''What? Who do you think you are, approaching like that?'' Diego pointed his index finger at you and said with the deepest rudeness.
''Huh? Don't you remember me?'' You braked the wagon. ''In the first stage. I don't know if we introduced ourselves properly, but I'm (Y/N), the hawker.''
He stared at you coldly for a few seconds and also stopped his horse. He was definitely in a hurry, but something made him wait. His menacing look and smug hat - though not as smug as Gyro's belt - made you smile reassuringly.
''What do you want? Why are you here?'' He questioned in a steady tone. ''What are you doing on the runners' route if you're just a street vendor? Don't tell me you're also participating in the race.''
You knew more than the basics of many languages, and this was no different with English, but there was something about Diego's accent that you just couldn't match. You only understood a word or two, otherwise, your mind could only process his rudeness, which added to the accent. For a moment it occurred to you that your pronunciation and accent also didn't help those who spoke to you, but Diego's European aspect irritated you. The pettiness, the snobbery, you couldn't handle it.
He waited a few seconds for your answer, looking deeply into you with that cold eyes. He snorted as if he was making fun of you and seemed to read the incomprehension on your face. At that moment, you answered the question you assumed he had asked with the words ''street vendor'' and ''route''.
''I'm not a runner, I'm just a hawker.'' You just repeated a phrase you've been saying since you set foot in San Diego. ''I called you because I was worried, you look dehydrated. Are you okay?''
That question only seemed to piss him off more. He muttered something rude and unintelligible, shook his head sharply, and raised his voice.
''Then you must be blind. I'm fine.'' He persisted, but you could feel how dry his mouth was from the effort of yelling at you. ''Get out of my way before I lose my patience, and don't bother me again!''
Why did the most popular runners always want to get rid of you? First Gyro, then Sandman, and now Diego... were you really that unpleasant? No, impossible. Mountain Tim was a real gentleman and Johnny is nice too, the problem wasn't you.
''I don't charge for a glass of water.'' You quietly insisted. ''We're 16 miles from Monument Valley and there's no water well on your route, so don't pass up the chance.''
He stared at you silently, nudged his horse, and galloped off. He really was a nasty fellow, there was no doubt about that. You snort and roll your eyes, flicking the Cadichon's reins and continuing on your way just after Diego disappeared into the sandy horizon. An intrusive thought came over you and you felt ashamed of it: but why were all those runners so pretty?
On your journey, you met many beautiful men - and perhaps secretly, women - but there was something special about these runners. A certain charm. Of course, to you, they were very similar, but at the same time, they were unique.
You shake your head in denial, brushing those thoughts aside as if they were pesky insects, and think about talking to Cadichon. If she could talk, she would certainly tell you to be ashamed of yourself for showing a spark of interest in these men.
That's when you remember what happened a few hours ago. You remembered Gyro's injured leg and Johnny's obvious lack of preparation.
''Dios mio, Cadichon, those idiots are chasing a terrorist!'' You exclaimed immediately, feeling a chill in your stomach.
You didn't know if they were still alive. Of course, your tourniquet would help, but Gyro had already lost a lot of blood before you came. Haste dominated your mind. It was only a few more miles to the finish line and you had already accepted the delay the broken wheel was giving you, but you needed to know if Gyro and Johnny were okay. You didn't want to admit that you were worried about them, so you convinced yourself that you just wanted to get there as quickly as possible just for the sales.
You ran your hand through your hair and felt a gentle wind shake it. The same wind slowly covered you with sand and you felt like you needed the third shower of the day, as you couldn't stand the idea of feeling your skin rough and dry full of sand grains and sunburn.
As predicted, reached the end of the stage in a little more than an hour without any problems. On the way, you encountered no runners, and the crowds at the finish line had already dispersed. You cursed softly to yourself as you saw that you were quite late. You wiped the sweat from your face and rubbed a wet towel over your skin to soothe the burning sensation.
You untied Cadichon and repeated the same process you always do: talking to her, brushing and feeding her, and letting her graze for a while in the dry brush of the place. You closed your eyes and stretched until you felt your muscles relax. A few officers surrounded the course, throwing out drunken and rowdy fans and checking local businesses. For a moment you feared they'd forbid you to sell your stuff there, even though you were used to this kind of treatment.
A short, delicate young woman approached your wagon, you turned to her and smiled receptively. She didn't look older than 20 and had an innocent face.
''Good morning, my dear!'' You greeted, resting your hands on your waist.
''Good afternoon...'' She smiled shyly, and you could only think of correcting yourself because you still thought it was morning. This race robbed you of your sense of time. ''You're Miss (Y/N), right?''
This question made you shudder. How did she know you? Were you that popular?
