Tatsuki exhaled a thick ring of smoke. Through the haze, his gaze was like he was looking at an idiot.
"Bloodshed? Your so-called 'no bloodshed' is watching Kaido's factories rise from the ground in Udon?"
"Watching Sea Stone being continuously mined and processed into shackles to lock up those who resist?"
"Watching Orochi's army use the hard-earned money of the people under your rule to purchase batch after batch of modern cannons?"
With every sentence Tatsuki spoke, Oden's face grew a shade paler.
It wasn't that he didn't know these things, he had simply subconsciously chosen to escape and ignore them.
"No... impossible..."
"Nothing is impossible."
Tatsuki's voice was as cold as ice, every word hammering against Oden's near-collapsing nerves.
"During these years you've been dancing, Kaido's Beasts Pirates have already built weapon production lines in Wano Country. They aren't waiting for you, they are stalling for time."
"Once their factories are all completed and their army is fully refitted, even if you rally the samurai of the entire country, you'll be nothing more than target practice for their new weapons."
Oden's body swayed. For the first time, Enma and Ame no Habakiri felt incredibly heavy in his hands.
"No! I believe in Orochi! As long as I... as long as I dance for four more years... that is the agreement."
His voice was already carrying an uncontrollable tremor.
The conviction he had held for several years was cracking inch by inch under Tatsuki's ruthless words.
"Agreement?"
Tatsuki let out a snort of laughter as if he had heard the most ridiculous joke in the world.
The laughter grew louder, sounding exceptionally piercing in the quiet night.
"Hahahaha! Agreement! Oden, how old are you this year? Three? Or has your brain been sucked dry by Enma?"
Tatsuki approached step by step, and the overwhelming sense of pressure forced Oden to instinctively want to retreat.
"You've dealt with pirates your whole life, yet you actually believe the verbal promise of two country-stealing thieves?"
"Admit it, Oden."
"You're not doing this to save people, you're just running away."
"You're afraid that once war breaks out, there will be casualties. You're afraid to take on the responsibility of a Shogun. You're still that selfish brat who only wants to go on adventures at sea and doesn't want to deal with the mess at home."
"You use 'self-sacrifice' to move yourself, feeling like you've suffered a great injustice, feeling like you're particularly noble."
"But in my eyes..."
Tatsuki's footsteps stopped. He reached out and flicked his fingertips, which had just touched the blades, as if brushing off something filthy.
"This self-important display of yours is disgusting."
It was as if a thunderclap had exploded in Oden's mind.
At this moment, his conviction collapsed.
No one had ever stripped away his disguise so nakedly, tearing apart his ridiculous pride.
Even Toki, even his retainers, would only offer subtle advice.
Running away...
Am I running away?
Oden staggered back two steps, and with a clang, the twin blades fell limply to the ground.
He looked at his hands. There was no blood from killing enemies on them, only the mud he had stained them with while dancing.
"Then... what should I do?"
This man, who once feared nothing in the world, was now as lost as a child, looking up at the mysterious ronin before him.
Tatsuki looked at Oden's eyes, which had lost all their luster, and smiled. "What should you do?"
Tatsuki's voice suddenly became soft, carrying a strange magnetic quality, like a demon whispering in one's ear, full of seduction.
"You're tired, Oden. Since you can't make the right choice, since your 'true heart' only leads you to make mistakes..."
"Then let me give you a hand."
Tatsuki slowly lifted his head.
In the darkness, a bizarre change occurred in his eyes. The original black pupils instantly faded, replaced by a field of crimson blood-red.
Three black tomoe spun wildly within the blood-red eyes before finally connecting together, forming a complex geometric pattern resembling a shuriken.
Tatsuki approached, his steps rhythmic, the clack of his wooden sandals on the floorboards monotonous and irritating.
Oden's knees went weak.
This samurai, who had once sung loudly on Roger's ship, lost the courage to raise his sword again in the face of this cruel analysis of reality.
"Since you love being a fool so much." Tatsuki's voice was steady, without emotion, merely stating objective facts.
"Since you wishfully believe that dancing alone can resolve all disputes."
He stopped less than a foot away from Oden.
"Then I shall fulfill your wish."
