Stand up, join us! Cause we have the power to face the future!

The engine screams as Giorno slams the accelerator down, tires shrieking against the road slick with melting ice. The temperature inside the car is dropping fast—frost crawling up the windows, breath fogging the air. Mista grips the seat, eyes sharp despite the chaos.

Behind them, Ghiaccio skates effortlessly across the asphalt, White Album encasing him in its unyielding armor. Ice spikes burst from the road as he gestures violently, veins bulging with rage.

You saved Ghiaccio, and convinced him La Squadra could help overthrow the Boss. Enjoy my mosslings.