The night was deep and black, the sea wind howling like a beast prowling within the fog.
Katakuri walked across the main ship of the Big Mom Pirates — the Tartes Ship.
The lower half of his face was hidden beneath his high-collared scarf, yet the tension in his brow and the hard set of his eyes were enough for everyone to know: he was in a foul mood.
Those related to him by blood called softly, "Big Brother," while those without blood ties addressed him respectfully as "Minister of Flour." All hurriedly stepped aside as he passed.
Striding quickly, Katakuri entered the cabin and stopped before the grandest door aboard the ship — only to meet his elder brother, Perospero, coming out.
Perospero leaned casually on his candy-cane staff, his long pink tongue lolling out as always, like that of a ghoul. He sighed in exasperation as he looked at his younger brother.
"Why did you move more than half of the Tart Ship's cannonballs to Smoothie and Cracker's ships?" Katakuri demanded at once. Realizing his tone was too sharp, he softened slightly. "Big Brother, that's like pulling out the Tart Ship's fangs."
Perospero threw up his hands, somewhere between anger and helplessness.
"What could I do? When Mama's happy, she eats a lot. When she's angry, she eats even more — and we have to satisfy her immediately. If I don't empty a hold to store desserts, she'll probably tear out my bones."
Katakuri frowned deeply, now understanding his brother's dilemma.
"But nearly every ship in our fleet is already stuffed with sweets — in some cases more than weapons or ammunition. That's not a good thing, Brother."
Perospero's tone grew bitter.
"What's truly 'not a good thing' is Mama going hungry. Everything else can be discarded. Everything else is irrelevant."
Katakuri caught the resentment beneath his brother's weary voice. Shaking his head, he changed the subject.
"I heard Red-Haired Shanks came to see Mama?"
"He did — and Mama threw him out."
Perospero pulled a crumpled newspaper from his coat.
"She saw this article first. Then, when she heard Shanks wanted to talk peace, she exploded — and drove him away. It ended on a sour note."
Red-Haired Shanks had left in silence.
Charlotte Linlin had berated him as though he were one of her own subordinates — or even a disobedient son — giving not the slightest respect to another Emperor of the Sea.
At Davy Jones's door, Shanks had been politely rebuffed.
At Big Mom's, he was outright humiliated.
Even his famed composure could not withstand that. He turned and departed immediately.
Perospero had watched nervously from the side. When he later tried to persuade his mother to calm down, she, still furious, had thrown him out as well.
Katakuri took the newspaper from his brother and unfolded it. The headline, printed in bold black letters, blazed across the top:
"Davy Jones Brutally Murders Big Mom's Son — and Big Mom Dares Not Retaliate?!"
He didn't even need to read further. One glance at the byline told him enough.
"Morgans," he muttered. "That damn bird's stirring up trouble again."
Perospero gave a wry smile.
"Obviously, the World Government's fanning the flames behind him. But Mama doesn't care — she's ordered us to pick up speed."
Katakuri's eyes hardened.
"That's insane. We're already pushing our limits — any faster, and ships will start falling behind. Our formation will stretch thin…"
Perospero waved a hand toward the cabin.
"Then tell her that. What's the point of telling me? I don't make the decisions around here."
He paused, sighing again.
"And our younger brothers and sisters — they're all riled up from that damned paper too. Each of them is fighting to be the vanguard. Do they have any idea who they're about to face?"
Perospero walked off, muttering to himself. He clearly needed a moment alone.
Katakuri entered the great cabin — and found the scene his brother had described.
A crowd of younger siblings were gathered before Big Mom, shouting over one another, eager to prove themselves worthy of vengeance.
Charlotte Linlin laughed heartily, clearly pleased by their zeal.
"You all have the heart to avenge Snack — good! Then I'll grant your wish. You can all go be the vanguard!"
The children cheered wildly, boasting that they would bring back the severed heads of Davy Jones, Crocodile, or Jinbe to decorate Mama's trophy wall.
