Chapter 156: Date Battle Royale! Miss Death!
Ian slipped through the shattered floor-to-ceiling window like a nimble cat.
Not even a speck of dust marred his black hoodie. He brushed off imaginary dust from his hands and flashed an overly bright smile at the stunned Officer Beckett.
“No bombs! This is the rich part of town! Demolition experts don’t like to frequent places like this!”
As an evil god.
Ian’s disadvantage of not growing eyeballs in his mouth had now become apparent. He thought his method of handling it was foolproof, unaware that when he smiled, his oral environment betrayed him completely.
“????????”
Officer Beckett stared intently at the suspicious debris between Ian’s lips and teeth, which resembled residue from some plastic explosive, glinting ominously under the kitchen light.
Of course.
Asking a materialist to believe someone could eat a bomb was still too much. Shocked beyond belief, Officer Beckett hesitated for a moment before moving around Ian to the window.
“No, where did you just pop out from?” She swore she had checked outside the window just now; at the eighteenth floor, there was nothing but a bare glass curtain wall and an air conditioner unit platform.
“I have claustrophobia, and I need to breathe some fresh air from time to time. Mentally ill people are like this. If you don’t believe me, you can ask the deceased Dr. Hannibal.”
Ian patted the imaginary dust off his hoodie and slowly tidied his cuffs. His dazzling golden eyes held a bizarre shrewdness under the light.
“Are you kidding me! This is the eighteenth floor! The eighteenth floor!” Kate felt a throbbing in her temples; the height of eighteen stories made her stomach clench. Below the air conditioner unit platform, which was less than half a square meter, there were no handles to hang from, only two rusty fixing screws.
“I was just under the air conditioner unit platform. It’s the optimal golden seat for breathing fresh air.” Ian mimed holding two screws with his hands.
At the same time, he was doing his utmost to maintain his lie, “Hot air rises, cold air sinks. The airflow from the air conditioner unit creates a mini convection system there.”
“The position where I was hanging was precisely at the terminal of the downdraft, which also means it reached thermodynamic equilibrium. Hanging there is cooler than using the air conditioner!”
Ian truly wanted to protect his identity as an ordinary citizen of Metropolis. The police had promised him a certificate for the last robbery case; he couldn’t let the police know he was a superhero before then. After all, in the minds of most people in this world, it was natural for superheroes to do good deeds.
A certificate?
Not even an electronic certificate!
“Even a beagle couldn’t stand there!” The female officer Kate felt her sanity melting like ice cream. She stared intently at Ian’s innocent face.
A kind of indescribable complex emotion churned in her chest.
“Listen, although I’m a police officer, it doesn’t mean I don’t have any knowledge of physics. Do you think you can fool me by just spouting some professional terms?”
She spoke word by word, each syllable seeming to be squeezed from between her teeth, “I’ve never seen anyone breathe fresh air in such a manner!”
It was hard to say how terrified the female officer was right now. She knew Ian’s mental state might not be very good, but a mentally ill person shouldn’t be as uncanny as he was just now!
“Oh, well, you’re seeing it today. Congratulations, Officer Beckett, you’ve gained a little more experience. You’re welcome.” Ian nodded without changing his expression.
He was determined to stick to his story, no matter what.
“Fortunately, I became a police officer, not a psychiatrist.”
Kate felt a wave of dizziness. She took a deep breath and leaned out the window again—this time, she examined the platform more carefully. Two rusty screws were abruptly embedded in the concrete exterior wall, nearly a meter from the edge of the platform. A terrible suspicion formed in her mind.
“You’re a superhuman, right?” Kate didn’t want to speculate and guess like this, but the bizarre scene that just happened could only be forcibly rationalized with this explanation.
Upon hearing this.
Ian took several steps back.
“Superhuman!?”
His voice suddenly rose, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, and he reacted instantly, “Who are you calling a superhuman?! I can hang outside just because I’m working out!”
“Working out! Do you understand?! Don’t dismiss my dedication and sweat with a casual ‘superhuman’!” As he spoke, to prove he had indeed been working out, Ian reached into his pocket.
