Hey everyone, sorry for the sudden break! My laptop unexpectedly died beyond repair, so I had to spend the last few days finding a replacement. Now that I'm all set up with a new laptop, updates are officially back.
Thanks for understanding!
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With Kaecilius and his zealots permanently scrubbed from the timeline, the dark cloud of panic hanging over the kidnapped Devil Fruit users completely evaporated. Just like that, the high-stakes crisis was over, and day-to-day business at the Home of the Devil Fruits snapped right back to its usual, effortless rhythm. It was like the whole apocalyptic showdown had never even happened.
Sure, the entire incident had sent massive shockwaves through the global community of Devil Fruit users. Moving forward, some of them were definitely going to become hyper-cautious, keeping their heads down and watching their backs. Others would likely lock themselves in training rooms, desperate to level up their powers now that they realized they could be hunted down as prime targets.
As for what kind of chaotic ripples this would cause down the line? Rosh honestly couldn't care less.
To the rest of the world, Kaecilius's rogue faction had been a catastrophic, existential threat to humanity. To Rosh, it was just a mild annoyance, a quick chore that needed to be checked off his to-do list before lunch. Now that the dust had settled, there was absolutely no reason to waste another second of his life thinking about it. That chapter was closed. Life moved on.
True to his usual routine, Rosh stood behind the sleek main counter, calmly greeting a steady stream of customers with his signature, relaxed vibe. Anyone casually strolling through the automatic sliding doors would have thought he was just an ordinary shop owner. They would never in a million years guess that only a few hours prior, this exact same guy had single-handedly vaporized an entire army of dark magic sorcerers. To him, it was just another standard shift at the office.
A short while later, the smooth click of heels signaled Elizabeth's approach. She stopped gracefully right in front of the counter, her posture perfectly poised and professional.
"Manager," she said, keeping her voice low and respectful. "Sam Wilson has just arrived. I've already walked him through our standard security protocols and cleared his paperwork. He's currently waiting in the queue for his personal consultation."
Her tone was a masterclass in professional customer service, but deep down, she couldn't help but pay a little extra attention to this specific guest. After working right by Rosh's side for so long, Elizabeth had started picking up on his subtle habits. Every now and then, Rosh would randomly ask her to pull a deep-dive file on a specific person long before that individual ever set foot in the shop.
And without fail, every single one of those pre-flagged people turned out to be an incredibly big deal.
May Parker had been one of them, and now, Sam Wilson was the latest name on that exclusive list. Because she knew the drill by now, Elizabeth had gone out of her way to streamline Sam's appointment as fast and efficiently as possible, bypassing any unnecessary corporate red tape.
Rosh's golden eyes flared with a sudden, sharp interest. "I'll take the meeting personally," he said, pushing himself up from his chair. "Go ahead and show him into the private consultation room."
Rosh casually repeated the name in his head. 'Sam Wilson.'
Right now, to the rest of Earth-616, the guy was simply known as the Falcon, an elite military pararescue vet and a future trusted ally to the Avengers. He was a hero, sure, but he wasn't exactly pulling worldwide headlines on his own just yet. He hadn't yet grown into one of the most profoundly influential figures on the planet.
But Rosh possessed a weapon far more dangerous than magic or technology: he knew the script of the future.
He was destined to become the world's second Captain America.
That title alone carried a staggering amount of weight in the grand fabric of reality. Anyone chosen by destiny to step into the boots of Captain America and inherit the living symbol of hope was guaranteed to possess an absolutely astronomical amount of natural Luck.
Even without pulling up his system interface to scan Sam's exact numerical breakdown, Rosh was already dead certain of one thing. The sheer volume of Luck swirling around Sam Wilson's destiny would make ordinary people look like background extras. Whether you compared him to top-tier S.H.I.E.L.D. directors like Phil Coulson or even someone naturally blessed like May Parker, Sam operated on a completely different level of narrative gravity.
To Rosh, this guy wasn't just another casual customer walking through the door looking for a quick upgrade. He was a walking, talking jackpot, a massive treasure trove of pristine Origin Points just waiting to be harvested.
"Of course, Manager."
Elizabeth gave a respectful, crisp nod before quietly slipping out. A few moments later, the door to Rosh's office clicked open, and she stepped inside. Walking right beside her was a man carrying a calm, down-to-earth, and completely approachable smile.
"Manager Rosh," the man said, stepping forward without a hint of hesitation and extending his hand. "Sam Wilson."
His grip was firm, confident, and packed with the unmistakable discipline of someone who had spent years surviving high-stakes military deployments. Yet, despite his elite background, there wasn't the slightest trace of arrogance or self-importance radiating off him. He just felt like a genuinely good guy.
Rosh shook his hand, a faint, welcoming smile playing on his lips. "Welcome to the shop, Mr. Wilson. Please, have a seat."
After the brief introduction, the two walked over to the ultra-comfortable lounge area of the private room. Sam settled into one of the plush leather sofas, sinking into the cushions before letting out a soft, slightly embarrassed laugh.
