Author's Note: It's finally here, everyone. The official first full chapter of my rewrite of "The Devil's Fruit." I retained the title, but spruced up the summary to make it more exciting. But, I'll save all my comments for after this chapter. I'm pretty sure all of you were waiting for this day.

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece. Eiichiro Oda does. I could only wish, hence fan fiction.

Chapter 1: Older Brother ~Portgas D. Ace~

It's raining. It's raining so hard that it's like a giant human's crying from up in the sky, and it doesn't look like he or she's going to stop anytime soon. The raindrops continue to crash on the empty concrete roads, causing deep rivers to flood through the gutters, and I shiver when the howling wind sent a cold chill that bit across my skin. As steady as we can, the two of us continue to tread forward.

It scares me to think of how strong this storm is. It's so strong that maybe I might get blown off my feet and then carried off to who knows where. It scares me even more when I think of how the wind can probably steal him away from me. My arms are really skinny because I don't have any muscles like grown-up men, so anyone can easily take him. But, I won't show it. I won't allow myself to be afraid. Someone's got to be strong, and I have to be that one person.

I have to be strong—at least, for the sake of my little brother.

"Ace!" Puddles of murky water sloshes around our bare feet as we run, and Luffy's expressing his discomfort as he tries to keep up with my pace. I silently wish we have an umbrella right now. Without looking, I can already tell that the thin piece of cloth—which somewhat passes our as our shared blanket—is already soaking wet as it shields his head, and even though it's never happened yet, a newfound fear of Luffy getting sick begins to well inside me.

I grip his hand tighter, leading the way. "Hurry, Luffy!" Of course, this does nothing to ease him. I give him a quick glance and then immediately regret doing so when I saw that he's just about ready to cry. Even if Luffy's usually a quick runner—sometimes, I think he can be faster than me—the two us haven't been eating much, so he must be lacking the energy to move. That plus he's probably not used to running this much. If I could only just stop to reassure him, I would. But, those people probably already figured out that we're missing, and I'm desperate.

We slip from one corner to another, lost in the darkness with nothing to guide us except for the dim street lamps that blink on occasion. Each alley practically looks the same to me—the same appearance, the same distance, the same darkness. It's like this sleeping city is a maze, and the two of us are caught in the middle of it. I don't even know where I'm going anymore, only running for the sake of just getting as far away as possible.

It's not one of my best ideas.

There's a large bulky man with brawny muscles and long unruly hair who looks like he can tower over almost anyone he stands next to. He's on the other side of the street, and my heart nearly stops because I recognize him, and I can tell that he recognizes me, too. His beady eyes squint and zero in on us, and a toothy grin spreads across his purple-stained lips. Luffy and I immediately spin back into the alley we just emerged from.

I knew it. I knew that they'd try to find us, and now, they know where we are. They're coming closer and closer, and I can hear their voices. They're shouting out that we're somewhere around here, that we need to be found—that there's no escape. I'm already close to losing my breath from fatigue—and Luffy's dangerously closer—as we race for a place to hide.

Luffy finally decides to collapse as we stop inside one alley. "A-Ace! No—no running!" He's already coughing and shivering, just as drenched as I am. The blanket's missing—most likely discarded somewhere along the way.

Without a word, I help him up before searching frantically for a hiding spot, but there's nothing but garbage cans and dumpsters that are still waiting to be emptied. Not even the rain can dissolve the putrid stench in the air. I find a wrinkled cardboard box, which from the looks of it, is large enough to fit the both of us. Quickly, we kneel, and after placing the worn-out material above our heads, the two us sit, huddled together.

"Ace," Luffy whimpers while sniffling, "Luffy no see Ace."

I give his hands a gentle squeeze. Luffy hates the dark.

"Luffy cold."

My mind returns to the lost blanket. Even if it were dry, would it be able to keep the both of us warm?

"Luffy want food."

