The gray haze on the horizon was pierced by a few rays of dawn light.
The Kuri market had not yet fully awakened.
The vendor selling red bean soup had just set up his stove, the charcoal crackling, the morning mist still carrying the earthy scent of soil.
A drawn-out, strange cry tore through this tranquility.
"Eee—yo!"
The heavy wooden door of the shogun's residence was violently smashed open by brute force.
Kozuki Oden, wearing oversized wooden clogs, charged into the street like a wild boar in heat.
If he had simply rushed out, it might have been one thing, but his current attire had completely transcended the bounds of human understanding.
Yesterday, he had still retained a loincloth to barely cover his shame.
This morning, even that palm-sized piece of cloth had been torn into thin strips by his own hands, fluttering in the wind behind him.
A burly man over three meters tall, with bulging muscles, stood stark naked right in the center of the market.
Truly embodying the phrase "naked I came, naked I shall depart."
"Come on! Let art bloom in the morning breeze!"
Oden raised his hands above his head, like an overloaded fluttering moth, and began jumping wildly on the spot.
His iconic large topknot came loose from his violent head shaking, and amidst his disheveled hair, he plunged headfirst into a muddy puddle left by the recent rain.
Splat.
Mud splattered everywhere.
A large chunk of black mud landed in the steaming pot of red bean soup.
The vendor, holding a ladle, stared with eyes nearly popping out of his head, mouth half-open, curses stuck in his throat.
Oden rolled frantically in the muddy water, his thick, hairy legs kicking alternately, covering his entire body in muck.
He grinned widely, revealing all his molars, wearing an idiotic, foolish smile only a simpleton would have.
Drool stretched in long strands from his chin, dripping into the mud pit.
While swinging his hips, he shouted in a rhythmic, raspy voice, "Jump! Twist! Don't stop!"
"Is... is that Lord Oden?"
"Heavens, he tore... it all up!"
"Yesterday it was just a loincloth, how did it... Has he gone mad?"
"It's too painful to watch..." An old woman selling tofu tightly covered her granddaughter's eyes with rough hands, pulling her cart back repeatedly, looking at him with more aversion than if he were the plague.
Several young samurai, who had originally gripped their sword hilts, ready to respond to Oden's call at any moment.
Now, their hands loosened from their swords, clutching their stomachs as they began to retch and gag from sheer physical revulsion.
Where was the peerless swordsman who had once sailed with the Pirate King and slain countless formidable foes?
News quickly spread like wildfire, flying swiftly to the Kuri shogun's residence.
"No... impossible! How could Lord Oden do such a thing!"
Kin'emon slammed the table and stood up abruptly, causing the teacup on the table to jump.
Kanjuro, Kikunojo, Raizō, and the others exchanged glances, their faces filled with panic and worry.
Ashura Dōji took a large gulp of wine and said in a low voice, "Let's go see for ourselves. Someone must have framed him!"
The group hurried to the market. When they pushed through the crowd of onlookers and saw the wildly writhing body in the mud pit, these iron-willed men's eyes reddened in unison.
"Lord Oden!"
Kin'emon clutched a wide purple haori in his hand, his voice choked with blood-tearing anguish. He scrambled into the muddy ground, his knees slamming heavily into the muck.
Mud splattered across his face, but he paid it no mind, raising the haori high with both hands in a desperate attempt to cover the unbearable sight of that body.
"Lord Oden, please put on your clothes!"
Kin'emon's tears burst forth like a broken dam.
"How long must you endure this humiliation? How can you believe the words of a vile scoundrel like Orochi? Draw your sword! We, the Nine Red Scabbards, are willing to follow you to the Flower Capital, even if it means being torn to pieces!"
Raizō knelt behind him, pounding his forehead against the ground.
Kikunojo covered his face, weeping bitterly, his shoulders shaking violently.
Each word was a tear of blood, each phrase a stab to the heart.
The dancing in the mud pit stopped.
Oden tilted his massive head, staring at the weeping Kin'emon kneeling before him with dead-fish eyes.
In his mind, there was no sense of duty to country or family—only irritation at having his movements interrupted.
He took a step forward.
