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Home of the Devil Fruits
Rosh had barely signed off on the paperwork from his last client when the heavy oak door to his office clicked open. His assistant, Elizabeth, stepped inside, her usual perfectly composed expression replaced by a look of genuine concern.
He leaned back in his leather chair, glancing at the sleek digital clock blinking on his desk.
"Isn't it only one o'clock?" Rosh asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought Vanessa's appointment wasn't until two-thirty."
Vanessa was usually a stickler for punctuality, but arriving a full hour and a half ahead of schedule was completely unlike her.
"It is, Manager," Elizabeth replied, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "But honestly... she looks troubled. Extremely troubled. She's completely distracted, and if I'm being entirely frank, she looks devastated."
Elizabeth hesitated for a second, glancing back toward the hallway before continuing. "The lounge is completely empty right now, and since she's one of our most valued, long-term clients, I wanted to check with you first. Do you want me to bring her in immediately, or should I have her wait until her scheduled time?"
Rosh dismissed the idea with a casual wave of his hand.
"There's no point in making her sit out there and suffer," he said. Strict schedules and rigid, corporate formalities had never really been his style anyway. His afternoon was wide open, and if a client as established as Vanessa was shaken up enough to show up ninety minutes early, something was seriously wrong. "Bring her on in."
"Understood, Manager."
Elizabeth gave a quick, professional nod and slipped out of the room. A minute later, the door opened again, and she ushered Vanessa Fisk, née Marianna, into the office.
The moment Rosh's eyes locked onto her, he knew his instincts had been dead-on.
Vanessa looked entirely hollowed out. It wasn't the kind of physical tiredness you get from a long flight or a bad night's sleep; it was that bone-deep, emotional exhaustion that no amount of rest could ever fix. Her face was dangerously pale, her normally sharp, commanding eyes looked dull and unfocused, and a profound sense of grief seemed to be etched into every single line of her face.
Whatever had happened out there in the world, it was massive.
"Manager Rosh," Vanessa greeted him, her voice barely above a whisper.
As she walked into the room, her gaze drifted aimlessly around the space, taking in the flawless modern furnishings, the state-of-the-art tech glowing quietly, and the overall atmosphere of pure luxury.
"Every single time I come here, I'm completely amazed by how much this place has changed," she murmured, a faint, ghost of a smile touching her lips before vanishing just as quickly. "I still remember my very first visit here with Wilson. Back then, this place was just a tiny, run-of-the-mill storefront."
To her, that memory felt like a lifetime ago.
Back then, the Home of the Devil Fruits had been nothing more than a modest, low-profile business run by a mysterious young man who possessed unexplainable, miraculous powers. Back in those early days, Rosh had the kind of magic that defied logic, but he didn't have any real global influence, no massive reputation, and no official seat at the table of world powers.
But now? The reality couldn't have been more different.
Today, the name Manager Rosh was whispered with absolute reverence and fear across the entire globe. World governments, multibillion-dollar corporations, elite superheroes, and shadow organizations all ground to a halt whenever he moved. His raw influence easily rivaled the wealthiest and most terrifyingly powerful people on Earth.
To Vanessa, it felt like decades of history had unfolded, even though it had only been a matter of months.
Rosh offered her a gentle, reassuring smile. "Nothing stays the same forever, Vanessa." He gestured warmly toward the plush, comfortable armchair directly across from his desk. "Please, take a seat."
"Thank you, Manager."
She sat down carefully, almost as if she were afraid she might break if she moved too fast. For a few fleeting moments, they went through the motions of standard, polite pleasantries, but Rosh wasn't really listening to the words. He was analyzing her.
He noticed the tense, rigid set of her shoulders. He saw the dark, heavy shadows looming behind her eyes. He watched the way her manicured fingers tightly intertwined in her lap, her knuckles turning white from the pressure. The weight of whatever she was carrying was practically suffocating.
"You look incredibly pale," Rosh said softly, cutting through the small talk. "Did something happen?"
The second the question left his lips, the fragile composure Vanessa had been maintaining completely shattered.
An intense, heavy silence flooded the room.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap, her breath catching in her throat. When she finally forced herself to look up and meet his eyes, the sheer depth of the agony swimming in her gaze was so heavy that even Rosh felt a sudden, sharp tightening in his chest.