The last time we ate was during dinner. It consisted of a stale piece of bread and some watered down soup. I just drank the cold bland liquid while Luffy nibbled on the bread.

He's crying now, and I cover his mouth to stifle the sobbing sounds. "Sssh, it's okay," I whisper, and even if I can't see him, I can picture those large glassy black eyes staring at me, "It's going to be okay." Because I promised that I'd always protect you.

We don't speak, and his sobs are slowly starting to die down, yet he's still shaking. The air's cold, and the small space we're sharing is so tight that it's suffocating. If it weren't for the fear of getting caught, I would have lifted the box a bit to let in some air, but that's not the case. Mentally, I'm cursing our so-called "father" for selling us. If he didn't, we wouldn't be running for our lives. If he didn't, then I wouldn't have—

"Search the area," one voice directs, and I can hear the approaching sound of footsteps, "They should be here somewhere." There are dogs barking in the background, and it dawns on me just now—they've brought the dogs. They'll be able to sniff us out. My mind begins to race in all directions, stretching until it's tearing apart, and I can no longer think properly on what to do next. In the end, I just shut my eyes, hoping and praying as I hold Luffy close. He does the same, and I can feel his tiny body trembling with fear—or is that me?

Please don't find us. Please don't find us. They'll hurt us. Please don't find us. Please, please, please, please—

A low growl rips through the silence, and without warning, sharp teeth begins gnashing and ripping off the cardboard. Luffy begins screaming, and when the box has been lifted, I retreat backwards with Luffy, narrowly avoiding getting bitten by one of the leashed dogs.

"Thought you could run, eh?" One of them sneers at me, "You're not leaving us. You're too good to give away."

Luffy's crying, holding me close and refusing to look at the men before us. My body is screaming at me to run, but before I can even get up, my brother gets snatched away from me.

"Will you shut up, brat?" The man who grabbed him gives a harsh slap to Luffy's face, but this only makes him cry even harder. He keeps calling out for me in between his sobs, and somehow, all the fear in my heart turns into anger that wells inside me.

"Luffy!" I forget about the dogs. I even forget about the clubs and pipes they're armed with. I stand up, trying to reach for him. "No! Give him back to me! Don't hurt him!" But, something hard lands on my head before I can even reach him, and everything goes black.

I wake up, finding myself lying down on the carpet of my own bedroom. Another dream? Groaning, I sit up, rubbing the side of my head that fell smack on the floor. It aches, but the pain quickly manages to subside. I can still feel the beads of sweat collected on my forehead with the tips of my fingers.

Sometimes, I wish that I can dream of happier days with him, but I never do, and maybe it's because I was too young to even remember those times. All I have are those memories—memories that I'd like to erase but can't. After all, even if they sicken me, they're my only connection to Luffy… the only shred of proof that Luffy does exist in my life.

I check the digital alarm clock on my polished night table. It's 3:40 in the morning—too early to start the day. There's a small piece of paper left on the table, and I pick this up to read the scribbled note.

If you're not awake by 10 PM, then I'll have Squado cook you an extra heavy breakfast tomorrow morning. With extra bacon.

I smile. Good old dependable Marco. Caring even if his poker face doesn't show it most of the time. I'm not exactly a morning person, but with the promise of breakfast, I kick myself out of bed and head to the bathroom because I definitely need a shower.

After a quick bath, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror to get dressed. I tuck the white blouse under my black pants before buckling it with a belt and then I casually fix the red and black striped tie around the collar. I still have to put on the grey cardigan vest and the blazer that bears the Mugiwara High logo but I decide to just do it before I leave.

Haruta has already taken the liberty of arranging my belongings. My school bag—designed like a large watermelon—is sitting on the chair behind my desk. Unzipping it, I notice how the textbooks and notebooks are carefully packed inside without being too crammed. On the table is a long list of the items that she placed inside—mostly my books and the school supplies found in my pencil case, ranging from the newly sharpened pencils to a refilled stapler—and I run through the names one by one until I arrive at "Medical Certificate over Narcolepsy—Please Print." Oh, right.

