I'm Hank

Fugo was walking between Mista and Narancia, mid-lecture about the geographical significance of the island, but he stopped abruptly when Bucciarati looked back.

"Fugo," Bruno called, motioning for him to come alongside him. "I need to go over the perimeter details of the villa before we arrive."

"Of course." Fugo said, adjusting his tie and hurried forward, leaving the Mista and Narancia behind.

Narancia kicked a loose pebble, his eyes drifting to Giorno. The newbie was walking a few paces ahead, his posture stiff and formal.

Then to Narancia's surprise, Giorno suddenly leaned down to pick up a small, flat stone from the edge of a flowerbed. With a golden flash from his Stand's hand, the stone changed its shape and pulsed between his fingers. In Giorno's palm sat a vibrant green tree frog, its throat swelling as it let out a soft croak. Giorno didn't look back, he simply let the frog hop toward a nearby stone wall, presumably to act as a lookout.

"Duuuude..!" Narancia hissed. He snagged the brim of Mista’s hat, hauling him down by force just so he could whisper right into his ear, "His ability is to make animals! Look at that thing!"

Mista grumbled at the yank on his hat, squinting past Narancia at the wall, then over at Giorno's back. "Yeah, I saw it. It's just a frog. We better focus on the mission…" He put on a bored act, but his eyes stayed dead-set on the little green speck right as it botched a jump against the brick and came tumbling down into the dirt.

"See? I told you it was his!" Narancia darted forward, scooping the tiny thing up in his hands before it could hop away.

"Ew, gross, why did you take it?" Mista grimaced, though he didn't pull away. "Put it back, Narancia. The newbie probably had some purpose for this thing."

"It's not gross, it's cool." Narancia whispered back, completely engrossed. He held the frog in his cupped hands, watching its golden eyes. "I wonder if it's as smart as he is."

Up ahead, Giorno’s shoulders suddenly jerked.

Narancia didn't notice. He took his pointer finger and lightly poked the frog's soft belly, and then, he began to rhythmically pet the top of its head. "Man, it even feels real..." he muttered, completely fascinated.

Giorno twitched again. This time more violently. His hand flying up to adjust the collar of his jacket as if he were suddenly losing his balance.

Mista's stride slowed. He watched Narancia poke the frog a second time, tracking the movement just in time to see Giorno's head loll slightly to the side, his pace faltering for a fraction of a second.

As the dots connected, Mista suddenly lunged, throwing his forearm around Narancia's neck in a flash of mild panic and hauling him backward into a tight, frantic huddle. "Heyheyheyhey! Narancia, look..!" he hissed under his breath.

"Ow! What the hell, Mista?!" Narancia choked out, nearly dropping the frog as he squirmed against the sudden chokehold. He threw an annoyed glare at Mista but as his eyes followed the manic direction of his nod, his irritation evaporated.

Ten feet ahead, Giorno had gone entirely rigid, his fingers twitching violently against the fabric of his trousers. Narancia's mouth fell open into a slow, wicked grin as his brain finally caught up to what Mista was implying.

"Every time you touch that thing..." Mista murmured, a slow, wicked smirk carving across his face.

"He feels it," Narancia finished for him, his voice dropping into an awed whisper.

Mista nodded "Yeah, I think his sensors are plugged straight into this frog. Whatever you do to the animal, he's catching the feedback out there."

A devious, wide grin completely took over Narancia's features. To test the theory of this incredible new discovery, he adjusted his hold on the little creature. Deliberately and carefully, he extended his index finger and dragged it along the frog's slick green side in one long feather-light stroke.

Up ahead, the results were instantaneous.

Giorno's entire spine snapped perfectly straight, his shoulders hitching violently as if a current of pure electricity had just been shot through his body. A strangled sound escaped his throat. Blinded by the sudden, overwhelming wave of sensations, his foot caught the uneven edge of the cobblestones, sending him stumbling sideways. He barely managed to throw his hands out in time, narrowly avoiding a collision with a rusty iron lamppost. He clamped his fingers onto the metal pole instead, clinging to it as he proceeded just what on earth was that..

