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Home of the Devil Fruits
"Thirty kilograms of pure gold, Shopkeeper. Please, take your time to verify the weight."
Rosh offered a polite, practiced smile to the middle-aged man standing across the counter. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Smith. I trust my clients. And as promised, here is your Mole-Mole Fruit. It is officially yours."
The gold gleamed under the shop's warm lighting, but Smith's eyes were locked entirely on the bizarre, swirl-patterned fruit now resting in his hands. He was practically vibrating with nervous excitement. Without giving himself a second to overthink it, he took a massive, determined bite.
Immediately, his face contorted. It was a universal truth of the shop: Devil Fruits tasted like absolute garbage. But the sheer disgust on Smith's face was instantly replaced by pure awe.
The change was visceral. Smith's eyes snapped wide as a violent wave of raw vitality surged through his veins. It was like a sudden jolt of electricity waking up every dormant cell in his body from a decades-long sleep.
His spine straightened, his posture shifting from that of a weary, aging businessman to someone in their absolute prime. He took a deep breath, looking down at his hands with a mixture of shock and reverence.
Let's be honest, being a "Mole" didn't exactly sound like the start of a legendary superhero origin story. Digging tunnels through dirt was a niche skill, to say the least. But Smith wasn't looking to conquer the world; he was just an incredibly wealthy man who wanted his youth back. To him, a fruit that could instantly shave twenty years off his biological age and supercharge his physical health was worth ten times its weight in gold.
"Simply incredible..." Smith breathed, flexing his fingers and feeling the newfound power humming beneath his skin.
He spent the next few minutes showering Rosh in effusive, borderline-worshipful praise. After a round of polite pleasantries, he practically floated out of the shop, walking with a confident, effortless stride he hadn't possessed in a very long time.
Watching him go, Rosh leaned back against the counter, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. "Not bad at all. Another perfect transaction."
Ever since the existence of Devil Fruits had gone viral across the globe, business had transitioned from a steady trickle to an absolute landslide. Selling them was practically effortless now.
Right on cue, his phone buzzed. It was Elizabeth, his head manager.
"Boss, the new flagship store is officially complete," her voice came through the receiver, crisp and professional. "Do you want to head over and take a look?"
Rosh felt a genuine thrill hit his chest. "Flagship store" was honestly an understatement; the new Manhattan location was more like a state-of-the-art corporate headquarters.
It was a massive, glittering step up from the cramped, humble little shop he currently operated out of. And with business running so smoothly that missing a few walk-ins wouldn't hurt his bottom line, Rosh found himself too restless to stay put anyway.
"I'm on my way," Rosh replied.
"Oh, and Boss? Just a heads-up," Elizabeth added, a hint of dry amusement in her tone. "Mr. Stark is already here waiting for you."
Rosh chuckled, shaking his head. Stark Tower was practically a stone's throw away from the new Manhattan headquarters. Ever since Tony had found out Rosh was renovating in his backyard, the billionaire had been dropping by every other day under the guise of "supervising." It was classic Stark, and Rosh was long past the point of being surprised by it.
"Shopkeeper, I have to say, the aesthetic you've got going on here is... adequate," Tony's unmistakable, smooth-talking voice suddenly hijacked the line, clearly having snatched the phone right out of Elizabeth's hand. "But if you want my professional, highly sought-after opinion? It's a bit too safe. A bit too conservative. Where's the dramatic flair? Where's the 'I practically own the world' energy?"
Rosh rolled his eyes, a dry smile tugging at his lips. He knew exactly what Tony's idea of "flair" was, usually involving enough blinding neon, sleek chrome, and gold plating to accidentally flash-blind a passing pilot.
"I'll be sure to keep your suggestions under close advisement, Tony," Rosh replied, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. "Which, in translation, means I'm going to completely ignore them."
"Elizabeth, I'm heading over right now," Rosh added, raising his voice slightly so his manager could hear him over Tony's inevitable sputtering. Regardless of the billionaire's critiques, this was his empire, and he was genuinely excited to see the final layout.
After giving a few quick instructions to the staff on how to handle any lingering walk-ins, Rosh stepped out onto the bustling New York sidewalk. He pulled his collar up against the cool city breeze, took a single breath, and let his power take over.
*Whoosh!*
In a spectacular, blinding flash of pure golden light, his physical form dissolved. He became a streak of brilliant luminescence, shooting straight up into the afternoon sky and cutting through the clouds like a meteor.
Down on the pavement, the jaded New York pedestrians didn't even drop their coffee cups; they were far too used to the extraordinary by now. Instead, they simply shielded their eyes, looking up with a mixture of quiet awe and deep envy at the shimmering golden trail stretching toward Midtown.
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The 23rd Floor, Vanderbilt Building.
Rosh had leased the entire floor, transforming it into a fortress of modern design. As he materialized in the main lobby, the golden light condensing back into solid form in a quiet shimmer, Elizabeth was already waiting.
"Welcome, Boss," Elizabeth said, offering a respectful, perfectly timed bow the second his shoes touched the polished marble floor.
