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Rosh's eyes drifted toward the voice that had cut him off, and he recognized her instantly.
Blonde hair, sharp gaze, posture like she owned the room even without a microphone. The kind of reporter who didn't ask questions so much as they cornered you with them.
It was Christine Everheart, the same woman who'd once had an… in-depth exchange with Tony Stark that half the press corps still whispered about whenever they thought nobody was listening.
And judging by the crowd's reactions, those skeptical smirks, the quiet nods, the hungry glances, Christine wasn't alone. Most of the room was already on her side.
Even after Tony had just manifested the Iron Man suit onstage like it was nothing, his reputation worked against him. Tony Stark was a genius, yes… but that exactly made people distrust his explanation. If a once-in-a-generation inventor said something unbelievable, the easiest answer wasn't a "magic fruit."
The easiest answer was: Tony built it. Of course he did.
To ordinary people, "cutting-edge Stark tech" was still more believable than "Devil Fruits."
And Rosh understood that perfectly; he even expected this. So when Christine challenged him, he didn't tense up. He didn't scramble. He didn't try to charm the room with jokes the way Tony would.
He simply flashed a faint, calm, almost polite smile and looked right at her.
"Miss," Rosh said evenly, "You're free to question things."
His tone stayed casual, but there was steel underneath it now, like he'd just stepped into a fight without raising his fists.
"But ignorance isn't something you should wear like a badge of confidence."
The words landed hard enough that you could feel a ripple go through the room. A couple of reporters raised their brows. A few stiffened. Even the camera operators leaned in, smelling a story.
Rosh continued without hesitation, his voice smooth and controlled, like he'd already decided he didn't need their approval.
"There are plenty of things you don't know," he said. "Not because they don't exist… but because your worldview is too small."
Then he finished it.
"You're just a frog at the bottom of a well."
It wasn't subtle. It wasn't friendly.
It was a direct hit, delivered like a precision strike with no wasted motion and no apology afterward.
Christine's lips curved into a cold smile. She didn't flinch because she wasn't some rookie who would crumble from a harsh sentence.
But her eyes flashed, and oh, she was mad.
'Does he think he's Tony Stark?' her expression practically shouted. 'Does this jerk really think he can mock me and simply walk away?'
In that moment, Christine made her choice.
If Rosh wanted to play tough, she would remind him what it meant to offend the media, what it meant to give a room full of professional skeptics a reason to hunt.
"Mr. Rosh," Christine said sharply, voice clear and righteous, "is that really your answer? 'A frog at the bottom of a well'?"
She turned her challenge outward, widening the net so it wasn't just personal anymore, instead making it a public accusation.
"Are you saying everyone here who doubts you is a frog at the bottom of a well?" Christine pressed. "Then by your logic, the entire city of New York is a frog at the bottom of a well."
Murmurs flared again. The crowd liked that. It sounded bold. It sounded fair. It sounded like she'd pinned him neatly against the wall.
Then another reporter jumped in, even more aggressive, voice loud enough to cut through the noise.
"And if these so-called Devil Fruits really exist," a reporter pressed, "then Mr. Rosh, can you demonstrate one right here, right now?"
That line hit like a starter pistol.
You could practically see the mood shift: amusement, disbelief, anticipation. People leaned forward in their chairs. Microphones tilted toward Rosh. Pens hovered.
Because to them, this was the moment the "shopkeeper" would stutter and backpedal.
This was where the lie was supposed to collapse.
However, Rosh didn't collapse; he didn't even need to pause at that question.
"Of course I can," Rosh said lightly, like the question was almost cute.
Then he raised his hand and with just a casual flick of his wrist, like Rosh was about to pull a coin from behind someone's ear, the space where his palm had been empty a heartbeat earlier, suddenly, something appeared.
A Devil Fruit sample; something fresh, glossy, and unmistakably authentic. Strange spiral patterns curled across it in unnatural swirls, like the fruit itself had been stamped with a signature that didn't belong to nature. Under the stage lights, it looked vivid and wrong in the same way miracles do: too clean and too impossible.
