the place where she had hidden her weapons.

But she didn't move.

Not yet.

Her orders were clear—do not interfere unless absolutely necessary.

And yet, every fiber of her being screamed at her to act.

Through the mist, she saw Jotaro react instantly—Star Platinum bursting to life, ready to strike.

But it was too late.

A gloved hand reached into Jotaro's head—

And ripped something out.

Jotaro staggered, eyes wide.

Isabella's breath caught in her throat.

What the fuck?

The Stand—the enemy—held something in its hands. A transparent, disc-like object, glowing faintly in the dim light.

A Stand DISC.

Isabella felt her stomach drop.

She had read about Stand DISCs before—files, reports, theories—but she had never seen one being stolen.

And now, before her very eyes, Jotaro Kujo—one of the strongest Stand users in the world—was crumbling.

Jolyne's voice cut through the chaos.

"DAD!"

Isabella turned her gaze back to her.

And what she saw made her pause.

Jolyne wasn't running. She wasn't hesitating.

She was fighting.

Her Stand threads unraveled, snapping forward like whips as she launched herself toward the enemy.

She wasn't scared.

She wasn't backing down.

She was going to war.

Jolyne's movements were wild, furious, desperate—but controlled.

She had no training, no experience in Stand battles.

But she had instincts.

And those instincts told her one thing—

She wasn't going to let her father die.

She lunged at the enemy Stand—Whitesnake—her threads slicing through the mist like razor wire.

The Stand dodged effortlessly, its masked face unreadable.

Jolyne barely had time to react before it moved with inhuman speed—grabbing her by the wrist and twisting.

Pain shot through her arm, but she didn't scream.

She just gritted her teeth and pulled harder.

Even as her muscles burned, even as she felt herself being overpowered, she kept fighting.

Because this wasn't just about her.

This was about her father.

This was about proving she wasn't weak.

Isabella watched, her jaw clenched.

She had misjudged Jolyne.

She had thought she was just another reckless inmate.

But now, watching her risk everything, Isabella realized the truth.

Jolyne Cujoh was not reckless.

She was relentless.

She would fight until her last breath.

And Isabella...

Isabella respected that.

Damn it.

Jotaro was on the ground, unmoving.

His Stand and his memories had been stolen.

The enemy had retreated into the mist, victorious.

Jolyne knelt beside her father, breathing hard.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for him. "Dad?"

No response.

The weight of it settled onto her shoulders like a crushing force.

The guards were coming. The alarms were blaring.

She could run.

She could escape.

But instead—

She stayed.

She stayed because this wasn't over.

She stayed because she wasn't going to let him die.

She stayed because if she didn't fight for him, who would?

And from the shadows, Isabella watched as Jolyne made her choice.

Watched as she sacrificed her freedom for someone else.

Watched as she became something more than just another inmate.

She clenched her fists.

Damn it. 

That night, Isabella sat on her bunk, staring at the cracks in the ceiling.

She had come here to observe.

She had come here to follow orders.

But now, she felt something unsettlingly close to loyalty stirring in her chest.

Jolyne wasn't her problem.

She wasn't her mission.

And yet...

Isabella had a feeling.

A feeling that Jolyne Cujoh was going to change everything.

And for the first time since stepping into this prison, Isabella wondered—

What the hell had she just gotten herself into?