"And they call me a show-off," Tony Stark's voice echoed across the lobby. The billionaire sauntered over, hands casually shoved into his pockets, sporting his trademark, effortless swagger. "I think the media needs to take a look at your daily commute before they ever use that word on me again."
Unlike Rosh, Tony didn't exactly fly around New York in full Iron Man armor unless there was a repulsor-beam-worthy emergency. Seeing Rosh travel as literal, effortless light always brought out a spark of competitive spirit in the genius inventor.
Rosh let out a genuine laugh, clapping Tony on the shoulder as the two of them, accompanied by Elizabeth, began a walkthrough of the massive new premises. Rosh had to admit, he was incredibly impressed. The sweeping glass walls, the precise layout of the different departments, and the sleek, professional aesthetic were a perfect match for the vision he'd had in his head.
"We've officially finalized the hiring process as well," Elizabeth briefed him, her iPad resting in the crook of her arm. "The new staff is fully vetted, trained, and ready to mobilize. If you give the word, Boss, we can begin the transition process immediately."
There was absolutely no reason to wait. Rosh looked around the sprawling space, felt the thrill of growth hum in his chest, and smiled.
"Do it," Rosh said, giving the green light. "Let's move."
And just like that, the gears of his growing empire began to turn.
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In truth, the actual physical act of "moving" was the easiest part of the transition for Rosh. He didn't have heavy furniture or endless filing cabinets to worry about; his entire business inventory fit into a few reinforced cases of rare, swirling fruits.
The real work was the sheer political spectacle of it all.
For the next seven days, the glittering new Manhattan headquarters became a revolving door for the world's elite. High-ranking military brass looking for tactical advantages, polished politicians trying to secure alliances, and ultra-wealthy socialites desperately trying to buy their way into the new meta-human age all flooded his lobby.
It was a grand, dizzying, and thoroughly exhausting affair. But when the dust finally settled, and the high-society crowds cleared out, Rosh was more than ready. Sitting comfortably in his massive new executive chair, overlooking the Manhattan skyline, he smiled. It was time to get back to his favorite part of the job: selling Devil Fruits.
"Your Highness, the Manager is just inside. Please, follow me."
A polite voice near the entrance caught Rosh's attention. He looked up from his desk as the double doors swung open, watching a staff member guide a poised, dignified Black man into the office.
One look at the sharp jawline, the quiet strength in his posture, and those observant eyes was all Rosh needed. He didn't need an introduction.
He certainly hadn't expected his very first client in the new building to be the Prince of Wakanda, the Black Panther himself.
"Greetings, Manager," T'Challa said, offering a respectful, measured nod as he stepped into the room.
"Welcome, Prince T'Challa. Please, have a seat," Rosh replied, gesturing smoothly to the sleek leather chair opposite his desk.
Rosh watched him closely as the Prince sat down. Unlike many of his past clients, like Stephen Strange, who had arrived practically radiating academic skepticism, T'Challa possessed an air of absolute certainty. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no demand for proof, and no desire to debate the laws of physics.
He hadn't come to investigate; he had come to buy. And judging by the heavy, secure cases his security detail had left in the lobby, he had brought the gold upfront.
It made perfect sense. As the crown prince of Wakanda, T'Challa had access to advanced, global intelligence networks that made SHIELD's databases look practically outdated. He had done his homework. He knew the Devil Fruits were the real deal, and he wasn't about to waste time questioning the impossible.
"Manager Rosh," T'Challa began, his voice deep, rich, and carrying the natural authority of a future king. "The items you offer are truly world-altering. I have traveled across the globe, but I have never encountered anything quite so... miraculous."
"I appreciate the high praise," Rosh replied, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "And since you've clearly done your research, I imagine you already have a specific fruit in mind?"
Internally, Rosh's mind was already racing, placing his bets on what the Prince would ask for. The Black Panther was more than just a mantle; it was a sacred, ancient totem of Wakanda, passed down through generations under the divine blessing of the Panther Goddess, Bast. It seemed like an absolute no-brainer that T'Challa would almost certainly seek out a Zoan, an Animal-type fruit. Specifically, the Cat-Cat Fruit, Model: Leopard. It fit his theme, his heritage, his agile combat style, and his kingdom's aesthetic to a flawless tee.
But Rosh had been in this business long enough to know that customers could be beautifully unpredictable. Ultimately, the final choice always belonged to the buyer.
Of course, that was just a guess. The final decision rested with T'Challa.
T'Challa smiled, a brilliant, knowing glint flashing in his eyes, as if he could read the theories spinning in Rosh's head.
"Actually, Manager," T'Challa murmured, leaning in slightly. "There is one fruit in particular that I feel is destined for me."
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Next Chapter: The Birth of the True Black Panther
Next Next Chapter: System Upgrade! The Arrival of Admiral and Mythical Zoan Fruits
Next Next Next Chapter: Gold is Boring, Let's Harvest Fate!
Visit my P@tr3on or K0‑fi ''Isopuff'' page and unlock +20 extra chapters and daily updates!