God Indeed Favors the Riddler

In the little woods on the edge of Gotham.

The light of the desk lamp cast God enjoying his steak like a classical oil painting.

"Eating steak in a place like this?"

Ian was roasting the theatricality of the scene like mad in his head. Sure enough, showing off was a traditional art invented by God—of course, his face had already switched to one hundred and twenty thousand percent respect.

The change in expression was smooth as hell.

Knowing when to bend and when to stand tall had always been one of Ian's fine virtues.

"Oh, you finally came!" Ian rubbed his hands together, his tone eager and wronged, like a child who had suffered a world-shattering injustice and finally seen his parent.

"I'm almost dying from how wronged I feel! You have no idea, Lucifer went way too far this time! He pinched out a fake uncle and messed my timeline into a complete disaster!"

"Does he have some problem with me? If he does, he can just say it. Why use this kind of method—" Ian put his tea-art skills on full display.

Unfortunately, the effect was not especially outstanding.

"Oh? Is that so?" God set down his knife and fork, picked up a napkin, and elegantly wiped the corner of his mouth. The look he gave Ian carried the faintest trace of a smile.

He did not immediately respond to Ian's complaint. Instead, he raised a hand and gestured at the empty chair opposite him.

"Sit down and talk."

This was clearly not a request. So Ian immediately sat down obediently across from him, back ramrod straight, hands on his knees, looking like a model listener.

"How about a medium-well filet?"

God lightly snapped his fingers again.

Then, on the empty table before Ian, a plate of