Narancia had to shove his own fist into his mouth to suffocate the explosive laugh bubbling up in his chest. He wheezed in a desperate, breathy whisper, tears prickling the corners of his eyes as he cradled the unbothered frog tightly against his chest, making sure not to stroke it again. "Oh my, this is too good. This is the best day of my life."

"Shh, keep it down! He's still close enough to hear us!" Mista hissed, though he was doing a terrible job of hiding his own face behind his hand, his shoulders shaking with silent, hysterical giggles. He glanced up at Giorno, who was now stiffly dusting off his suit jacket. "Man, this rookie's tough. Don't touch that thing again out here, save it for later. We're gonna have so much fun at the house."

–––

The Villa San Giovanni was blissfully quiet, insulated from the ambient hum of the Capri streets and the oppressive, heavy glare of the midday sun. Near the open windowsill, Fugo was focused on organizing a stack of maps and documents, though his attention kept fracturing. For the fifth time in ten minutes, his gaze flicked suspiciously over to the sofa.

Giorno was sitting there, his posture entirely collapsed. He had his face buried deeply in one hand, his fingers clamped over his mouth with a white knuckled grip that looked almost painful. His other arm was wrapped tightly around his abdomen for an unknown reason. With his eyes squeezed shut, his entire frame was trembling with a silent, rhythmic shaking that he was clearly fighting with every ounce of his remaining willpower.

Fugo let out a heavy sigh at the sight. This was his third time trying to get through to the newcomer, his frown deepening into a line of genuine concern. "Giorno? Seriously, are you alright?" he asked again, crossing his arms. "You’ve been acting strange ever since we stepped off the trail. If you're coming down with something, just say it. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I am... fine, Fugo," Giorno managed to choke out. His voice was strained, a few octaves higher than his usual calm, low register. "I just...g-got a cramp. It will pass any minute now..."

Fugo shook his head, thoroughly unconvinced. A different excuse every single time. Well, if the rookie insisted on keeping his illness a secret, then fine, so be it. Fugo was already getting tired of his mysterious nature anyway.

High above the safehouse floor, hidden away in the shadows of the wooden ladder leading to the loft, Mista and Narancia were curled up together like two kids up to no good. Narancia held a thin, delicate straw of grass, brushing the tip of it along the tiny green frog perched on his knee with delicate precision.

Both boys had their faces buried deep into their collars, desperately trying to muffle the hysterical giggles that threatened to echo through the rafters. Watching Passione’s most stoic, untouchable rookie completely unravel across the room was easily the best entertainment they'd had all week.

Suddenly, the frog scrambled. The creature had been sitting perfectly still, but its tiny muscles coiled with sudden tension as it picked up on its creator's frantic call. With a desperate leap, it launched itself off Narancia's kneecap right toward the open edge of the loft railing.

"Whoa! It’s making a break for it!" Narancia hissed, lunging forward, but his fingertips missed the slick green skin by a hair. The frog plummeted into freefall toward the hard floor below until another hand snapped out of the shadows, snatching it cleanly out mid-air with the grace of a seasoned gunslinger.

Mista opened his palm, looking down at the creature. It was squirming with a sudden, unnatural intensity, its little legs kicking frantically against his hand, trying to break free from an unyielding grip.

"Look at that," Mista whispered, his eyes widening as he adjusted his hold. "It’s trying to hop away. Giorno's pulling it back to him."

"Wait, Giorno can actually control it from all the way over there?" Narancia asked, leaning heavily over Mista’s shoulder to watch the tiny struggle.

"Looks like it," Mista muttered, watching the frantic kicking. "I wonder why he doesn't just turn it back into pebble. He should be able to do that from anywhere, no?" He closed his fingers into a loose, warm cage around the frog, feeling the rapid, terrified vibration of its tiny heart against his palm. "If he’s trying this hard to pull it back, then it means he really doesn't want us playing with it. Which means..."

A wicked glint flashed in Mista's eyes as his gaze traveled up to the dried blade of grass Narancia was still clutching.

"Gimme that," Mista grinned, snatching the grass from his partner's hand. "If the boy wants his frog back, he’s gonna have to earn it."

Down on the sofa, Giorno felt the physical shift instantly. The phantom sensation of open air vanished, replaced by a suffocating warmth enveloping his creation. It’s trapped, he realized, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. Where did it even wander off to? I was certain I gave it a slow enough metabolism so it wouldn't hop too far away.

