Lian watched the man peacocking in front of her, eyes sparking like flint; seeing a two‑dimensional legend stroll into real skin felt like a festival lantern lit in daylight.

“Hey, hey, you’re DIO, right?” Her voice hopped like a sparrow on a railing.

The man thumbed himself with a bright, boastful jerk, pride flashing like a blade catching sun.

“Yes, I a—” His words snapped mid‑flight like a kite in a crosswind; he smacked his lips, a sharp tsk cutting the air.

“Sorry—I’m not that handsome, dashing DIO. I’m… D!” His grin curled like smoke.

Lian stared, shock blooming like a lotus. “So the other two are I and O?”

“...Yes. Exactly.” He spread his hands like empty wings.

Lian hurled a pinch of salt, conjured from nowhere like winter snow shaken from a sleeve. “You kidding me? How did DIO split into three?”

The man shrugged, palms floating like drifting leaves. “Isn’t three DIOs common sense?”

“You’re so freaking great, aren’t you?” Her words bit like frost.

D shook his head, patience peeling away like old paint; stubborn stone won’t move no matter how you pour water.

“All right, quit yapping—let’s start.” His challenge rang like a gong before battle.

Heat rose in Lian’s chest like a drumbeat; she called the Script into her palm, pages breathing like a caged moth, and the fight woke like thunder.

“Wait! Lian, bring me the Script.” Aer’s voice slid in gentle as rain on bamboo.

Lian blinked, confusion rippling like a pond, then handed the Script over with a small nod like a reed in wind.

Aer took it and traced the cover, her fingertip dancing like a dragonfly; lines spun like silken threads, and a small magic circle bloomed like a morning flower.

“This sigil bumps your luck—give it a try.” Her smile felt warm as tea steam.

Lian studied the circle printed on the book like a stamp of fate; she didn’t know how luck was weighed, but she nodded like a quiet temple bell.

From the side, D’s impatience rattled like cicadas. “So… you ready yet?”

The reminder hit like a tap on the forehead; Lian remembered this was war, not play, and scratched her head with a sheepish smile, like clouds thinning after rain. “Ah… sorry. Let’s continue.”

Seeing her intent sharpen like a drawn blade, D’s face rekindled its battle‑glow like coals flaring in wind. “So, you going first or what?”

She knew his trick turned time to stone, and it worked on her like winter sealing a stream; maybe different systems tangled, so caution pooled like oil in her gut.

Lian waited, silence stretching like bowstring; D’s thin patience snapped like brittle twigs. “Tsk! Fine—I hate harems, so I go first! Za Warudo!”

He struck a mortifying pose, arms carving the air like a crane’s awkward dance; no Stand showed, a blank sky where stars should be.

So I can’t see Stands; I’m no Stand user. The thought slid cold as shadow.

“Stairway of Reincarnation!” His voice rolled like temple drums.

It wasn’t time stop; no fist came head‑on, yet Lian felt the distance between her and Dio stretch like a corridor running into forever, space yawning like a canyon.

She clicked her mind into place like beads on a string; anime rules wouldn’t fit here, new tactics had to rise like dawn.

“Perpetual Stairs!” His words dropped like stones.

A long staircase lunged at Lian like a jet at full throttle, steps hammering the air like rain on tiles.

“Lightningfall!” Thunder cracked above her like a sky ripped open; the bolt speared the charging stairs, shattering them to dust like brittle ash.

One staircase died like a candle pinched, but more swarmed in like a river of steps, a flood climbing the air.

“Explosive Magic, Twentyfold!” Twenty black‑red beads spun near Lian like embers; they streaked out, swelled like storm clouds, and bloomed into blasts, heat rolling like desert wind.

The waves rose but the lake held; more staircases hissed forward like a school of iron fish, her bombardment just ripples on deep water.

“Hahahaha! How’s that? Impressed?” D’s taunt carried like brass bells. “My Stand’s power is stair control!”

Stairs, seriously. The urge to retort fluttered like a moth, but Lian caged it; battle first. If his craft bent space, then space should answer space—like an old master said, only space cuts space.

“Teleport!” Her word snapped like flint.

Ka— The reply jammed like gears grinding sand; her usual space spell buckled like wet paper, the enemy’s space tier crushing it like a mountain.

Low‑grade teleport’s a no‑go? Fine—bring out the good stuff; I’ve got spells stacked like arrows in a quiver.

“Spatial Folding!” Her tone tightened like wire.

Folding space sounded simple, but it bent like stubborn bamboo; harder than punching through, like creasing a sheet instead of tearing it.

Still, just a bit more trouble; for Lian, it was a needle through silk. She tried to fold the space before her into the space before D, slip his net like a fish, then deliver a friendly facebreaker.

Fate skidded sideways like a cart on gravel; the fold misaligned, tiers clashing like swords. She slipped the snare like a bird, but didn’t land before D; he had already fled farther, a shadow lengthening at dusk.

“Yare yare da—clever, using space magic.” His voice lounged like a cat in sun. “But you think you can beat D? Impossible! I, D, am the strongest! I am so high right now!” He dug his right index finger at his temple like a screw, then barked, “Za Warudo! Stairs, stop!”

The stair‑river froze around Lian like winter around reeds, hemming her in a lattice cage; she stood a caged bird, every spell shaking the bars like wind in bamboo, none breaking through.

Playtime peeled away like silk; Lian looked at the man as if at a blade point, steady as stone. “DIO or D, whatever. You’ve picked up some tricks. You crossed into this world like a stray comet, and that’s trouble. I’ll have to get serious.”

She closed the Script, pages settling like quiet snow; unlike Ling, she didn’t fight while reading—better stash the weight and draw a real edge.

Her hand reached behind her back like a moon finding its own reflection, to a sword she’d ignored for long seasons—Darkness Sword +21.