ONE PIECE: Lone Sails

Is this…? Could it be…?

Noah's gaze fixed on the sparse bamboo leaves swaying in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Among the branches, a fist-sized fruit dangled from the tip of a bamboo stalk. Though several bamboo trees in the grove bore fruit, this one stood apart, its surface etched with faint, peculiar lines that set it apart from the others.

He hefted the bamboo pole and struck at the fruit, determination fueling each swing. After five or six minutes of effort, it finally dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Dropping the pole, Noah knelt to retrieve it, cradling the green fruit in his hands. Its surface was adorned with intricate spiral arabesque patterns, each swirl composed of overlapping squares—a design both mesmerizing and otherworldly.

It's really a Devil Fruit! His heart raced, though uncertainty tempered his excitement. But I don't recognize this shape or type.

He studied it, racking his brain for any memory of a Devil Fruit matching this description. Judging by its form, it's not one of the well-known ones. Should I eat it?

For a long moment—more than ten seconds—he hesitated, his expression darkening with indecision. Then, with a grit of his teeth, he shoved the entire fruit into his mouth. The taste was bitter, almost unbearable, but he forced it down.

Noah harbored no illusions about his situation. He wasn't in a position to be choosy. Here, on a deserted island in the East China Sea, he was an ordinary boy with no power, no allies, and no means of escape. Even if this Devil Fruit granted him the abilities of a common animal, he wouldn't complain.

Others might dream of legendary fruits—the Thunder Fruit, the Vampire Fruit—but those were fantasies for the strong, for those who could navigate the Grand Line. Noah was far from that. Without at least brigadier-level strength, he couldn't hope to leave the East China Sea, let alone pursue such treasures. A Devil Fruit lay before him now, a rare chance at survival. If he didn't take it and pirates—or some hidden danger on this island—found him tomorrow, regret would be his only companion.

Gulp. As the fruit slid down his throat, a strange ripple coursed through his body, warm and electric. Instinctive knowledge bloomed in his mind, as though the fruit itself whispered its secrets to him.

The Card Fruit…

He slapped his palm against the bamboo pole beside him, and a blank card materialized on its surface, shimmering faintly. Creation?

Holding the card, a torrent of possibilities flashed through his mind. He picked up the sharp-edged stone he'd used earlier and pressed it against the blank card. The stone sank into it as if dipping into water, vanishing within. As it disappeared, a detailed stone pattern emerged on the card's surface. Noah sensed it—the stone resting in a tiny, one-cubic-meter space within the card.

Just as I thought, he mused. The Book Fruit user from the Big Mom Pirates developed space storage in books. The Card Fruit can do the same. The two are strikingly similar in this regard.

He tried to transform his body into a card, but nothing happened. So, it's a Paramecia type—superpower subtype, not a transformative one.

Noah didn't lament the fruit's limitations. "There are no weak Devil Fruits, only weak users," he reminded himself. The saying might be overly simplistic, but it held a kernel of truth. The Card Fruit wasn't garbage—far from it. With creativity and effort, it could become formidable.

The sun blazed overhead, still a few hours from setting. He paused his experimentation, dragging the broken bamboo toward the stone slope he'd spotted earlier. There, near the bamboo forest, a large rock jutted out more than a meter, offering just enough space for a person to lie beneath. It was the perfect spot for a shelter.

With daylight waning, Noah hurried to gather materials. From the bamboo grove and mangrove forest, he collected dead branches, leaves, and strips of bark from a palm-like tree—ideal for weaving straw ropes. Deftly, he braided a rope, then combined it with bamboo and a dry stick to craft a simple bow drill.

He carved a groove into a piece of hard deadwood, filled it with wood shavings, and set to work with the bow drill. The rapid friction of the drill bit against the groove warmed the wood, and after ten grueling minutes, a wisp of smoke curled upward. Sweating and breathless, Noah stopped, dropping to his knees.

"Huh… huh…"

He blew gently on the groove, coaxing the embers to life. Slowly, the fire spread, a tiny spark igniting the shavings. Adding more branches and leaves, he nurtured the flame until it burned steadily.

With fire secured, a wave of relief washed over him. He tossed larger pieces of deadwood into the blaze, then lit a stick to carry with him. Using a card, he sealed a cubic meter of branches and leaves, then ducked beneath the overhanging rock.

"Liberate!"

The card released its contents, spilling the branches and leaves onto the ground. He set them ablaze, letting the fire cleanse the space of any lurking snakes, insects, or other pests. After half an hour, he extinguished the flames with sand hauled from the beach, then dragged a dozen bamboo stalks to form a rudimentary fence around the rock.

Finally, he built a small fire beside his shelter.

As evening descended and the sun dipped below the horizon, Noah's simple refuge took shape. Inside, he'd stockpiled hundreds of kilograms of deadwood and several green coconuts. On a makeshift stone stove, half a coconut shell simmered, filled with boiling clams and sand crabs he'd gathered from the shore.

He sipped hot water from the other half of the shell, then smeared juice from a plant called ghost chrysanthemum onto his face and limbs. Its sharp, bitter scent repelled mosquitoes and insects—a trick he'd learned from the residents of Starfish Island, who dried it into mosquito coils. With no time to dry it now, the raw juice would have to suffice.

After a modest meal of clams and crabs, night fell completely, cloaking the island in darkness. Sitting cross-legged on the sand, Noah tended the fire and turned his attention back to the Card Fruit.

He plucked a burning stick from the fire and attempted to seal it in a wooden card drawn from a bamboo piece. The card ignited instantly, its power dissipating as it burned. Wooden cards are vulnerable to fire, he noted thoughtfully.

Undeterred, he drew a stone card from the rock wall behind him and tried again. This time, the burning wood sealed successfully, its pattern etched onto the card's surface. Success.

A new question emerged: Does time stand still in the card's space?

Half an hour later, he released the seal. The burning wood emerged unchanged, its flames flickering as they had before. Time is static inside the card. He tested a sand crab next, unsealing it from another card. The creature scuttled away, alive and unharmed.

This didn't surprise him. The Book Fruit could also store living things, but the Card Fruit offered greater flexibility. Cards could be used individually, whereas a book required accessing its entirety—a limitation in certain scenarios.

As the fire crackled and the night deepened, Noah's mind buzzed with possibilities. The Card Fruit was his now, a tool of survival and, perhaps, a key to something greater. For the first time since washing ashore, he felt a flicker of hope.