"To be completely honest with you..." Sam started, reaching up to scratch the back of his head with a self-deprecating grin. "I never actually expected I'd end up sitting in this room. For a long time, I just watched the global news coverage about Devil Fruits like everybody else on the planet. I'd be lying through my teeth if I said I never sat up at night imagining what it would be like to own one."
He smiled helplessly, looking down at his hands. "But back then, that's all it ever was to me. A total fantasy. Let's be real, people like me don't exactly pull in the kind of crazy money you need to buy something capable of literally rewriting the laws of physics."
Sam wasn't saying this to fish for sympathy or beg for a corporate discount. He was simply stating his reality.
Sam Wilson was a former Air Force pararescueman. After transitioning out of active duty, he poured his heart and soul into running a local support group, helping traumatized veterans adjust to civilian life. It was incredibly meaningful, life-saving work, but it definitely wasn't the kind of career path that made a guy wealthy.
Compared to the multi-billionaires, high-ranking spies, and government employees who usually frequented the Devil Fruit House, Sam's bank account was remarkably ordinary. Owning a reality-bending power had always felt like a distant dream meant for someone else.
"And yet..." Sam smiled again, the disbelief evident in his voice. "Somehow, against all odds, here I am. Sitting face-to-face with the legendary Manager of the Devil Fruit House." He glanced around the high-tech room, shaking his head. "Life really is unpredictable, man. I guess my luck is just a whole lot better than my bank account."
Rosh's smile widened just a fraction. "You have no idea how right you are," he said, locking his golden eyes directly onto Sam. "In more ways than you can possibly imagine... You are someone blessed with extraordinary luck."
Sam blinked, completely caught off guard. "...Really?"
Rosh nodded slowly, leaning back against his seat into a more relaxed posture.
If you think about it, out of the millions of people crammed into the Washington D.C. metro area, why had Sam Wilson been the one to cross paths with Steve Rogers on that random morning?
Captain America had spent years rubbing shoulders with global superpowers, brilliant billionaire scientists, legendary black-ops soldiers, and god-like heroes. He had no shortage of loyal, hyper-competent allies. So why had a regular guy running a veterans support group become the person Steve trusted more than almost anyone else?
And when the day finally came for the living legend to hang up his uniform and pass on the star-spangled shield... why had he chosen Sam?
It wasn't just fate giving him a friendly nod, and it certainly wasn't a string of lucky accidents. From where Rosh was sitting, it all boiled down to one highly measurable, incredibly valuable cosmic resource:
Luck.
A staggering, absolute mountain of it.
Sam rubbed his chin thoughtfully, staring down at the floor as Rosh's words echoed in his head.
"Luck..." He let out a quiet, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Man, that is still such a weird concept to wrap my brain around."
When Elizabeth had first sat him down and explained that you don't buy Devil Fruits with US dollars or gold, but rather with something called Origin Points, which were basically converted from a person's life-luck and destiny, Sam had been more than a little skeptical.
Honestly, if anyone else on the street had tried to pull him aside and tell him that his "good vibes and destiny points" could be traded for a miraculous, superpower-granting fruit, he would have assumed it was some highly elaborate corporate scam. He would've walked right out the door.
But the more he sat there and used his brain, the more he realized how ridiculous that skepticism actually was. The logic was simple:
What earth-bound reason would a god-tier entity like Manager Rosh have to trick a guy like him?
Sam wasn't a billionaire. He wasn't a world-famous celebrity. He didn't have massive political backing, nor did he control a hidden army or vast reserves of rare resources. He was flat-out broke compared to the shop's usual clientele. There was literally nothing worth swindling him for.
Believing that the omnipotent owner of the Home of the Devil Fruit would waste his precious time crafting a multi-layered, magical scam just to fool a retired Air Force vet was infinitely harder to believe than the truth.
And then, of course, there was Steve Rogers. Public records show that Captain America himself had walked into this exact store, sat on this exact couch, and gotten his own Devil Fruit power through the exact same system. That alone was the ultimate seal of approval. Sam trusted Steve's moral compass implicitly, and after watching the Home of the Devil Fruits systematically fix global crises over the past two years, he trusted Manager Rosh, too.
He didn't need to understand the complex multiversal quantum mechanics behind Origin Points. He just needed to know that the machine worked. With that final thought, the last lingering traces of imposter syndrome and doubt quietly dissolved.
Rosh's smile widened. "In that case... let's not waste any more time. Let's find an ability that's truly worthy of the path you're on."
He gave a slight nod toward Elizabeth. Without needing a verbal command, she smoothly stepped forward, holding a high-end tablet. She placed it right into Sam's hands with a respectful smile.
Sam carefully gripped the tablet's edges, ready to start swiping. But right as his finger touched the tablet's screen, Rosh spoke up again, halting him in his tracks.
"Oh, and one more thing, Sam."
Sam paused, looking up. "Yeah?"
"I've already run a diagnostic on your soul and checked your official Origin Point balance through the system," Rosh said, his voice dropping into a casual, matter-of-fact tone that absolutely reeked of authority.
"Your current available credit... is exactly 2,000 Origin Points."
Sam's jaw practically hit the floor, a look of pure, unadulterated shock flashing across his face. That number was astronomical, way higher than anything he had braced himself for.
