Streusen

Stout, rounded, and elderly, Streusen carries a beak-shaped nose, big lips, and a heavy mustache that twists into a clover at each tip. He dresses in a pink button-down under a pale apron, dark pink trousers, a yellow scarf, and a huge feathered hat, keeping a stopwatch clipped at his left hip. Back at twenty-nine he wore no mustache and sported purple hair beneath a wide dark blue hat, paired with a buttoned shirt and a grayish-green cape. At forty-eight little had shifted apart from some added weight that filled out his face.

Operatic song is his passion, and he launches into deep, flowing tunes while cooking or marking big events, sometimes welling up as he does. The words of his songs cast life as cruel and laden with hardship, urging people toward sweet cakes for comfort. His care extends to both Totto Land's residents and his crewmates, since he reflexively softened the toppling Whole Cake Chateau into cake to break everyone's fall, and he declines to put knives in children's hands. As a young man he proved power-hungry and quick-witted, sensing that the child Linlin could restore him to standing, a fascination sparked by the cruel amusement he took in one of her terrible deeds. He carries a trademark laugh as well, a stretched-out Kukukuku.

Streusen leads with real authority, steering whole brigades of cooks to build an intricate wedding cake and molding Linlin into the pirate she grew to be. His resolve runs strong enough to stay awake under a burst of her Supreme King Haki, and though he nears a hundred years old he keeps notable endurance and quickness, surviving a hard fall and dashing along castle walls. With over six decades of cooking behind him, he stands as the only chef able to rebuild a ruined wedding cake, and even Totto Land's finest head cooks regard him with awe. He sings opera with skill and fights as a capable swordsman, once shearing the mountainous roof off the transformed Whole Cake Chateau with a single swing of his cutlass. His Devil Fruit, the Kuku Kuku no Mi, ranks as a Paramecia and lets him turn whatever he runs his blade through into food of his pick, fare that nourishes but, in Big Mom's words, tastes poor, and lets him recast dangerous falling masses into something soft like sponge cake.