Creating Anime In A Fantasy World

Chapter 247: The Premiere of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure! (Part 9)

At the Imperial Mage Academy, the gathered mages whispered among themselves as the strange, ominous stone mask was displayed before them.

“What on earth is this thing? Why does it sprout spikes the moment blood touches it? What sort of principle is that supposed to be?”

“Could there be some kind of rune mechanism hidden inside? Maybe it reacts to blood and triggers a chain reaction that activates the spikes?”

“If that’s the case, then it’s pretty useless, isn’t it? Who would wear a mask like this and then just… get blood on it?”

“Exactly. The function feels way too bizarre. It doesn’t seem like a weapon, yet it doesn’t fit as anything else either.”

“Perhaps it was meant as a torture device? There were certain eras where strange contraptions like this were used to punish prisoners.”

“A torture device? With spikes like those, it wouldn’t just punish—it’d crack someone’s skull wide open.”

“Whatever the case, this mask definitely hides some greater purpose.”

“Still, Dio trying to use this thing to fake Jonathan’s death… that’s certainly a unique idea. Not exactly wrong, either.”

“But I doubt it’ll work. I can practically see it already—Dio and Jonathan clashing head-on, and in the end, Dio being completely defeated.”

The mages exchanged their theories, voices overlapping in animated discussion.

For them, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure didn’t hold quite the same kind of enthralling suspense as Fate/Zero or Steins;Gate. After all, the characters in this story felt almost theatrical in their presentation—painted in stark blacks and whites, good and evil sharply divided.

In such a stage-play-like setup, there was little mystery as to how the tale would end. Even if the villain prevailed for a while, by the final act his downfall was inevitable.

And yet… lack of suspense didn’t mean lack of excitement.

On the contrary, in its own way JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure stirred something even stronger—an exhilarating, heart-pounding anticipation.

Even the sharp-tongued mages, notorious for their picky tastes, couldn’t deny the surge of hot-blooded energy the film inspired in them. It was refreshing—an adventure where one could cast reason aside, let emotions fly free, and cheer alongside the protagonist without restraint.

And that, even for rationalists like them, was irresistible.

Meanwhile, at the Southern Territory Grand Duke’s estate—

Constantine, eyes fixed on the unfolding film, suddenly spoke up.

“Didn’t Edward say this movie had something to do with vampires? Why is it that even now, not a single vampire has appeared?”

His question left the room momentarily stunned. Even Daphne and the others exchanged baffled glances, equally confused. Why was a film supposedly about vampires taking so long to show them?

Only Arcueid, watching the story progress with a thoughtful look, broke the silence.

“Perhaps… the vampires have been here since the very beginning.”

“???”

The Grand Duke and the others blinked, bewildered. None of them could make sense of her cryptic words.

Back on the screen, the plot pressed onward.

After exposing Dio’s sinister scheme, Jonathan carried the suspicious package of medicine he had taken from him and set off toward the most infamous den of vice in the city—the ghoul-ridden back alleys of Ogre Street. There, he was determined to trace the source of the drug, obtain the antidote, and secure proof of Dio’s crime.

It was a dangerous path, but Jonathan had resolved to protect the Joestar household, no matter the risk.

And sure enough, as he pushed deeper into Ogre Street, danger found him.

A band of local thugs spotted the fresh-faced newcomer and closed in with greedy grins, ready to rob Jonathan blind.

Jonathan, however, showed not the slightest trace of fear. Instead, he seized the knife of one of the thugs barehanded, halting the blade mid-thrust.

“You— you’re insane! Aren’t you afraid I’ll slice your fingers clean off?!”

Jonathan glared straight into his attacker’s eyes and declared:

“Go ahead, try it! The moment you move, I’ll crush your manhood with these tree-trunk legs of mine! Even if I lose a few fingers, I don’t care—because I must protect my father, protect my home! My resolve to fight exists on an entirely different level from the likes of you!”

With that, Jonathan sent the thug flying, felling him in an instant, before knocking down a second just as easily.

From the shadows, the last of the gang—a man curiously clad in a formal suit—suddenly spoke up.

“So you claim you don’t fear losing four fingers? Then let’s see you dodge this!”

He whipped off his hat in one smooth motion. To Jonathan’s astonishment, the brim gleamed—a ring of blades hidden along the edge!

The spinning hat cut through the air toward him. But Jonathan did not dodge. Instead, he braced himself, taking the strike head-on. His arm was torn open, blood streaming, yet even as his flesh was shredded he launched a devastating kick, sending his opponent crashing backward.

It was a brief exchange, simple in choreography—but the narration of each thug’s inner thoughts, the almost “time-stopped” commentary interwoven with the action, gave the fight a dramatic flavor unlike anything audiences had ever seen before.

Far from finding it strange, the theatergoers leaned forward in fascination, captivated by this bizarre yet thrilling storytelling style.

At last, with the suited thug’s final monologue cut short as he collapsed, Jonathan stood victorious.

But his triumph was short-lived. From every side, more thugs emerged, swarming like ravenous ghouls, their killing intent pressing in on him. Jonathan steeled himself, prepared to fight to the bitter end.

And then—

“Enough!”

The man who had collapsed moments ago staggered back to his feet. Raising his voice so all could hear, he declared:

“If anyone dares lay a hand on this gentleman, then I, Robert E. O. Speedwagon, will never forgive you!”

“Gentleman…?”

Jonathan blinked in confusion, not understanding why the man would call him that.

But Speedwagon pressed on, eyes burning with conviction.

“Answer me this—why didn’t you put your full strength into that last kick? With your power, you could’ve smashed my face beyond recognition.”

Jonathan lowered his gaze.

“I came here for the sake of my father. And when I struck you, in that instant, I realized… you must have a father as well. I couldn’t bring myself to cause him grief.”

Speedwagon was stunned into silence. Such naivety—such purity of heart! For a man like Jonathan to exist in this ruthless world… it moved him. Truly, he was no ordinary opponent.

And so, with newfound admiration, Speedwagon resolved to join Jonathan, to aid him in uncovering the source of Dio’s poison.

Elsewhere, Dio drowned himself in drink, sinking into despair. Unsure whether JoJo had survived, he spent his days in restless gloom, his ambition clouded by doubt.

Then, one night, fate presented him with an outlet. Two lowlifes, drunk and swaggering, tried to pick a fight with him in the street.

Dio’s golden eyes narrowed. His mood was foul, and his patience gone.

“Very well… let us test the mask.”

With a cruel smile, he seized one of the thugs and forced the stone mask onto his face. Then, drawing a knife, he slashed the other across the cheek.

Blood sprayed. Scarlet drops struck the carved surface of the mask—

And in that instant, the stone came alive.