Amaranthine

2: The Boy Named Dio Brando

IT WAS TIME FOR ME TO MEET DIO BRANDO. Mr. Burrell and I were going to eat dinner with the Joestars at George's request. I knew Jonathan said some unfavorable things about his new brother, but I wanted to give the boy a chance to make his own impression on me first. While I knew Jonathan would not lie, I knew better than to judge people based off rumors alone

Mr. Burrell was on his best behavior and instructed me to follow his example. In fact, he was still telling me what to do as we stepped out of the carriage; "don't forget to address George politely," "clean your plate at dinner," "be nice to George's sons." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Yes, I understood, so just shut up already.

I was thankful that father's prattling was cut short when we arrived at the mansion earlier than expected. George Joestar greeted us at the door with a kind smile. "I'm glad to see you both." His eyes shifted towards me. "Freya, have you met Dio yet?"

"No," I answered.

George turned into the house and called up the stairs. "Dio! Could you come down and greet our guests?"

"Coming, father!"

It took a moment, but soon enough a blonde haired boy with piercing gold eyes appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked like a king with his crown of golden hair. Everything about him— his posture, his deliberate steps, his gaze— oozed confidence that a child his age shouldn't have had. He looked like he belonged in the mansion.

As he stepped closer, I realized I knew this boy. In my most recent past life, I had worked in a bar in the slums, helping my uncle out. Of course, I was in a different body then, much older than Dio was at the time. I had never known the boy's name, but I always saw him in the bar playing card games and chess to scrape together as much money as he could. I stepped in sometimes when customers felt cheated from being beaten at chess by someone so much younger than them. I could tell he wasn't cheating; he had won each match with pure skill and strategy.

I remembered hearing from some of the customers that the boy was struggling to take care of his sick, alcoholic father all on his own. I had taken pity on him and slipped some of my tips to him along with his meal more than once. But we had never gotten the chance to talk properly. I'd always thought we could have some interesting conversations. Perhaps it was fate that we met now, even if he didn't recognize me in this body.

George introduced us. "Dio. This is Charles. He's been an old friend of mine for a while. And his daughter Freya is about your age, so I'm sure you can become friends."

Mr. Burrell said a rather uninterested "nice to meet you," but I tried to make mine sound more genuine. "It's nice to finally speak with you, Dio," I said; and I truly meant it.

"Likewise," Dio said, offering me the smallest of smiles.

"George, we should leave the children to talk," Mr. Burrell suggested. "I have something to discuss with you." George agreed and soon the two were walking down one of the many hallways in search of a more private place to chat.

I was frowning after the men, wondering what Mr. Burrell was plotting, when I suddenly realized Dio was looking at me. His gaze was careful and slightly curious as he observed me with a blank expression. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Whatever it was, I decided to take the initiative and started a conversation.

"Dio," I smiled. "I've heard about you from Jonathan and George." After a second, I added onto my thoughts, "I hope we can become friends."

"I hope so too," Dio said. He gave me a kind smile that caught me off guard. I had never seen Dio smile, but I supposed there hadn't been any reason to smile when he was in the slums of London, earning money through what little available means existed for a child. From what Jonathan had told me, I had expected Dio to turn into someone rude the minute his adopted father walked away. But the boy in front of me was polite and I couldn't sense any malice.