Metenolone, Oxandrolone, Stanozolol, Boldenone, Trenbolone, Nandrolone Phenylpropionate… Ian pulled out dozens of bottles and cans from his not-so-large pocket.
How was this not proof of effort? Most fitness enthusiasts would only use nine dragons pulling the coffin, but Ian was pulling a hundred dragons, ten times more dedicated than professional fitness enthusiasts!
“What in the world are these things!” Kate grabbed a bottle labeled “Bone Density Enhancer (Elephant Grade)” and found that the ingredient list on the back stated “Contains 10% probability of fatality.”
She shook the bottle, and the pills inside made a suspicious clattering sound. Even though she desperately didn’t want to believe Ian, she had to convince herself that the young man was indeed working out.
An ordinary person, let alone from their pockets, couldn’t pull out so many technologically advanced tricks even from a bank safe.
“Science, dear Officer Beckett, it’s all science.” Ian said seriously, secretly sweeping a bottle labeled “For Animal Use Only” back into his pocket.
“What’s wrong with an ordinary citizen hanging outside a window after systematic training and hard work? If you don’t believe me, I’ll send you videos tonight of two hundred fitness coaches who chose to hang outside windows after being caught cheating—only ninety-six of them died, less than half. I can do what others can do.”
“I wasn’t even cheating just now, so I have much more stamina than them!”
Ian’s logic was as impeccable as ever. Even though Beckett, like others who knew Ian, felt something was strange, she still couldn’t find a way to refute him.
She was speechless, but her professional instincts were still struggling.
“What about the bomb? I saw you pull a bomb out of the microwave with my own eyes.” Beckett, gradually clarifying her thoughts, still firmly believed in the image she had witnessed earlier.
In response, Ian let out a perfunctory scoff, channeling Method Acting, “Officer Beckett, you should also go see a doctor. How could a bomb be pulled out of a microwave?”
“You only get delicious chicken breast from a microwave. Who would heat and eat a bomb in a microwave? Dr. Hannibal just likes to buy chicken breast shaped like C4 to pretend.”
He emphasized his point again and, without giving Beckett a chance to look suspicious, he preemptively scrutinized the tall, long-legged female officer with the look one gives to a mentally ill person.
“Hah, you think I believe there’s chicken breast shaped like C4 in this world? I…” Beckett opened her mouth, but before she could finish, she saw Ian had already found the same product on Amazon using his mobile phone.
“…”
This completely rendered Beckett speechless. She didn’t know Ian had the all-powerful black box, so she could only maintain a stiff expression, falling into a silence where she might have been questioning the fantastical nature of the world.
The air in the kitchen solidified to the point it could be cut and served. Officer Beckett and Ian’s standoff was a test of endurance; only the sound of the water purifier echoed through the kitchen.
Amidst this bizarre atmosphere.
Hurried footsteps sounded from the kitchen doorway.
“Beckett!”
Detective Kevin Ryan appeared at the doorway, a few beads of sweat still on his forehead. He had clearly just returned from outside and was unaware of the crisis that had occurred here. The Irish-American man looked at the two silent individuals and keenly sensed that the atmosphere was not right, but he chose to report the main business first.
“The tech team has located the marked area on the map and confirmed there is someone hiding inside.” He lowered his voice, his eyes holding a hint of excitement and tension.
“It’s a very hidden cabin… From its structure, it’s likely a long-term hideout for Jack the Ripper.” This was clearly based on the map Ian had dug up for information screening. Beckett’s eyes immediately sharpened, and she quickly adjusted her demeanor, as if the argument with Ian had never happened.
“Excellent. Don’t alert him. We’ll assemble a small team to apprehend him. This serial killer who has been active for years has finally shown his hand.”
Beckett said crisply, walking quickly towards the living room to retrieve her bulletproof vest from her gear bag.
Her movements were swift and decisive, the buckle of the bulletproof vest clicking shut, instantly separating her from her personal emotions and transforming her back into the decisive homicide detective.
Ian stood at the kitchen doorway, tilting his head as he watched the police officers.
“Can I go with you?”
