The Gojo estate buzzed with silent anticipation. Ever since the incident with Haruko, where he awakened a never-before-seen barrier technique after consuming the Devil Fruit given by Shiori, the entire clan had shifted. Word spread like wildfire across the compound—Shiori's garden held something powerful, something divine.
Among the clan's youth, the fruit had become legend. Not just tools—techniques, awakened instantly with a single bite. Not taught, not inherited, but granted. Unimaginable.
Whispers filled the corridors and courtyards.
"They say Shiori gave that fruit casually…"
"Do you think he'll give more?"
"Maybe if we impress him—"
"Don't be stupid. He's not that soft."
Despite their excitement, there was one unspoken truth: Shiori doesn't hand out power.
He had chosen Haruko, and no one else. Since then, not a single fruit had left the garden. The barrier surrounding the sacred space remained firm and impenetrable. Even elders didn't dare step foot past the outer line unless invited.
Any attempt to test the limits had been met with overwhelming consequences. One fool from a branch family tried sneaking in late at night. His ashes were swept up by the morning patrol—silent evidence of Shiori's warning.
The elders respected the mystery. Some younger members still tried to approach, hoping to catch a glimpse of the glowing fruits beyond the illusion. But none were acknowledged.
At the main hall, the clan head discussed recent developments with the inner council.
"They are growing obsessed," one elder muttered.
"As expected. Who wouldn't want that kind of power?"
"They've forgotten what Shiori truly is," another whispered. "He is not a provider. He is a guardian."
Meanwhile, in rival clans, the reactions were less composed.
In the Zenin clan, rage boiled beneath their cold exterior.
"Any updates from our informants?" one asked.
"They can't get near the garden. The barrier flays anything with malicious intent."
"Then we send someone pure?"
"You'll end up sending another corpse."
A silence followed.
"...Two users of a Six Eyes variant in one generation. That's not luck. That's a shift in fate."
At the Kamo estate, resentment filled the air.
"Gojo this. Gojo that. And where are we? Struggling to awaken a single heir with cursed technique compatibility," an elder snapped.
"All that power in the hands of a child. A garden full of untapped potential."
"The Gojo clan always hoarded their blessings. Now they grow them like crops."
They didn't dare act—not yet. But the envy was growing roots.
Back at the estate, Shiori sat quietly inside his garden. Satoru had long gone to his own training. Alone, Shiori stood among the trees. The Devil Fruits shimmered gently, each one radiating a different aura, pulsing with cursed and alien energy alike.
Shiori didn't smile.
He simply stared at the trees with calm calculation, not affection.
"This is power born of mystery," he whispered. "It doesn't belong to the loud or the eager. It chooses."
He turned to one of the younger trees, silver veins running up its bark.
"They're watching," he muttered. "Waiting for me to give again. But this isn't a market."
He raised one hand, the garden pulsing in sync.
"I won't give anyone what they can't carry. And I won't explain what they aren't ready to understand."
He turned away, the barrier sealing behind him with a hum like wind over steel.
The estate resumed its rhythm. But the pressure, the tension, only grew.
Everyone was waiting for the next fruit to be offered.
But Shiori wasn't.