Just a second ago, Rosh had watched the system interface crunch the numbers, and the final payout had matched his golden calculations perfectly. As the man literally chosen by history to inherit the legendary mantle of Captain America, Sam Wilson possessed a staggering, untapped reservoir of raw Luck. His starting balance didn't just clear the average citizen by a mile; it completely blew elite, high-ranking spies like Phil Coulson right out of the water.
Two thousand Origin Points. It sounded like a neat, perfectly rounded number on a screen, but the raw value backed by those four digits was absolutely dizzying.
To put it into perspective, the system valued a single Origin Point as the exact equivalent of one kilogram of pure gold. That meant the cosmic scales had weighed Sam Wilson's sheer potential and slapped a jaw-dropping price tag on it. It granted him full transactional access to some of the most premium, high-performance Devil Fruits in the inventory. After all, even the devastating Arms-Arms Fruit that powered Tony Stark's global offensive capability had been processed at a parallel baseline value of two thousand kilograms of gold.
With a massive fortune like that sitting in his account, Sam wasn't forced to pick through the clearance rack of low-level powers. He had just cleared the VIP velvet rope. He had more than enough leverage to buy his way into the highest tier of reality-warping abilities the store had to offer.
"Two... two thousand?" Sam stammered.
His fingers went completely numb. The slick edge of the digital tablet nearly slipped right through his sweaty grip as his eyes went wide as saucers. Elizabeth had already given him the quick breakdown on how the system calculated currency, so his brain immediately did the math.
'Two metric tons of gold...'
Just trying to picture that much physical wealth sitting in a vault somewhere made his head spin. It was a level of worth he couldn't even fathom. Sam let out a breathless, slightly hysterical laugh, rubbing his forehead as if trying to soothe a sudden headache.
"Manager... I'm not gonna lie to you," he muttered, shaking his head. "I wasn't expecting a number anywhere near that high." He took a shaky breath. "This is... honestly a lot to process all at once."
The sheer volume of his balance had completely shattered every single expectation he had braced himself for before walking into the Home of the Devil Fruits.
Rosh offered a reassuring, steady smile. "Mr. Wilson," his voice was calm, but it packed an undeniable grounding weight. "Never underestimate the true value of your own destiny. Your future is worth a whole lot more to this universe than you give yourself credit for."
Sam took a long, slow breath, forcing his racing pulse to settle. "...Understood," he said, a genuine smile finally breaking through his shock. He gave a firm nod. "Alright then, let's see what kind of doors this destiny can actually open."
With his focus locked back in, Sam lowered his gaze to the screen and started scrolling. Page after page of fantastical, bizarre Devil Fruits swiped past his eyes.
Interestingly, unlike a lot of the high-profile clients who spent hours obsessing over the flashy, reality-bending properties of the Paramecia class, Sam didn't find himself lingering there. His eyes didn't care about turning into rubber or generating shockwaves. Instead, his gaze naturally, almost magnetically, drifted toward a completely different category: The Zoan Section.
His years spent as an elite military pararescueman had deeply hardwired the way his brain processed tactical survival. His basic combat instincts immediately started scanning for a power that wouldn't just give him a random party trick, but would heavily supercharge what he already did best on a battlefield.
Flying.
Ever since he had left active military duty, those high-tech mechanical wings had become an inseparable part of his identity. He was the Falcon. The sky was his domain. But no matter how advanced the military tech got... at the end of the day, those wings were still just a machine.
And machines had a nasty habit of breaking.
Machines could malfunction mid-drop. They could be shredded by enemy fire. They could be hacked, EMP'd, or simply run out of juice when a teammate's life was hanging in the balance.
Deep down in his soul, Sam had always harbored a secret, unspoken wish. He didn't want to just strap on a jetpack anymore. He wanted to fly under his own organic power. He wanted that raw, unfettered freedom of a bird cutting through the clouds, to be a true, biological master of the sky.
As fate would have it, the Devil Fruit catalog had an answer waiting for his deepest desire.
As his thumb flipped to the next page, a specific Zoan Fruit practically leaped off the screen, arresting his attention completely. Sam's breathing hitched. His eyes lit up with a sudden, electric excitement that he couldn't even begin to mask.
"...Incredible," he whispered, staring at the detailed holographic breakdown.
This was it. This was the exact image he had painted in his mind during those late nights staring at the ceiling. Without wasting another millisecond, his eyes darted down to the bottom of the page to check the damage.
Price: 500 Origin Points.
Sam blinked. Then he blinked again, wondering if the screen was glitching.
'Only five hundred?' Compared to the absolute mountain of two thousand points currently sitting in his wallet, this wasn't an expensive purchase at all. It was practically a steal. Even after buying it outright, he would still have a massive, comfortable safety net of points leftover for any future upgrades or emergencies.
A slow, confident smile spread across Sam's face. The internal debate was officially over. The answer was staring him right in the face.
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Next Chapter: Sam Wilson's New Wings
Next Next Chapter: Rosh Sets His Sights on the Stars
Next Next Next Chapter: The Arrival of the Zombie Universe Crisis
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