Katakuri, however, felt his scalp tighten.
Perospero's words echoed in his mind:
"Do they even know who they're up against?"
His siblings had fought battles before, but this was different.
Their next opponent wasn't some minor pirate crew or a Warlord of the Sea — it was another Emperor.
Even if Davy Jones was newly crowned, that title was never given lightly.
Katakuri realized, with dread, how far arrogance had spread among them.
Big Mom turned and spotted him, smiling broadly.
"Katakuri! Come here, come here."
Her other children greeted him respectfully.
Though outwardly stoic, Katakuri nodded to each of them before turning to address his mother.
"Mama, the vanguard is both dangerous and vital. Please, allow me to take that role. And one more thing — we can't increase speed. The fleet must maintain formation; we can't give Davy Jones any opening."
Big Mom's expression darkened.
She had only just calmed down after her morning rage — provoked by both the newspaper and Shanks's failed attempt at diplomacy. The excitement of her children's eagerness had soothed her somewhat, but now Katakuri's words snuffed that joy out.
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. The walls trembled. The air itself quivered beneath her oppressive will.
Her children fell to their knees, trembling under the crushing weight of their mother's power.
Katakuri too sank to one knee — not from fear, but out of respect.
Finally, the shaking subsided.
"Did Perospero put you up to this?" Linlin's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"It has nothing to do with Big Brother. This is my own judgment," Katakuri said firmly. "Davy Jones's forces may not match ours in size, but—"
"Enough," Big Mom snapped, cutting him off coldly. "Don't say another word. If you're so eager to steal your siblings' glory, then you will lead the vanguard. As for the fleet — when I'm dead, then you can command it."
"Mama?!" Katakuri looked up sharply. "That's not what I—"
"Enough! All of you, out! Don't interrupt my afternoon tea time!"
The children froze, glancing desperately toward Katakuri for help.
He hesitated for a moment, realizing his mother wouldn't listen — nor would she admit that Davy Jones posed any real threat.
"Yes, Mama," he said finally. "We'll leave you to your tea."
"Yes, Mama," the others echoed quickly, relieved to escape.
But Big Mom paid them no mind. She reached for a golden bell on the table and rang it sharply.
The piercing ding-ding-ding echoed through every corner of the Tartes Ship.
Instantly, everything aboard came to life — the carpets, the doors, the deck, the helm, the masts, the flags — all the Homies animated by her soul fragments bustled about, spreading the word:
"Mama is having afternoon tea!"
Never mind that it was already nighttime — her whims dictated time itself aboard this ship.
Footsteps thudded across the deck; the kitchen erupted into frantic motion. Within moments, calm returned.
As Katakuri led his siblings out of the chamber, they crossed paths with the head chef, Longarm, dressed in his signature pink uniform. He was pushing a wheeled cart piled high with mountains of desserts.
"Chef Longarm," Katakuri and the others greeted in unison, bowing respectfully.
In truth, their mother trusted this man more than her own children.
Big Mom's appetite was enormous and her tastes notoriously exacting. For nearly sixty years, only Longarm had been able to satisfy her demands — swiftly and perfectly.
He would never harm her.
Ordinary poison couldn't kill a woman with a giant's body, but fragments of a Devil Fruit could. That was why every morsel Big Mom consumed had to pass his inspection — not Perospero's, not even the Sweet Commanders'.
Only when Longarm was unavailable and Linlin fell into a food craving fit were her children permitted to prepare food for her.
Longarm gave Katakuri a solemn nod, then continued inside, personally delivering the towering sweets to Big Mom's table.
Moments later, the sound of ferocious chewing filled the room — a hideous, gluttonous cacophony, like a Sea King devouring prey whole. It was as if the ship itself might be next to be eaten.
Yet Longarm remained within, unbothered, standing quietly and smiling, as he had done countless times before — watching Big Mom relish the desserts he had made.
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