"Well… looks like I really have nothing here." A middle-aged man said quietly, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of noise surrounding him. He sat alone in a rundown apartment, the walls thin and peeling, the furniture sparse and worn. From the apartment building next door, the piercing wails of babies crying echoed through the walls, a constant reminder of the chaos that had become his daily existence.
He shifted in his seat and looked outside the grimy window, his gaze drawn to the dangerous streets stretching out below. The neighborhood was rough, filled with the kind of desperation that made people do terrible things. As he stared at the urban decay, his mind drifted back through time, replaying memories of how drastically everything had changed. Just a few months ago, his life had been perfect, comfortable, and safe—nothing like the nightmare he now inhabited.
Flashback
"Why on earth would I ever want to use this?" The man said calmly, his tone light as he examined the Devil Fruit cradled carefully in his hands. Yes, an actual Devil Fruit existing in the real world—not fiction, but tangible reality. This strange fruit was a gift that had been passed down throughout his family lineage, moving from one generation to the next like a cursed heirloom no one could escape.
The devil fruit itself was utterly distinctive in appearance. It was a pale white fruit, almost ghostly in its coloration, as if the very concept of ink or pigment had never touched its smooth surface. This was what his family called a "blank devil fruit," a unique specimen that possessed a terrifying property: it allowed the person who consumed it to create any ability they desired for the fruit.
The potential was limitless—this fruit could become anything the eater imagined. But there was a devastating drawback that made this power more curse than blessing: once the fruit was eaten, the person who consumed it would die.
His father had eaten this fruit years ago, driven by family duty and perhaps hope for something greater. But his father had failed to gain the fruit's mysterious approval, and the consequences had been immediate.
He instantly suffered from an illness that slowly consumed him, though paradoxically, he also gained a superhuman capability that marked him as different from ordinary humans. The same tragic pattern had happened to his grandfather before him.
From generation to generation, stretching back through his family's history, everyone who had eaten this fruit had died after gaining their superhuman capability. It was a curse disguised as a gift. Once they died, inevitably and without exception, this devil fruit would mysteriously reappear before the next person who would eat it, trying to throw it away was pointless as it would always reappear.
Sighing softly, his breath misting slightly in the cool air, the man looked solemnly at his father's grave. The headstone stood as a silent testament to another failed attempt. His father had spent years preparing him for this moment, training him both physically and mentally to try and gain the devil fruit's approval.
But despite all that preparation and his father's dying wishes, he had absolutely no interest in dying young. The entire proposition seemed insane to him. Plus, even if he somehow did manage to gain the devil fruit's approval—beating the odds that had defeated every ancestor before him—he would drop dead instantly upon success, his consciousness torn from this world and transported into another dimension entirely. He didn't want that fate. He wanted to live.
Sighing again, a habit born from the weight of family expectations pressing down on his shoulders, he carefully placed the devil fruit into his jacket pocket and headed toward the parking lot. He climbed into his car, settling into the familiar driver's seat, and started the engine before driving off into the evening.
As the streetlights began flickering on, he found himself thinking about his mother, and he knew full well she would not be happy with his decision—or rather, his lack of decision—regarding the devil fruit. By this point in his family's strange history, consuming the fruit had become tradition, an obligation rather than a choice.
The family desperately wanted someone to finally gain the devil fruit's approval, to break the cycle of death. But he honestly didn't care for whatever mysterious reason drove their obsession. He couldn't understand why anyone would throw away everything for an unknown power. He lived a perfect life already—he had the perfect family, a beautiful home, stability, and love. What more in life could any reasonable person want?
As he returned home that evening, the sky darkening to red and orange, he entered the house through the front door, expecting the usual warm greeting. Instead, he discovered that his wife had packed a bag—not just for herself, but also carefully packed smaller bags for the children.
He instantly frowned, his stomach dropping as understanding began to dawn. Just yesterday, they had hosted a guest over for dinner, someone who had been trying to act far too close and familiar with him whenever his wife wasn't directly in the room.
The inappropriate attention had made him deeply uncomfortable. He had eventually put his foot down firmly and had demanded that she leave their home immediately, a confrontation that his wife hadn't appreciated at all. The situation was complicated and painful because that guest wasn't just his wife's best friend since childhood—she was also her twin sister.