Panic flaring, he began to call upon Gold Experience to forcefully unmake the creature from a distance. But before his Stand could even manifest, a sensation from earlier struck his flanks all over again.

Mista had begun to work with clinical precision. He teasingly dragged the serrated edge of the grass in long and slow strokes along the frog's sensitive, or rather Giorno's sensitive flanks.

Giorno's back arched up involuntarily. A sharp, gasping breath escaped him and he bit his lip so hard it bled, desperate to keep himself quiet. Then suddenly Giorno heard a familiar, muffled giggle echoing from the high rafters. Mista and Narancia…

He tried once more to mentally retract the frog since now he knew its location but Mista caught the internal tug. Countering it instantly, the gunman began swirling the grass in a rapid, frantic circle right against the frog’s belly.

"A-ah—!" A choked, high-pitched gasp tore past Giorno's teeth before he could stop it. The sensory overload was overwhelming. Giorno's legendary composure shattered into pieces. Every single time he tried to focus his mind to cancel the ability, the ticklish sensation would spike, sending a jolt of electricity through his nerves that forced his concentration to break. I can't—I can't focus—!

Up in the shadows, Narancia couldn't contain himself anymore. Seeing Giorno squirming like a landed fish on the sofa below was too much temptation. "Move over, let me do it!" he whispered frantically, nudging Mista aside. Narancia didn't even bother with the grass. He used his own fingers, wiggling his fingertips in a fast, relentless motion right under the frog's tiny armpits and down its sides.

Down on the couch, the double-pronged assault completely wrecked Giorno. He collapsed sideways onto the cushions, his legs curling up toward his chest as the agonizingly sharp, ticklish friction multiplied tenfold.

"N-Narancia! Mista, e-enoHOugh—!" Giorno wheezed out, his voice completely broken, dissolving into a breathless, desperate burst of suppressed laughter that he tried to smother against the leather. He slammed his fist hard against the couch, once, twice, a bang of pure frustration and helpless agony as his body betrayed him. He couldn't breathe, his lungs burned as the invisible fingers danced across his ribs.

Narancia’s hands froze dead in the air, the laughter completely dying in his throat. He strained his ears, his head tilting toward the main area below. He had caught his own name echoing from the other side of the safehouse. Mista paused too, lowering the blade of grass, both of them instantly switching into a dead silent listening mode.

Downstairs, Bruno Bucciarati's calm, authoritative voice carried up from the kitchen doorway, speaking directly to Fugo. "We need to restock our supplies. Fugo, we are sending Narancia to do the shopping."

Fugo’s response was immediate and thick with disbelief. "Narancia? Bucciarati, you can't be serious. He's way too reckless to handle this alone right now. If he slips up, he could expose us, put the whole team in jeopardy and more importantly, he could put the boss's daughter in direct danger! Why not let *me* go instead?"

"No," Bucciarati replied firmly. "Narancia is the only one who should go. His Stand ability is uniquely suited for this. If anyone tries to follow him from the market, Aerosmith will detect and track them instantly. He is the best choice to ensure no one leaves a tail."

Up on the loft landing, Narancia’s eyes went completely round. A massive, thrilled grin split across his face. Bruno, Bruno Bucciarati himself had explicitly chosen him for a mission based on his skill. Hyped up on pure validation, Narancia completely forgot about the prank. He scrambled to his feet, hopped off the loft landing, and practically flew toward the stairs to meet them, carelessly dropping the little green frog that had been sitting on his knee.

"Whoa—hey!" Mista hissed, lunging forward to catch the falling creature before it hit the floor below. But his fingers never made the contact. Mid-fall, with a faint clink, the tiny green frog vanished, reverting back into its original form. A harmless, ordinary grey pebble dropped onto the wooden steps and rolled down the stairs.

Down on the sofa, the suffocating wave of phantom sensations vanished. Giorno slumped heavily against the leather cushions, completely exhausted and catching his breath in long, ragged drafts. His trembling hand, which he had raised in a desperate final attempt to focus his willpower on the frog, dropped limply over the edge of the couch.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, letting out a faint, tired sigh. "Finally..." he muttered under his breath, his chest still heaving.