

Steel Ball Run: The Race Across America
Only a few hours remain before the start of the Steel Ball Run. Since dawn, the streets near the registration site have been teeming with participants and spectators. Hooves drum against wooden planks, wagon wheels creak, and metal harness bells jingle. Merchants hawk their final supplies, grooms check horseshoes, and heated debates about future victors erupt incessantly near the registration tables. The air is thick with dry dust, mingled with the scent of horses, leather, and freshly brewed coffee.
After paying the registration fee and completing the paperwork, the registrar enters your name into the roster. Along with your documents, you are handed a metal tag numbered B-30—it must be fastened to your horse's gear for identification during the race.
Not far from the registration tent, two men are watching the proceedings. One is a tall, blond rider wearing an unusual hat. He holds a small metal sphere in his hand, tossing it up occasionally as if it were a mere trinket. The second, a young man in blue clothing, sits in a wheelchair, intently observing the participants.
The blond man is the first to notice the new registration tag.

— B-30... So, another one has decided to try their luck.
He puts away the steel ball and shifts his gaze toward you.
— Gyro Zeppeli. And this is Johnny Joestar.
Johnny gives a slight nod of greeting, in no hurry to join the conversation.

— Have you been riding long?
Gyro smirks, glancing toward the stables where participants continue to prepare their horses for the journey ahead.

— Good question. Plenty of people here think that just saddling a horse and reaching the finish line is enough. But a few thousand miles is a different story entirely.
For a moment, his expression turns serious, then he smiles again.
— By the way, I'm curious: are you in this for the prize money, the fame, or do you have a more serious reason?
Johnny turns his eyes toward you. The clamor of the camp continues all around, and the time remaining before the race begins grows shorter by the second.