Seriously. Who needs a planner?Haruta makes it a point to practically organize my life.

I place my bag aside and take my seat before flipping open the monitor of my MacBook Pro. Then, I log on into my account and search for a few messages down my inbox until I find Dr. Jango's email which has the file attached. After another click from the mouse, it begins to download.

It's not the first time that I have to present a medical certificate. I've been diagnosed with narcolepsy ever since I was nine, and the first time it happened, I nearly drowned while swimming in the pool. Luckily for me, Vista was around to jump in and save me before the water completely filled up my lungs.

After that particular incident, Dad made me see several doctors who ran brain scans plus some other tests, and the conclusions were more or less the same—the cause was mostly biological rather than psychological, and there was a long discussion regarding certain gene variations involved. In the end, Dad hired Dr. Jango who specialized in sleep disorders and hypnosis to help me cope with my narcolepsy. He just had to pay him double since during that time, Dr. Jango was also giving me trauma systems therapy for someunpleasant life experiences that I'd rather forget about.

The file's already printed, and I stare at the screen, contemplating on whether or not I should mention about my latest dream. It's nothing new in particular, and I've grown used to it over the years, but recently, my dreams keep on recurring—almost on a nightly basis. Sure, Dr. Jango already cleared me off as "fully stable" years ago, so I'm not in desperate need of counseling, but honestly, I really feel like talking to someone who knows a lot about it. Finally decided on this, I click the reply button and begin typing.

Hey, Dr. Jango!

How are you? Thanks again for the medical certificate you sent. I just printed it now, and I'll be heading to school in a few hours. Hopefully, my teachers this year won't mind. I swear that "Captain Morgan" still has a personal vendetta on me since I'm the only student with the "brass balls" to sleep in his class. Bet he's still pissed about that time I accidentally knocked over his self-made mini statue of himself in his office when the narcolepsy hit.

Oh, and please don't get me started on Stuffy Buggy. It's getting really obvious that the guy's been trying to get me expelled since day one. Never works out, of course. Still can't understand the guy, but hey. I'm not the psychology expert here.

I'm guessing you're not too surprised that I'm messaging you at this hour. I just woke up from another narcolepsy attack, and well—I dreamt of my brother again. Same dream, really. Nothing different about it—at least, from what I can recall by memory—but for some reason, I'm starting to dream more and more lately, and it's always about the past. It doesn't scare me anymore, but it just bothers me. Do you think my dreams can actually mean something? I remember you telling me something about how dreams can be associated with daily experiences and that they can drop meaningful hints. So, I just have this sudden idea.

Okay, I know this sounds strange, but I'm really wondering—is it possible that my dreams can actually be some form of premonition? Even until now, I'm still searching for Luffy, and maybe—just maybe—my dreams are connecting me to him, telling me that he's still alive and somewhere out there, but I'm just looking at the wrong places. Totally crazy, and it's probably wishful thinking on my part, but I guess it would be nice to believe in something like that. Sometimes, I wonder if Luffy even remembers me.

Unless this is just the post-trauma effects kicking? Don't know about that. It's not like I'm getting any anxiety attacks again.

So, Doc, what do you think of all of this? I know it's not the best time in the morning, but for some reason, I really feel the need to share this with someone who knows a lot about the subject. You don't have to respond ASAP. I know you're busy.

Oh, and don't worry about the meds. Izou and Haruta make sure that I never miss my usual dosage. At least, I'd fall asleep less during the day.

Ace

P.S. I gave Marco your regards from the last email. He sends his, too.

I click send, refresh my inbox and search for any new messages. There's none, and I close my mail with a feeling of dread.

Robin's gone to Barcelona to visit her sister since the beginning of spring break. I've been sending her messages, and even Zoro and Sanji are trying contact her, but she never responds. Not even her phone's working whenever I try calling her directly.

