Kalifa

In a small, humble residence snuggled near the coast, a young boy called Kaito lived with his mother. One quiet mid-day, while exploring the dusty attic room, his curiosity led him to an old, tough chest concealed under a pile of forgotten coverings. With a grunt, he managing to tear open the hefty cover, revealing a selection of old mementos, discolored fabrics, and under it all, a solitary fruit unlike any he 'd seen prior to. It wasnt the vivid, swirled fruit described in the sensational stories murmured amongst seafarers; it looked, oddly, like a perfectly common, probably slightly oversized, orange, albeit with an unnervingly smooth, unblemished skin. He picked it up, feeling its strong weight in his small hand, a pale, sweet scent clinging to it. This was no common fruit, though it did not have the telltale patterns-- it was, unidentified to Kaito, an akuma-no-mi, its inactive power existing deep within, waiting for the minute it would finally stir up.