The audience reacted instantly. A burst of surprised murmurs. A sharp intake of breath. Cameras snapping faster. Someone in the back muttered, "No way…"
Christine's expression didn't soften, but her eyes narrowed with reluctant focus. Because even if it was a trick, it was a good trick.
Rosh held the Devil Fruit up so every lens could catch it.
"This is a randomly selected Devil Fruit sample," he said lightly, as if he were presenting a product demo at a tech expo. "Eating it grants a superpower that lasts five minutes."
That detail landed like a hook.
Five minutes meant it was safe—relatively.
Five minutes meant the stakes were controlled—mostly.
And that meant his offer wasn't just talk.
Rosh's gaze swept across the room, calm and indifferent, like he was looking at a shelf of options instead of a crowd of reporters.
Then he asked the question that made the entire hall hesitate, "Is anyone willing to give it a try?"
"This is ridiculous."
Christine Everhart shot to her feet so fast her chair squeaked against the floor, the sound sharp enough to cut through the murmurs. Her expression was pure challenge, chin lifted, eyes bright with that I-dare-you energy.
Around her, several other reporters stood too, eager to throw their names into the fire. It wasn't bravery so much as opportunity. A press conference like this was a feeding frenzy, and everyone wanted to be the one who walked away with the clip that went viral worldwide.
With cameras rolling and dozens of witnesses watching, no one believed Rosh would dare slip something dangerous into the "sample." Not here. Not under this many lenses.
Rosh's gaze swept the crowd, slow and unhurried, then stopped on Christine like he'd been expecting her to volunteer all along.
"Then… you, Miss," Rosh said, lifting a finger and pointing directly at her. "Please come up."
If she was going to sprint toward the spotlight, why would he deny her?
Christine didn't hesitate; she strode down the aisle and climbed the steps onto the stage with the confidence of someone walking into court with evidence already in hand. Her face carried provocation and scorn, like she was about to expose a cheap trick and embarrass a fraud in front of the entire nation.
Because there was no way, no way, she believed eating a bite of fruit would grant superpowers.
That kind of nonsense wouldn't fool a three-year-old.
She stopped a few feet from Rosh, arms loose at her sides but posture tight, ready to pounce the second he slipped up.
"So," Christine said pointedly, voice loud enough for every mic to pick up, "all I have to do is eat it… and I'll gain a superpower?"
"Exactly," Rosh replied, calm as stone and brimming with the kind of certainty that didn't need to raise its voice.
Christine arched a brow. "And what kind of superpower would that be?" Her tone turned sharper, baiting him. "Will I be able to create the Iron Man armor like Tony Stark?"
Rosh didn't bite the bait. He simply smiled, almost amused.
"You'll find out once you eat it." He held the Devil Fruit sample out to her.
"You're still playing games?" Christine snorted, but she took it anyway, snatching it like she was grabbing proof from a suspect's hands.
She brought it to her mouth and bit down. The reaction was instant; her face twitched like she'd just bitten into rotten chemicals and regret. The flavor was beyond awful, sharp, bitter, and wrong in a way that made her eyes water for a second. For a heartbeat, she honestly wondered if Rosh had done that on purpose just to humiliate her on live television.
But pride did what it always did.
It made her stubborn.
Christine forced herself to chew, jaw tight, and swallowed with visible effort, as if she were swallowing her own disbelief along with it.
Then she lifted her head, eyes glittering with sarcasm, ready to end this. "So?" she demanded immediately. "I ate it like you said. Now what? Do I have my superpower yet?"
Her mocking tone cut off mid-breath; it was like someone had taken her voice and snapped it in half.
Christine blinked… once, twice, her expression shifting from smug to confused, then to something sharper.
"Wait…" she whispered, staring at her hands. "This feeling…"
Before she could finish, the audience erupted with gasps, real gasps, the kind that weren't staged and couldn't be faked. Chairs scraped. People stood halfway out of their seats. Camera operators jerked their rigs to keep her in frame.
Because Christine's body... was changing.
Her outline softened, her skin paling in opacity like ink washed out by water. The stage lights bled through her, and the world behind her began to show in faint, eerie layers.