I wonder if I'll even see her later. She didn't even say if she'd be back for the first day of school.

Marco kept his promise of an extra heavy breakfast to make up for missing last night's dinner. Starving, I fork a piece of my eggs benedict and eat this along with a spoonful of baked pork and beans. I chew quickly before picking on a mix of chopped fruits and berries from the side. All the flavors are dancing in my mouth even after swallowing, and the only thought that occurs to me now is to eat practically everything on sight until I'm satisfied. Just one problem now—should I start with the golden brown stack of blueberry pancakes that's already dripping with syrup or the long, crispy strips of bacon glazed with honey? Decisions, decisions…

"Pacing, Ace," but since Dad's around, devouring both of them at once isn't an option. After all, like he'd always say—"I didn't raise you to eat like a wolf."

"Yes, Dad," and so I am sentenced to slowly cut a piece of pancake and then eat it while counting the number of times I chew.

Dad sits opposite to me, taking a sip of his usual morning tea. He has his glasses on while reading the newspaper, and I can tell that his headshake is more for me rather than whatever's happening in the business section today. "Really. You should follow your cousin Sanji's example."

"Dad. Uncle Zeff used to beat him and call him a 'Shitty Eggplant' until Sanji could 'properly' hold a tablespoon according to his standards." In fact, he still calls him a shitty eggplant. "Remember the time when we both ran away and created 'Ace's Kingdom' and 'Sanji's Kingdom' in the back garden field?"

He wrinkles his nose in disgust. "You two reeked so much that the smell would have killed me. If Whitney hadn't found you—and bless her, she's good at finding people—you two would have gotten lice over your heads."

I shiver at the memory. The way she suddenly appeared at the entrance of our makeshift tents and crawled towards us with an all-too-cheerful "smile" on her face while whispering, "I found you!" was reminiscent of a psycho killer from those gory slasher movies.

"But, that's beside the point. I ought to send you to your Uncle Zeff for a reeducation if you don't slow down on your meals." Well, that shut me up. I carefully drink some water before taking in small bites of my pancakes.

Leave it to Dad to be all about table manners and customs. He's not only a traditionally raised English-Italian gentleman, but also, anyone can tell that he cares for order just from the dignified way he carries himself to the neat trim of his long, white mustache. Then, there's the fact that Dad has a large number of associates and business partners who he'd meet and greet at social gatherings that he'd organize. Of course, I'd have to meet them, too, and that means I'd also have to show how much I've been raised as a "refined young man worthy to be Edward Newgate's successor." Or something along those lines.

"I see that you slept before dinner last night," Dad says, "Fifth time in a row this week, I believe."

While he takes another sip of his tea, I swallow my food before answering, "Yeah, and I dreamt again."

"Should we call Dr. Jango?"

"I don't think it's that serious, but either way, I emailed him just to share about those dreams."

"Very good," Dad nods while breaking a piece of his muffin and spreading some marmalade on it, "We saved you some roast beef and potatoes from last night. You can bring that as your lunch later."

"Thanks, Dad." I grin. He knows my favorites as much as Squado and the other chefs do, and just the very mention of the roast beef makes me able to imagine the smell and taste of it. I had to regain my focus before asking, "By the way, do you have any business at Impel Down later?"

He doesn't respond, and it's like the air grows dense while I wait. Dad eats his muffin while flipping the newspaper, but I can tell that he's not really reading. His eyes remain fixed on one section of a page with his eyebrows knitted together. "Nothing important in particular. Why?"

"I'm planning to go there later after dinnertime. Vista got a certain lead about Luffy, and the key person can only meet us there around that time."

Again, I'm met with silence. Dad muses on his tea, probably weighing the risks and benefits of sending me there at a late hour. "Demalo Black has yet to owe me a debt of 150,000 yen," he finally says, "See if you can collect it. Vista also knows the address of that person, so it would be best if you bring him with you."

"That's all you need?"

"That's all I asked for."