A blood-red glow lit up the dim corridor.
Three tomoe spun rapidly on a crimson background, connecting end to end to form an eerie four-pointed windmill.
Kotoamatsukami!
A spiritual power erupted, using Tatsuki's eyes as a medium.
This power was formless and intangible. It bypassed Armament Haki's defense mechanisms, ignored physical toughness, and struck directly at the deepest part of the subconscious mind.
The moment Oden looked up, he stared straight into those blood-red pupils.
There were no clashing armies before his eyes. Nor was there the torment of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
Only a vast, hazy white light.
Deep within the white light, a hand was dismantling his life of over thirty years. The honor of a samurai, the responsibility of a daimyo, memories of sailing, and his affection for his wife and children. All the cornerstones that built the persona of "Kozuki Oden" were forcibly extracted, shattered, and reconstructed by this hand.
Resistance mechanisms activated accordingly. The Conqueror's Haki belonging to a top-tier powerhouse attempted to strike back.
But it was meaningless.
Kotoamatsukami's logic exists at an absolute priority level. As long as the spiritual threshold is not higher than the caster's, and as long as one has not stepped into the "Domain of Gods," once the modification command is implanted, it can never be revoked.
Tatsuki stared at those bloodshot eyes. His voice echoed directly in the depths of Oden's mind through a spiritual bridge, every word turning into an irreversible principle.
"You are nothing but a fool fit only for dancing."
As the first command fell, memories of "bushido" in Oden's mind collapsed. What filled the void was a fanatical worship of ridiculous dance steps.
"The survival of the nation has nothing to do with you. Wano Country's future, for all eternity, is not within your consideration."
The second command struck.
The sense of responsibility as a daimyo was wiped clean. He was no longer the son of a Shogun who bore the fate of a nation. Entrusting a country's safety to the moral standards of an enemy was a strategic failure that even the Jailer Beasts of Impel Down wouldn't commit. Tatsuki used Kotoamatsukami to correct this logical paradox for him.
"You don't care about the life or death of your family either. Kozuki Toki, Momonosuke, Hiyori—to you, these names are not worth anything."
The third command severed the last bonds of family.
"Dancing naked to please those around you is the entire meaning of your life. You were born to do this."
The final brand was seared deep into Oden's soul.
As the technique ended, the windmill pattern faded, and the blood-red eyes returned to normal black.
The wind rose again.
Clang!
Metal hit the wooden boards with a crisp sound.
The famous swords Ame no Habakiri and Enma were casually tossed aside by their master.
Oden stood where he was. He, who had been twitching with humiliation and anger just moments ago, now had eerily smooth facial lines. The focus in his pupils dispersed, and the highlights went out completely.
From now on, Oden's life goal formed a perfect loop—dancing.
If anyone tried to wake him with national duty, he would instinctively judge them as being jealous of his peerless dancing skills.
"Smile."
Tatsuki raised his right hand, his index and middle fingers touching, letting out a crisp snap.
Snap.
The snap was the activation switch.
Oden's facial muscles began to pull in an unconventional way. The corners of his lips split to the sides, revealing a large area of gums. His eyes narrowed into two slits, and a few drops of murky water seeped from the corners of his eyes.
"Heh... hehe... dance... dance..."
Indistinct syllables flowed from his mouth, and saliva dripped from the corners of his lips onto his sturdy pectoral muscles.
Immediately, this body that had once dominated the New World began to twist very consciously.
No musical accompaniment. No audience watching.
In this dim courtyard, accompanied by the croaking of frogs in the distance, Oden twisted his waist, slapped his butt, and repeated the ridiculous movements he had performed in the market during the day.
He danced with absolute devotion and joy. He firmly believed that this was his life's only pursuit. Whoever stopped him from dancing was his sworn enemy. Never mind Kaido and Orochi, even if Roger were resurrected on the spot or Whitebeard personally came to Kuri, they could forget about stopping him from twisting his waist and shaking his hips in the mud.
This was Tatsuki's unique philosophy. Rather than letting this idiot live every day in the pain of self-moved delusion, it was better to help him find his true destination in one step.
Doing a "great deed" while also resolving the issue of the country's legitimate heir without shedding blood.
What a "righteous" act.