Lazily filtering through the gaps between the hatch and the wooden planks, the sunlight scattered bits of warmth across the floor.
Dust motes, illuminated by the beams of light, drifted continuously through the air, adding a touch of coziness to the somewhat rustic cabin.
In a hammock tucked away in the corner of the cabin, a handsome young man who had been out cold for an unknown length of time slowly drifted back to consciousness.
(Strange, when did I come back here?)
Staring at the familiar ceiling, Sherlock realized with astonishment that he was actually sleeping in the boys' quarters of the Going Merry.
Picking up his glasses from the table beside his bed and putting them on, Sherlock began to rack his brain to recall what had happened before.
Enacting a total crush on the Ursa Pirates, Lady Emily's confession, two Devil...
"Hmm?"
At this point in his recollection, a ripple flashed through the deep, dark eyes of a certain spectacled young man. No matter how hard Sherlock tried to remember, he could not recall a single detail of what had transpired after he saw those two Devil Fruits.
If human memory were compared to a strung pearl necklace, Sherlock felt as though the pearl representing that specific segment of his memory had been forcibly ripped away by someone, leaving behind a hollow void.
(Just what on earth is going on?)
Sherlock pushed up his glasses, his gaze flickering. This subtle sensation—knowing full well that he had lost something yet completely unable to remember what it was—plunged the Sorcerer, who was accustomed to having everything under his control, into a rare state of anxiety and unease.
After closing his eyes and pondering for a long time without coming to any conclusion, Sherlock decisively put the matter out of his mind for the time being. With a simple thought, his body slowly rose, and he floated up the vertical ladder and out through the exit of the boys' quarters.
Ever since mastering the highly practical and low-stamina-consuming ability of flight, Sherlock was sometimes too lazy to even lift his legs to walk.
Stepping onto the deck, Sherlock looked around and found that the Going Merry was currently docked in a very bustling harbor. Compared to the massive, heavily armed vessels surrounding her, the "petite" Merry looked like nothing more than a harmless little lamb.
Judging by the pirate ships nearby flying both Jolly Rogers and penguin flags, as well as the vicious, sinister-looking thugs crowding the docks, it appeared they had already arrived at their destination—Hannabal.
(It looks like this harbor is specially meant for pirate ships. Heh, as expected of a lawless land.)
With withdrawing his gaze from two pirate crews engaged in an intense clash on the shore, Sherlock composed himself and looked toward a certain moss-head who was sound asleep against the mast, cradling his three beloved swords.
Zoro seemed to feel the Sorcerer's gaze and slowly opened his bleary, sleepy eyes.
"Sherlock? Yo, you're finally awake."
Zoro let out a yawn and smirked at the spectacled youth. "The way you collapsed the night before last was incredibly sudden. We thought you'd caught whatever Lady Emily had."
"The night before last? Did I sleep through a full day and night again?" Hearing this, a trace of unease flashed across Sherlock's face.
Because he suddenly realized... wasn't the frequency of his fainting spells becoming a bit too high? Furthermore, every single time he blacked out, it was either right after defeating some terrifying enemy, or he would wake up to find they had arrived at a brand-new location.
It was like this when they first entered the Grand Line, it was like this when they arrived at Skypiea, and coming to Hannabal was no exception. Sherlock even began to wonder if, in the future when the Straw Hat Pirates finally set foot on the legendary Final Island, Laugh Tale, he, the Sorcerer, would follow convention and just "pass out" right on cue.
Shaking his head to dispel these stray thoughts, Sherlock asked the green-haired swordsman for the exact details of his collapse.
"What? You don't remember anything that happened?"
Zoro frowned, recalling the scene for a brief moment before continuing. "Back then, Lady Emily was showing us the two Devil Fruits she had hidden away. Then, you lightly touched one of them, and then..."
"And then I just fainted?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Yeah, just like that." Zoro nodded. Honestly, he found it quite baffling too. Reasonably speaking, a Devil Fruit user couldn't eat a second one, but that didn't mean they couldn't even touch it, right?
Sherlock's expression remained unchanged, his fingers lightly stroking his chin as his mind raced with calculations.
(Was it really as simple as just touching that Devil Fruit? Wait, could I have... at that moment...)
A wild, utterly insane thought flashed through Sherlock's mind. With a shift of his will, his consciousness quickly swept through the Mirror Space he used for storing items...
(This...)
Upon seeing the object, Sherlock's entire body shuddered slightly. Though the movement was incredibly subtle, for a Sorcerer whose demeanor was always perfectly calm and collected, it was enough to show just how profoundly shocked he was on the inside!
"Hey, Zoro," Sherlock said in a perfectly calm voice.
"Huh? Do you have something else to ask?"
"The Devil Fruit I touched back then... was it light purple and shaped like a cantaloupe?"
"Yeah, how did you know? Did you remember something?" Zoro grew puzzled. Although Sherlock looked no different from usual, the swordsman's intuition told him that something was very off about the man right now.
"Yeah... something like that," Sherlock muttered, pushing up his glasses. The spotless lenses reflected two stark white gleams that obscured his eyes, making it impossible to guess what he was actually thinking.
He hadn't suddenly remembered anything, of course. It was simply that Sherlock had spotted a Devil Fruit sitting inside his Mirror Space.
To be precise, it was a mirrored replica of a Devil Fruit.
(I actually mirrored a Devil Fruit???)
(Can Devil Fruits even be mirrored???)
Sherlock had figured out the specific capabilities and limitations of his Mirror Replication a long time ago. It could replicate non-living objects such as flintlocks, bombs, blankets, and dinner knives. The Sorcerer would always possess a unique connection to these replicated objects, allowing his mind to freely manipulate them—shifting, enlarging, or shrinking them at will. To maintain this connection, however, Sherlock had to continuously expend his stamina.
Mirror Replication could also copy food, though Sherlock was well aware that replicated food was completely tasteless. Furthermore, once the replication's duration expired, a full stomach would revert right back to being starving.
So, thinking about it closely, if a Devil Fruit was treated merely as an extremely foul-tasting food that could only be consumed once, mirroring one didn't actually seem all that surprising.
But what shocked Sherlock the most was that he felt absolutely no connection to this supposed mirrored replica, nor was it draining a single drop of his stamina. It was as if this bizarre fruit with its strange swirls actually existed for real in the physical world!
(The drain of the Mirror-Mirror Fruit is indeed substantial, but an ordinary Mirror Replication shouldn't be severe enough to cause me to faint and suffer a temporary memory lapse. What exactly is this? A permanently existing mirrored entity? A realistic illusion?)
Sherlock's eyes flickered as an absolute storm raged in his chest, his mind racing through the possibilities.
Although everyone knew that no two identical Devil Fruits could ever exist in the world, the more the spectacled young man thought about it, the more his conclusions leaned toward the absolute wildest outcome!
(I wonder if eating this Devil Fruit would still grant an ability. If it does, what will happen to the one in Lady Emily's possession?)
(There's still too little information to deduce a proper conclusion. Unless... I find a guinea pig to try it out?)
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