When she finally spoke, her voice didn't shake. It was completely dead, hollowed out by reality. It was just three short words, but they hit the room like a bomb.
"Fisk is dead."
...
"Fisk is dead?"
The words hung heavily in the air between them, completely unexpected. Rosh felt his eyebrows rise slightly. He'd run through a dozen different scenarios when Elizabeth told him Vanessa was acting strange, but Wilson Fisk biting the dust definitely hadn't been on his radar.
Sure, Kingpin wasn't some cosmic, world-ending threat like Thanos, Loki, or Ultron. He didn't command an alien army or wield a robotic hive-mind. But in the gritty, neon-lit streets of New York's criminal underworld, the man was an absolute monolith. In the original timeline, Fisk was practically untouchable. He had survived brutal gang wars, dodged countless assassination attempts, and repeatedly clawed his way back to the top of the food chain, no matter who tried to put him down.
But now? He was just gone.
It was another stark reminder of how warped the world had become ever since Devil Fruits entered the picture. The original course of history was unraveling faster with every passing day, replaced by a completely blank, unpredictable slate.
Rosh didn't ask who did it, honestly, he wasn't sure he even wanted to know, but Vanessa volunteered the information anyway.
"From the very first day I chose to stand by Wilson's side, I knew a moment like this would eventually come," Vanessa said, her voice dropping into a flat, chilling quiet. It wasn't that she didn't care; it was worse. She looked like she had literally run out of tears to cry. "He made too many enemies. Hurt too many people. Created far too many victims."
Her gaze drifted down to her lap, her fingers twisting together. "So when that blind man finally ended his life... I wasn't surprised. In truth, I don't even think I hate him. That blind man had every reason to want Wilson dead."
'A blind man.'
The phrase immediately set off alarm bells in Rosh's head, and he started flipping through his mental Rolodex of clients. Among everyone who had bought from him, only one blind fighter really fit the bill: Stick.
But that felt strange. In the original Marvel timeline, Stick and Kingpin rarely ever crossed paths. Their operations moved in completely different circles, and their priorities never really overlapped. Unless, of course, the butterfly effect of the Devil Fruits had altered their paths entirely.
Or... maybe it wasn't Stick at all. A vision of a certain red-suited vigilante with a fierce sense of justice crossed his mind. Daredevil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
Rosh pushed the theories aside for now. He wasn't an investigator, and this wasn't an interrogation. Vanessa hadn't dragged herself to his office ninety minutes early to plot a revenge mission or unravel a mystery. She was just a broken woman looking for a miracle.
Rosh met her eyes, softening his expression. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, Vanessa. Is there anything I can help you with?"
The moment the offer left his mouth, Vanessa snapped out of her trancelike state. A sudden, desperate spark ignited behind her dull eyes. She leaned forward, pressing both hands flat against the polished surface of his desk.
"Manager," she breathed, her voice trembling with a raw emotion that completely shattered her calm exterior. She stared straight into his soul. "That is the exact reason I came here. Tell me honestly."
She swallowed hard, the next words practically tearing themselves from her throat.
"Is there a Devil Fruit out there... one that is capable of reversing death? Can you bring him back?"
The words echoed heavily in the quiet office. Rosh immediately dove into his internal system, sorting through the vast, cosmic archive of Devil Fruits. The very first thing that popped into his head was Brook's Revive-Revive Fruit.
But he had to shoot that down instantly. The fruit came with a massive, unbending catch: a person had to eat the fruit before they died so their soul could find its way back to their body. If the soul had already crossed over into the afterlife without that mystical anchor, the fruit was completely useless.
Rosh didn't want to give up immediately, so he spent the next few seconds combing through every single category in his inventory. Paramecia, Zoan, Ancient Zoan, Mythical Zoan.
He looked for loopholes, hidden traits, or any obscure, god-like ability that could cheat the Grim Reaper. But the system returned a solid wall of nothing. It turned out that death was still one of the few absolute laws that even the power of Devil Fruits couldn't rewrite.
Finally, Rosh looked back up at Vanessa, a genuine wave of regret washing over him. He slowly shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Vanessa," he said softly. "But even Devil Fruits have their limits. There are some rules in this world that simply cannot be broken."