"Nothing to do with whatever happened in, you know, Punk Haz—" The words come out as a major slip of the tongue, and I don't miss the dangerous flash in Dad's eyes.

"The debt collection is all that I will be asking from you tonight," he says with a tone of finality, and when he puts it like that, I know that it's pointless to press the subject any further.

"Sorry," I mutter weakly towards my half empty plate, "Just curious. That's all." Dad doesn't say anything, but I can tell that he heard me and that he accepted the apology when he decides to proceed with the rest of breakfast time by talking about the "imbeciles" at the office and then giving me the yearly "first day of school" prep talk.

It's like we never even talked about "it" at all.

Eventually, I finished up my food, headed back to my room to get my school stuff, placed on my vest and blazer and left for school. Dad said goodbye and wished me luck before I did. Of course, "it" was not brought up again.

"It" is bad. That much has already been established. If someone as forward as Dad refuses to talk about something, then it must be something top-secret and confidential, something dangerous, something that he doesn't want me to stick my nose in.

Still, a part of me is bothered over what I label as "the Punk Hazard Incident." It's not because of whatever happened but because of how Dad, Marco and everyone else avoids discussing the subject in front of me. Even Juzo—who's usually the type to blab out anything upfront—isn't answering any of my questions or dropping painfully obvious hints.

There's nothing to pretend because Dad isn't just messing around. He makes it clear that I'm the only one who has to be kept in the dark, that I'm the only one not allowed to know, and for good reason. Apparently, the less I know, the better.

And, what's worse? He'll probably never tell me why.

~*~ Omake ~*~

Sanji: -inside "Sanji's Kingdom", looking through the window- Shitty old man! –sniffs- Shitty! Shitty! Shitty! Just because I can't hold a shitty spoon right!

Ace: -inside "Ace's Kingdom", looking through the window- It's okay, Sanji. We're gonna live here in our kingdoms where spoons, knives and forks can be banned, and we're gonna be hunter kings living on the wild!

Sanji: You're right! We're gonna be kings! I know I'm gonna be the King of Love, and I'm gonna marry a beautiful princess!

Ace: And, I'm gonna go on a quest to find the Holy Meat, and I'm gonna eat it!

Sanji: Umm… but… Ace… Why are you running away again?

Ace: Table manner lessons are scary!

Sanji: But, it can't be as bad as table manner lessons with the shitty old man.

Ace: No. It's even worse! –shivers- At least you won't die!

-beginning flashback-

Whitney: Alright, Master Ace! Please enjoy your meal now! And, don't forget your table manners!

Ace: -chest straight and tied to a chair while several strings were tied to his hands, fingers, arms and the rest of his body- Umm… Umm… Where's the meat? There are so many veggies!

Whitney: But, veggies are good for you! You're so tiny that you need all those vitamins and minerals, yes?

Ace: O-Okay… But, ummm... Whitney, there's a big axe and a bunch of other sharp stuff above me, and they keep moving if I use my hands. I-I think they're gonna fall on me…

Whitney: I know. I put them there so you won't make any unnecessary movements while you eat! Uh-oh, Master Ace… Did you just pee on the chair?

-end flashback-

Ace: … -shivers- I feel a presence…

Sanji: Eh?! A ghost? You can see ghosts?

Ace: No. –whimpers- It's even worse! I can feel something even worse!

Whitney: -giggling quietly while hiding behind the tent walls of Ace's kingdom-

Author's Note: This is actually a mash-up of both the first and second chapter of the original version. Well, when I compare this with the original first chapter, this seems more intense, but I also tried to keep it full of meaning. Also, we get subtle views of Ace's relationships with everyone in that mansion. Particularly with Whitebeard/Sir Edward.

Oh, and of course, we're already going straight to business. Mafia business, that is.

Tune in 2 weeks from now for the next chapter! Reviews are much appreciated, especially regarding quality comparisons between the original vs. this rewrite! :)