"You're not leaving over your sister, right?" he asked with a deep frown creasing his forehead, his voice carrying a note of disbelief and rising panic. But his wife didn't respond with words. Instead, she only threw papers forcefully to the ground, scattering them across the floor in a dramatic gesture that spoke louder than any explanation could.
Although deeply annoyed with her aggressive actions and the theatrical display, he forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to maintain some semblance of composure in the face of this escalating situation.
He bent down and picked up the papers one by one, his hands trembling slightly as he began to examine them. What he saw made his blood run cold. They were pictures of him seemingly on romantic dates with various females, captured from angles that made innocent encounters look intimate.
There were also printed screenshots of text messages between him and her twin sister, exchanges that included explicit dick pics and other sexually suggestive content that painted a damning picture.
He frowned deeply, his mind racing as he tried to process what he was seeing. Many things here painted an undeniably clear picture of him cheating, creating a narrative of betrayal that looked absolutely convincing.
His wife, of course, could tell from intimate knowledge that the explicit pictures were actually images of his own dick—there was no denying that fact. But he had never sent such a thing, never participated in any of these conversations. Despite knowing the truth, he couldn't even begin to find a way to defend himself. The evidence looked too real, too damning.
"You stood in my face yesterday, saying my sister was doing what… gaslighting me, manipulating me…" She paused, taking a deep breath to calm herself, her chest rising and falling as she fought for control over her emotions. The stress of having to choose between her twin sister—someone she'd shared a womb with, grown up alongside—and her husband was something that couldn't possibly be put into words. It was tearing her apart from the inside. But in the end, she had tried desperately to keep the peace between the two people she loved most, to maintain some kind of balance. That fragile peace had lasted until her sister showed her this proof of infidelity.
To think it was her sister who had allegedly kept quiet all this time, trying to maintain the peace for so long despite being victimized. But after the way her husband had thrown her out of their home yesterday, treating her with such hostility and demanding she leave, she couldn't keep quiet any longer.
"Are you going to give me a chance to prove my innocence?" He asked calmly, keeping his voice steady despite the chaos swirling around him. His wife responded with a derisive snort, a sound of complete disbelief and contempt. She didn't want to believe another word that came from his mouth, convinced he was just another lying cheater. Without further discussion, she gathered up the kids she had already prepared and began herding them toward the door.
She and her husband only had two children together—a son and a daughter who meant everything to both of them. The eldest was their daughter, who turned to give her father a hateful glare that cut through him like a knife.
Her young face was twisted with anger and disappointment, blaming him entirely for breaking up the family she'd always known. Meanwhile, their son was still confused as to what was actually happening, his innocent eyes darting between his parents as he tried to understand why everyone was so upset.
Of course, he wouldn't just let her leave without fighting for his family. He moved to block the door, to stop this madness before it went too far. But she was prepared for his resistance. She quickly pulled out a canister of pepper spray she'd hidden in her pocket, and before he could react or shield himself, she sprayed it directly into his face.
He was instantly left screaming in agony as his eyes burned like they were literally on fire, the chemical compound searing his sensitive tissues and temporarily blinding him. He stumbled backward, clawing at his face.
"Just eat the devil fruit and disappear. Fight all you want in whatever world you end up in, but the last thing you would ever do in this life is touch them again." She said coldly, her voice like ice, any warmth or love completely gone from her tone.
She efficiently got the kids into the car, buckling them in despite their questions and protests, and drove off into the night. He was left collapsed on the ground, holding his burning face in both hands, tears streaming down his cheeks from both the chemical burn and the emotional devastation.
It was incredibly hard for him to recall his emotions clearly as all of this had played out in real time. Looking back now, it felt like he had been in shock about everything, his mind unable to fully process the nightmare unfolding around him.
He vaguely recalls the days that followed, trying desperately to find evidence to show to his wife, to prove his innocence and expose the manipulation. He recalls his wife's twin sister showing up at his door again shortly after, wearing an expression of sympathy. It was hard for him to recall the exact details through the haze of anger and grief, but the confrontation went something like this:
"You!" The single word exploded from his mouth. The amount of self-control and restraint needed not to physically punch her right then, and there was immense, every muscle in his body tensing with barely contained rage.
But hitting her would only make things infinitely worse, would only confirm his wife's belief that he was violent and dangerous. If only he had thought clearly enough to record everything that took place that day, to capture evidence of her manipulation and lies. But his head wasn't in the right place...