One Piece: Dungeon Shop. Scamming Garp, Reward: Eight-Tails Jinchuriki-Chapter 346: Katakuri’s Defection

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Chapter 346: Katakuri’s Defection

The shadows of the tavern felt like a refuge for Charlotte Katakuri. He was a man who lived in the dark, a man whose entire existence was built on a foundation of "perfection." He sat like a gargoyle, his bloodshot eyes the only visible part of his face above the heavy layers of his scarf.

He watched the Whitebeard Pirates. They were laughing. They were messy. They were bleeding.

But they were together.

Katakuri’s mind drifted back to Totto Land—to the "Whole Cake" palace that smelled of sugar and felt like a prison. He thought of Big Mom, the woman who called herself their mother but saw them only as extensions of her own power. In her world, you were either an asset or a liability.

He thought of Brulee. He remembered the day she had been attacked because of his arrogance. The image of her slashed face flashed in his mind, a wound he had carried in his heart for decades.

I became a monster so they wouldn’t have to, he thought. I became ’Perfect’ so no one would ever laugh at us again.

But looking at the Cursed Children—girls who were actual monsters by their world’s standards—he saw them laughing. They weren’t hiding their eyes. They weren’t pretending to be something else.

"Even a monster... can be loved for what they are?"

His voice was a mere vibration against the fabric of his scarf. A wave of bitterness, sharp as a needle, pierced his heart. He was the "Perfect Masterpiece" of the Big Mom Pirates, a man with a billion-Beri bounty, yet he felt smaller than the little red-eyed girl eating a piece of meat.

Crack.

The oak table under his hand splintered as his grip tightened unconsciously.

"It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Maintaining that facade."

The voice was light, almost airy, but it pierced through Katakuri’s internal turmoil like a thunderbolt. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

His [Observation Haki] screamed. Future Sight! In his mind’s eye, he saw the future—or tried to. But instead of the next few seconds of reality, he saw only a vast, white mist. Nothingness.

"Who?!"

Katakuri whipped around, his arm instantly turning into a thick, viscous mass of mochi coated in pitch-black [Armament Haki]. He was ready to level the tavern.

But his hand froze halfway.

A silver-haired youth was already sitting across from him. Blake hadn’t made a sound. There was no ripple in the air, no sign of movement. He was just... there.

On the table between them sat an elegant porcelain tray. On it were three freshly baked donuts, their golden crusts drizzled with a thick, dark chocolate glaze and shimmering with sugar crystals. The steam rising from them carried a scent so sweet it was almost intoxicating.

"Relax, Katakuri," Blake said, leaning back and taking a sip of his coffee. "You look like you’re about to burst a blood vessel. Your blood sugar is low, and your mood is even lower."

Blake gestured toward the tray.

"Try one. I had the chef add triple the sugar. I hear you have a bit of a sweet tooth."

Katakuri stared at Blake. This was the man who had domesticated Kaido. The man who held the keys to other worlds.

"What are you planning?" Katakuri’s voice was a low rumble. "You don’t just give away ’treats’ for free."

"I’m a salesman, Katakuri. And a salesman hates to see a customer who’s clearly in the wrong market," Blake said, picking up a donut and taking a bite. He chewed slowly, looking Katakuri right in the eye.

"How long has it been since your back touched the ground? Ten years? Twenty?"

Blake’s eyes narrowed, seemingly piercing through the scarf, the skin, and the bone.

"How long has it been since you ate in front of someone? Since you actually smiled without worrying if your ’monstrous’ mouth would scare your siblings?"

"Is this the ’protection’ you wanted? To be a god to your brothers while living as a slave to your mother’s expectations?"

Each word was a scalpel, peeling back the layers of Katakuri’s soul. The Sweet Commander’s breathing grew heavy, the fabric of his scarf fluttering with each ragged exhale. The air around him began to warp with the sheer pressure of his Haki.

"You... you know nothing of my family," Katakuri hissed, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

"I know enough," Blake replied, unfazed by the killing intent. "I know that in Big Mom’s world, family is a transaction. A ’Soul Tax’ paid in blood and loyalty. If Brulee wasn’t useful, if she was born with red eyes like those girls... do you think Mama would be stroking her head right now?"

Blake leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Or would she be ’purifying’ her for the sake of the collection?"

Boom.

The word—"purify"—the same word the villain in the dungeon had used, hit Katakuri like a physical blow.

He saw his life for what it was. A long, perfect lie. He saw the cold halls of Whole Cake Island and the terrifying, hunger-maddened eyes of his mother.

His killing intent collapsed. The tension left his body so suddenly he felt dizzy. He slumped back into his chair—his back still an inch from the wood, a habit too deep to break, but the effort was visible now.

He looked at the donuts. The forbidden, sweet pleasure that was the only joy he had ever allowed himself.

"What else... can I do?" Katakuri asked, his voice hollow. "She is my mother. She is an Emperor. We are hers."

"You are only ’hers’ as long as you believe the door is locked," Blake said, pushing the tray a fraction closer.

"In this tavern, the door is wide open. You just have to decide if you’re a masterpiece... or a man."

Katakuri looked at the donuts, then at the girl on Whitebeard’s shoulder. He reached out, his gloved hand trembling slightly, and picked up a donut.

He didn’t hide. He didn’t build a house of mochi to cover his shame.

He simply took a bite.

And for the first time in his life, the sweetness didn’t taste like a secret. It tasted like a beginning.

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