[It's the little things, Caesar will realize in a moment, quiet little Joestar things that resonate even down the lines of generations - and when did he become an expert on Joestars, anyway? How is this knowledge that he left the world with, the set of Joseph's jaw, the minute shifts of expression when he's angry or uncomfortable or scared, the way he stands when he doesn't know if he's looking at a friend or an enemy. There are tiny echoes of him in this boy (boy, he thinks, as if there's really that much difference in their ages), and when the words hit him, really hit him, he'll be weak.]

[For the moment, though, his mouth just opens slightly in confusion.]

Grandfather?

[Grandfather, he says, and that can't be right, because--]

No, no, he's younger than me. [He holds his hand flat a couple of inches above his head.] Dark hair, blue eyes, stupid look on his face. You can't miss him. [No missing him.] He never stops talking. [Loud as hell.]

[And then he seems to run out of words, because - grandfather. Jotaro is - seventeen, eighteen? Plus twenty or thirty years, depending, and that could end up at almost fifty, if Joseph somehow, miraculously started having children right away. Almost fifty years. Grandfather.]

[He doesn't know what to do with this, and it shows, his expression distant. Did it work? Did it honestly work?]