The fragile light in Vanessa's eyes went completely dark. For a split second, you could see the painful struggle as her heart tried to cling to the possibility, only for reality to come crashing down and crush it to dust.
A hollow, self-deprecating smile touched her lips. "I figured," she whispered, lowering her eyes back to her lap. "To be honest... I think I already knew the answer before I walked through your door. I just... I couldn't stop myself from hoping."
It made sense. The Home of the Devil Fruits had basically become the birthplace of modern miracles. People walked in ordinary and walked out with the powers of gods. For a fleeting, desperate moment, she had allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Rosh had one more miracle tucked away in his inventory, one powerful enough to pull the man she loved back from the dark.
But that final thread of hope was gone now. Rosh gave her a few moments of quiet, letting the weight of reality settle gently before speaking in a soft, respectful tone.
"My deepest condolences, Vanessa."
"It isn't your fault, Manager," Vanessa managed to conjure up a fragile, heartbreakingly small smile as she slowly rose from the plush armchair.
"Wilson simply ran out of luck," she murmured, her voice steadying as she faced the harsh reality. "In our world, the debts you accumulate always come due sooner or later. It was only a matter of time before someone came to collect."
She carefully smoothed out the wrinkles in her dark, tailored coat, taking a deep, grounding breath to stitch her composure back together.
"In any case, I shouldn't take up any more of your afternoon. There are... funeral arrangements that require my attention now."
Rosh offered a respectful, empathetic nod. "Take care of yourself out there, Vanessa."
"I'll try," she whispered.
With one final, quiet nod, she turned on her heel and walked out of the office. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, and an instant, suffocating silence settled over the room.
For a long moment, Rosh just sat there in the quiet. He let out a slow, heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair. Love him or hate him, Wilson Fisk had been an absolute titan in his own right. A literal king of the underworld who had dominated New York's criminal landscape for years through sheer, terrifying willpower, raw power, and unmatched influence.
But the criminal underworld had always operated on one brutal, unbending rule.
You live by the sword. You die by the sword.
No amount of blood money, corrupt politicians, or fiercely loyal subordinates could ever guarantee a happy ending when your past finally caught up to you. In the original timeline, the idea of Stick successfully assassinating the Kingpin would have been considered a crazy, low-odds wild card.
But now? In a world completely turned upside down by the introduction of Devil Fruits, those crazy, low-odds wild cards were quickly becoming the new normal. The future was no longer following its original comic-book script. The rules were gone, the safety nets were broken, and it meant that absolutely anything could happen next.
Pushing the heavy thoughts of the underworld aside, Rosh forced his focus back to the present. The dead were gone, but the living still needed his attention. He quickly stacked and organized the scattered documents on his desk, clearing his headspace for the next client on the docket.
A few minutes later, a soft, polite knock rattled the door.
Elizabeth stepped inside, a bright, professional smile back on her face. "Manager, the Parker family has just arrived for their appointment."
Rosh's eyes flickered with a sudden, sharp spark of genuine interest. He straightened up in his chair. "Send them right in."
"Of course."
A second later, Elizabeth returned, gently guiding two new visitors into the luxurious office space.
The first visitor was a sweet, middle-aged woman with a warm, instantly approachable vibe. Standing right beside her was a quiet, incredibly skinny young boy. At first glance, there was absolutely nothing remarkable about them. They looked exactly like a normal, everyday aunt bringing her slightly awkward nephew into the Home of the Devil Fruits, the exact kind of ordinary, working-class family you'd pass on a sidewalk in Queens without giving them a second thought.
But Rosh knew better.
His gaze locked onto the scrawny kid who was quietly shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking around the high-tech office with wide, curious eyes. Because this kid wasn't just any random kid from the block. In the grand, massive tapestry of this universe, he was destined to become one of its most vital figures.
He was looking at a future living legend. A brilliant, unshakeable hero whose name would one day be known, feared, and loved across the entire globe.
Rosh smiled warmly as his eyes settled on the kid.
"Welcome, Peter," Rosh said softly, turning his attention to the woman beside him. "And welcome to you as well, Ms. May Parker."
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Next Chapter: The Parkers Visit
Next Next Chapter: The Fruit That Changes Spider-Man's Tragic Destiny
Next Next Next Chapter: From Buyer's Remorse to the Ultimate Jackpot
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