His large hand reached out, not to take the haori, but to wrap around Kin'emon's neck, forcibly dragging the loyal retainer to his feet.
Kin'emon, his face smeared with mud and tears, looked up in stunned confusion.
What met him was Oden's grinning face, pressed uncomfortably close.
"Kin'emon! Why the long face!"
Oden opened his mouth wide, his breath reeking of foul odor and mud, and began singing loudly in a horribly off-key voice.
"Dance with me! Sway with me! Let's sway together~~"
Deafening, demonic noise echoed over the marketplace.
Kin'emon's head buzzed, completely bewildered.
"My lord? What are you... saying?"
"Move your hips, you fool!"
Oden's free hand slapped Kin'emon's buttocks hard, producing a sharp, crisp sound.
Stimulated by this deeply humiliating act, Kin'emon struggled desperately. "No... Lord Oden, come to your senses! Wano Country is being destroyed by Orochi!"
He tried to drape the haori over Oden's shoulders.
This action completely violated the highest taboo of Oden's current personality.
Kotoamatsukami's subconscious defense mechanism activated.
Anyone who tried to stop him from dancing and stripping was now a mortal enemy.
Oden's dull eyes suddenly widened, erupting with terrifying ferocity.
His thick right leg shot out with a piercing whistle through the air, holding nothing back.
Thud!
A dull sound of impact exploded.
The kick landed squarely on Kin'emon's chest.
Even with Armament Haki defense, it seemed feeble against Kozuki Oden's monstrous strength.
Kin'emon didn't even have time to scream before the crisp sound of breaking ribs echoed clearly.
He was sent flying backward like a cannonball.
He crashed through three vegetable stalls, snapped a wooden pillar thick enough for two men to embrace, and finally slammed into a pile of discarded wooden crates, sending clouds of dust billowing into the air.
"Kin'emon!"
Raizō and Kikunojo were horrified, scrambling over to rescue him.
The entire marketplace fell silent.
Oden stood with his hands on his hips, brazenly pointing at the unconscious, blood-vomiting Kin'emon and cursing loudly.
"A bunch of art-ignorant idiots!"
"I was born to dance! What do I care about the fate of the country? What do I care about my family's lives or deaths?"
"If Orochi tells me to dance, I'll dance! Anyone who dares ruin my dancing mood, I'll kick them to death!"
"From today on, Wano Country doesn't need a shogun—it needs a Dance King!"
He turned around, his thick fingers sweeping over the trembling civilians around him.
"What are you all staring at? No one is allowed to leave! Applaud for me! Cheer! I'll dance until the end of time!"
With those words, he began flailing his limbs again, like a crazed wild boar, splashing joyfully in the largest mud puddle.
Muddy water flew high into the air, accompanied by his utterly senseless, maniacal laughter.
Raizō carried the unconscious Kin'emon on his back, his knuckles white and blood dripping from between his clenched fingers.
The collapse of faith often happens in an instant.
The watching citizens retreated one after another.
The last glimmer of hope in their eyes was brutally crushed.
The prestige the Kozuki Clan had accumulated over centuries, in just this single morning, collapsed like a breached dam, flooding away with no chance of recovery.
On the shaded side of the third-floor roof of the sake house diagonally across from the market, a figure cloaked in a purple rōnin haori sat quietly.
Kane drained the last sip of wine from his cup, the sharpness of the liquor washing over his palate.
Watching the tragic yet farcical spectacle below, a faint, appreciative smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"Truly spectacular."
Kane whispered, his voice audible only to himself.
The sharpest weapon in this world was never something like a Black Blade.
It was dignity, thoroughly rotted and trampled from within.
When a nation's heroes become a joke, that nation is only one official decree away from being taken over.
"Kin'emon, if you were truly loyal, you should draw your sword and kill him right now."
"That would at least preserve the Kozuki Clan's last pitiful shred of face."
Unfortunately, these samurai were too bound by rules.
Blind loyalty could sometimes be more fatal than betrayal.
He stood up, casually placing the cup on the roof ridge.
The farce had concluded, the actors performed flawlessly, and the audience reacted fervently.
As the director, he was quite satisfied.
Kane's gaze swept past the chaos of Kuri, settling on the distant Flower Capital.
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