The Fishmen pirates weren't exactly the warmest company, but they didn't throw me back into the sea either. Their ship, the Murky Scales, was a half-patched galleon that smelled of rotting bait and unwashed hammocks. I kept to myself the first day, sleeping in a hammock in the storage hold and trying to process my situation.
On the second day, they brought me up to the deck. The sun beat down on us mercilessly. The ship rocked more aggressively now — a sign that we were nearing turbulent waters.
"You sure you ain't some Marine spy?" one of them asked — a flat-nosed ray Fishman with jagged teeth and suspicious eyes.
"I don't even know how to swim," I replied honestly.
This answer, oddly, satisfied them.
I helped with small chores: coiling ropes, patching sails, cleaning deck rails. My hands blistered, but it gave me time to think.
Then came the Devil Fruit.
It was the third day. One of the crew had been fishing wreckage out of the sea. Among broken crates and a soggy map, they found a chest — and inside, a strange fruit. It looked like a giant mango twisted with dark blue and golden flame-like swirls. It radiated warmth.
"A Devil Fruit," the captain said, eyes gleaming. He was a shark-breed Fishman with black eyes and a grin too wide for his face.
The crew stared at it like it was cursed treasure. Some murmured about bad luck. Others wanted to sell it.
And me? I did the dumbest thing imaginable.
I ate it.
Why? Curiosity? Impulse? Some part of me remembered watching people in One Piece gain amazing powers from these fruits. I wanted to survive. I wanted to matter in this world. And besides… I didn't think I'd get another chance like this.
It tasted like everything terrible — rotten eggs, motor oil, and battery acid. I gagged, but I forced it down.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the pain hit.
It started in my chest — a hot, glowing ache that spread through my limbs. My skin shimmered briefly with golden sparks, and steam rose from my shoulders. My vision blurred. My heart pounded like a war drum.
Then a voice in my mind:
[You have consumed the Ryu Ryu no Mi, Model: Kirin — a Mythical Zoan-type Devil Fruit.]
My knees buckled.
The crew backed away, some drawing weapons. "What's going on with the human!?" someone yelled.
Lightning crackled from my fingertips. My breath steamed in the warm air. I stumbled, trying to stand — and for a split second, I changed.
Golden hooves. A mane of white fire. Scales under my skin.
Then it was gone. I collapsed, smoking.
They didn't kill me. Maybe they were scared. Maybe they were curious. But the captain pulled me up by my collar and muttered, "You better control that. Or we'll toss you overboard."
The days that followed were a blur of pain and discovery. My body changed — stronger, faster. I could feel a beast slumbering inside me. A legendary creature from ancient myths: a Kirin. I looked it up in a tattered old book the Fishmen kept. A bringer of balance. A beast of flame and lightning.
I practiced. Slowly. Cautiously. Sometimes I could make sparks dance in my palm. Once, I accidentally set my bedroll on fire sneezing.
The first time I transformed — truly transformed — I nearly broke the mast.
Hooves hit the deck. Lightning arced across the sails. My voice sounded like thunder when I roared.
But it felt good.
I was becoming something powerful. Something dangerous.
And I had a feeling this was only the beginning.