''And who asks?'' You answered with another question, trying not to sound aggressive.
''Forgive me, I was very rude. My name is Lucy Steel, I'm the wife of the promotor Stephen Steel.'' Her voice remained soft and unchanging.
Wife? But so young? You had to get used to the customs there.
''Well... I don't know who your husband is, but nice to meet you. You're right, I'm (Y/N), how can I help you?''
You noticed a slight blush creep onto her childlike, apple-round cheeks. The slightly pointed nose above the narrow lips gave her an aristocratic look that you particularly detested, but her eyes were so wide and innocent that you couldn't help but feel a certain sympathy for the young woman.
''Me? Oh... I was just curious to meet you. I heard that you helped many runners through this stage, including Mountain Tim. That's very brave and kind of you."
You widened your eyes in surprise. How did she know all this?
''You heard it? Who said that?''
''The judges in the balloons.''
''Balloons?''
She looked at you a little embarrassed and confused.
''Yes, the weather balloons. Didn't you know that?''
At that moment, you realized that you should have researched the race before jumping in headfirst. You don't know the runners or the organizer, and you didn't even know that balloons were flying above you, watching you the whole time. The thought of being watched made you fear, but Lucy's voice soon stopped you from rambling.
''Well... I'm sorry to bother you. I heard my husband talking about you and I was just curious. I'd better go now.''
''Hey, wait!'' You exclaimed without thinking.
She said she was the race promoter's wife, right? To hold such a position, it could only be some old man who was in love with his young wife. You couldn't forget that the risk of not being allowed to sell your stuff during the race was high, and maybe making friends with the promoter's wife would be a good move to secure your business.
''Would you like to... have some tea? I've herbs I'm sure you've never seen before.'' You smile softly again and wince slightly as you see the girl's cheeks grow even redder.
''Ah! Well, I'd love to!'' She replied. ''But unfortunately, we'll have to do it at another time... I don't want to worry my husband, he's probably already looking for me and...''
''Lucy! There you are!'' You heard the voice of an old man.
It was obviously Stephen Steel, a tall, well-built man. In fact, his mature appearance was in stark contrast to his young and innocent wife. For a moment you regarded him as a lecherous old man, proud that he had such a charming girl as Lucy in his power. You didn't smile at him, but you watched him.
He looked at you as he went to his wife and took her in his arms softly. It took him a while to recognize you, but he addressed you calmly.
''You are Miss (Y/N), am I correct?'' He asked the same question as Lucy. ''I was afraid that you wouldn't reach the end of this stage. I need to talk to you.''
Your heart fluttered with anxiety. A fine bead of sweat trickled down Stephen's forehead and you tried to maintain your posture, even though you expected the worst. Elsewhere you did your best to evade the strict authorities who confiscated your products, but for a single, blissful, and distinguished woman like you, no disguise was sufficient.
''Take a look.'' He handed you a pamphlet.
You took it in your hand and read it at your leisure. It was the result of the second stage. In the first place, Diego Brando. You contorted your face, and although you didn't particularly like Diego, you still felt a certain affection for him. It was a completely irrational feeling that you weren't proud of, but you were happy for him.
However, you were even happier and more relieved when you read that Johnny Joestar was in second place and Gyro Zeppeli was in fourth. They were alive and the first thing you wanted to do was ask about them, but you held back and waited for Stephen to say something to which you paid no attention.
''Miss (Y/N)? Are you listening to me?''
You looked at him and answered promptly.
''Yes, yes! I'm listening!'' You confirmed and waited for him to repeat or say something that would make you understand what you missed.
''The death estimate raised by our analysts put the figure at 100 people'' he continued. ''But look, out of 3770 participants, 1289 dropped out of the race and 12 died. Tell me, why do you think the death toll was so far below our estimate?''
''Do you make estimates for something like that? Are they trying to predict how many people are going to die?'' You asked somewhat indignantly, which visibly embarrassed him.
''Well... what I am saying, Miss (Y/N), is that our judges have reported on the help that you offered to the runners during the course. Can you imagine how many lives it saved? You are talked about in the newspapers more than some popular runners. Also, I received a message saying about the terrorist attack that occurred at the checkpoint. I was informed that you put yourself in danger to save Mountain Tim's life. This is indeed a very heroic and commendable act, (Y/N).''
''Yes, I understand...'' A wave of melancholy comes over you as you remember Mountain Tim. ''But where are you going with this?''
''We usually don't allow street vendors to circulate through the checkpoints and attack our employees.'' He said coldly, and you swallowed hard. ''But let's pretend that didn't happen, consider it a way of saying thank you. We'll give you exclusivity to circulate in these areas as long as you don't cause any more trouble, Miss (Y/N).''