He knew that name well from the manga he'd read years ago. In the One Piece lore, it was the fruit wielded by Admiral Akainu, known as the Red Volcano. A Devil Fruit so powerful it could reshape entire islands, summon volcanoes from nothing, and burn through virtually any other element.
In other words—pure destruction incarnate.
Even Ace's Fire Fruit, powerful in its own right, had fallen to it. The Magma Fruit was considered superior in the elemental hierarchy.
If he could nurture that power to maturity, if he could actually consume it, his dominance would skyrocket to levels that made his current abilities look like parlor tricks.
But right now, the fruit was still in its early growth stage, just germinating. It needed more connections, more "adopters," more energy fed to the Devil Fruit Tree to reach full maturity.
He leaned back against the cool tile wall, closing his eyes as the System faded to silence.
"Tomorrow," he muttered to himself. "If I can secure one more high-compatibility connection… I might be able to harvest it."
From the moment Elric's consciousness drifted back from the Devil Fruit Tree interface to the real world, materializing his awareness back in his physical body, he couldn't help but smile at the sight before him.
Several heavy bags of rice were stacked neatly by the wall—fifty bags total, each containing ten pounds of premium white rice. The System reward from last night had been worth every bit of effort, every moment invested.
With the clean water he possessed in effectively unlimited quantities and the roasted lamb he'd secured earlier, he already had meat and hydration covered perfectly.
Now, with rice added to the mix, he finally had a proper staple food—though vegetables were still lacking from a complete nutritional profile.
Unfortunately, the rice wasn't cooked. In a world without reliable electricity, where power grids had failed completely, that meant more work ahead. He'd need to figure out cooking methods.
"Raw rice, huh?" Elric muttered, rolling one grain between his fingers, examining its quality. "Guess I'll need to improvise some kind of cooking setup."
He was satisfied nonetheless. Lying back on the soft makeshift bed in the master bedroom—a mattress cobbled together from salvaged materials—Elric closed his eyes, letting exhaustion finally overtake him.
The night passed quietly.
When Elric woke up, soft sunlight filtered through the cracks of the boarded windows, dust motes dancing in the beams. The faint scent of soap and something sweet lingered in the air.
Grace was already kneeling beside the bed, her hair tied neatly back, wearing one of the few clean dresses left in the shelter. She must have found it in someone's abandoned belongings.
Before he could say anything, before he could even fully open his eyes, she began helping him dress—precise, careful movements, adjusting his collar and smoothing fabric, not daring to meet his eyes directly.
Soon, without him lifting a finger or expending any effort, Elric found himself fully dressed in clean clothes.
"Honey," Grace said softly, her voice carrying that gentle, melodic quality, "would you like to eat first or freshen up? Toothpaste, toothbrush, and a towel are ready by the sink. And for breakfast—milk's already poured into glasses. We still had a few sausages and bread from last night, so I cut them into portions. Instant noodles are too heavy in the morning, so I skipped those."
Her tone was gentle, almost melodic, but what caught Elric's attention was how thorough she was. How completely she'd thought through everything.
She'd thought of every detail, anticipated every need.
Elric blinked, genuinely surprised by the level of service.
Natasha was the composed strategist, the one who could read people and situations, who could recruit and manipulate when necessary.
Jenna was the spoiled heiress, beautiful but high-maintenance, requiring careful handling.
And Grace… Grace was the ideal housekeeper, the kind of woman who made chaos feel orderly, who created domestic comfort even in apocalyptic conditions.
Having her around meant he wouldn't have to worry about small logistical things again. Everything from meals to daily necessities—she'd handle it all efficiently.
"Let's eat first," he said at last, his voice calm but approving.
In the living room, Jenna was perched on the table edge, lazily swinging her long legs back and forth. Natasha sat nearby in a salvaged chair, reading a scavenged survival manual, her expression cool and focused as ever.
When Elric walked in, both women instantly straightened, their casual postures transforming to attention. They put on smiles—genuine or performed, it hardly mattered.
"Morning, Elric," Natasha greeted smoothly, her voice warm.
"Good morning, boss!" Jenna chimed, her tone playful but respectful, having learned her lesson about boundaries.
Elric gave a short nod and took his seat at the dining table—the head position, naturally.
Four plates were arranged neatly. Bread and sausage on each. Four glasses of milk—all from the supplies taken from Henry's hoard the night before.
It wasn't a feast by pre-apocalypse standards, but it was something solid. Something normal. A proper breakfast.
Elric didn't touch his food immediately. The three women watched him in silence, waiting with varying degrees of patience.
It was a subtle thing—a shared instinct that he'd quickly come to appreciate and encourage.
Authority, discipline, loyalty. They were learning fast what was expected in this new social structure.
After a few quiet seconds that established the pecking order, he nodded once.
"Go ahead. Let's eat."
The tension eased instantly. Natasha and Jenna began eating quietly, and Grace took a small seat beside them, her posture straight and attentive even while eating.
Midway through breakfast, as he bit into surprisingly decent bread, Elric glanced at Natasha and said, "You did well yesterday with Grace. Task complete. From now on, you can request roast lamb anytime you want."
Her eyes brightened immediately with genuine delight. "Really?" she asked, a hint of excitement slipping through her usually composed expression.
"Really," Elric replied, smirking slightly at her reaction.
"Then…" Natasha leaned forward, wrapping her arm around his in a familiar gesture. "Can I have some now? Right now?"
Elric raised an eyebrow. "Now? It's barely morning. You just had breakfast."
But her pleading look—those wide eyes that had probably gotten her whatever she wanted in the old world—made him sigh with amusement.
"Fine."
He opened his inventory space with a thought—and a roasted lamb shank materialized in his hand, appearing from nothing, still steaming as if freshly cooked.
"What the—!" Grace gasped audibly, eyes going wide as saucers.
She'd seen the secure room, the weapons, even the strange crystals Elric absorbed—but this was completely new. This defied every law of physics she knew.
To her, it looked like magic. Pure, impossible magic.
Natasha, of course, was already used to such displays, smiling smugly as she accepted the meat like a prize. Jenna watched, half-jealous of the attention and half-curious about the mechanics.
Elric didn't explain. Didn't offer any justification or scientific reasoning.
Let them wonder. Let them be awed.
A bit of mystery kept people obedient, kept them from getting too comfortable or questioning too much.
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