Christine was becoming semi-transparent.
"W–what's happening?!" she stammered, panic finally cracking her composure. "What's wrong with me?!"
She looked down at herself, eyes widening so hard it almost looked painful. Her fingers weren't just pale; they were fading. The fabric of her blouse still showed, but it no longer looked anchored to reality. It looked like it was slipping out of the world one second at a time.
Her voice dropped into stunned disbelief, "So… this is my superpower?"
"I really… have superpowers?"
The room was chaos now, reporters shouting, flashes hammering, everyone trying to get the best angle of the impossible.
And through all of it, Rosh's voice cut cleanly across the noise.
"As you can see," Rosh said, almost smug in his certainty, "the sample fruit this lady just consumed was the Color-Color Fruit."
He lifted a hand slightly, as if giving a lecture instead of detonating the world's understanding of reality.
"One of its abilities is altering the user's coloration," he continued, "allowing them to become invisible."
He'd chosen this fruit for a reason. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't abstract. It was immediate, visual, and undeniable, the kind of proof that would shred skepticism in seconds.
Rosh turned slightly toward Christine, expression perfectly composed, as though nothing about this was unusual.
"Miss," he said smoothly, "thank you for your cooperation."
Then, without a shred of mercy, he guided her off the stage like she was a volunteer who had served her purpose.
Christine stumbled down the steps, still staring at her hands like they might suddenly decide to return to normal if she stared hard enough. Her face had the dazed look of someone whose entire worldview had been body-slammed through a wall.
Rosh faced the crowd again, letting the chaos settle just enough for his words to land. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't chase their attention.
He owned it.
"Well," he said calmly, eyes sweeping across the sea of stunned faces and frantic cameras, "I believe everyone now has a basic understanding of Devil Fruits, and enough information to form your own judgment."
He paused, not for drama, but like he genuinely had better things to do than argue with disbelief.
"I won't waste more of your time."
That alone made the room twitch. Reporters weren't used to people ending their own segments. They were used to squeezing, prying, and extracting. But Rosh wasn't here to be interviewed.
"If you wish to learn more about Devil Fruits," he continued evenly, "or purchase one, you're welcome to visit the Home of the Devil Fruits."
The name hit the microphones, the cameras, the live feed, clean and clear. A perfect soundbite. The kind of phrase that would be repeated a thousand times by anchors and influencers within the hour.
Then Rosh's expression shifted. Just slightly.
A smirk, sharp at the edges.
"Oh, and one small reminder…"
The crowd leaned in again without meaning to. That was the thing about tone changes: people felt them before they understood them.
"My shop does not accept U.S. dollars," Rosh said, casual as if he were discussing store hours. "We only accept gold."
"So if you're planning to buy one," he added, smoothly, "please prepare accordingly."
That line landed like a second shockwave, half outrage, half fascination. Some reporters looked offended on principle. Others looked thrilled on instinct. Gold meant exclusivity. Gold meant scarcity. Gold meant the kind of story that made people spiral into obsession.
Rosh didn't care about their reactions. He'd already planted the hook.
"That's all," he said, cleanly closing the loop. "And finally, thank you to Tony Stark for providing the stage."
With that, Rosh stepped off the podium and returned backstage without another word.
Backstage, the sound of the hall was still muffled, but a violent ocean of voices was crashing against each other. Tony met him with raised eyebrows and that familiar, half-amused expression like he'd just watched a successful stunt.
"Nice speech," Tony Stark said, raising an eyebrow. "You're about to go viral. Maybe even more famous than me."
"Not exactly something worth congratulating," Rosh replied with a shrug, utterly calm.
If it weren't for his sales objectives, he wouldn't want to be a celebrity at all. Still, once this news aired, his shop would probably be packed to the brim.
Just thinking about that scene made Rosh smile with anticipation.
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Next Chapter: Another Hero Enters the Shop
Next Next Chapter: The Fruit Iron Fist Truly Wants
Next Next Next Chapter: Two Million Dollars, Two Futures
Visit my P@tr3on or K0‑fi ''Isopuff'' page and unlock +20 extra chapters and daily updates!