He remembered meeting Will Graham outside Hannibal’s clinic before, when the man had human flesh around his mouth. He had initially thought this guy had been assimilated by Dr. Hannibal.
Little did he know.
Dr. Hannibal was actually a good person, and Will Graham was the real cannibal. This could easily be seen from the information, besides the map, on the floor of Dr. Hannibal’s room.
As Will Graham’s psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal must have sensed something was wrong long ago and secretly conducted some investigations into Will Graham.
This was probably Dr. Hannibal’s true cause of death.
He discovered the truth.
“I had a chance to expose the killer, but my wisdom at the time was only single digits.” Ian sighed regretfully, then looked at Officer Beckett with a pleading gaze.
Beckett didn’t turn her head, merely adjusted her shoulder strap with her hand, her tone leaving no room for doubt: “Kid, I’ve let you see the scene, so you need to go home and stay there.”
“Tomorrow isn’t the weekend.” For the female officer to even let Ian see the scene was already an extreme exception. She certainly couldn’t take a mentally ill minor to catch a serial killer.
“No matter what abilities you have, believe me, you won’t like being taken by the military for research.” The female officer glanced deeply at Ian, giving a meaningful reminder.
“Uh…”
Ian chuckled awkwardly.
“Why would the military capture ordinary citizens for research?” He wasn’t actually worried about this, as his maternal grandfather was a high-ranking military official, and his father was Superman. Therefore, the only way he would help the military capture superhumans for research was if the military offered an exorbitant price.
“I just want to see the killer who murdered my psychiatrist brought to justice. You know, mentally ill people have a pathological dependence and emotional connection to their psychiatrists.”
Ian blinked, putting on an innocent expression. He sighed, his tone tinged with sadness, clearly playing the “mentally ill” card, which was currently a top-tier move.
However.
This time, Beckett clearly wasn’t buying it. She finally turned around, gave him a deep look, and then smiled slightly—a smile that was certainly not beautiful.
“Shall I call your mom and dad to come pick you up?” she asked slowly, her tone so gentle it was almost a silent threat.
Ian’s expression froze instantly.
He hadn’t expected that after only meeting three times, she would have already grasped his weakness.
“You got me!”
Ian swallowed hard, ultimately defeated, and stopped persisting. In response, Beckett’s smile was quite pleased. She nodded and emphasized to Ian again.
“Good, hurry home… And in the future, please don’t call me asking how to deal with the bloodstains after your family killed a 100-pound pig so that neighbors who are jealous of your family having pork don’t find out.” Honestly, in Officer Beckett’s eyes, she had always thought Ian had the makings of a serial killer.
Because of this.
She would send Ian occasional messages to check on his well-being.
“I was just stuck writing my novel… Who knows why, with so many lawns outside my house, I never have enough mushrooms.” Ian defended his reputation.
Beckett rolled her eyes dramatically. She no longer paid attention to Ian and instead walked towards Miss Misha, who was still sobbing softly, and gently patted her shoulder.
“We will catch him,” the female officer promised in a low voice, her tone firm and steady. “Please believe us, we have found the killer, and he will receive the punishment he deserves.”
Beckett didn’t know how to comfort people, so she could only try to provide the assurance expected of a police officer. Her precinct was different from those that required “pay-to-play” for reporting crimes.
There were still dedicated police officers among the American police force. Before being corrupted, most police officers had a relatively professional attitude. After all, in this country, besides families of police chiefs, young people who dared to choose law enforcement as a profession had, more or less, a desire to be “heroes.” It’s just that reality is often not as ideal.
“Punishment? Are you going to lock him up in prison?” Misha looked up, her eyes red-rimmed, but her gaze no longer held just sadness—it contained something sharper.
“That is for the judge to decide.” Beckett didn’t say much more, just cast a final glance at Ian before leading her team out of the apartment building.
Only a few uniformed officers remained at the crime scene, along with forensic personnel continuing their investigation. The room fell silent again, with only Misha’s suppressed sobs echoing.
Ian scratched his head and walked over to Miss Misha. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke to comfort her, “Uh… Dr. Hannibal, who doesn’t eat people, surely went to heaven.”
If Miss Misha weren’t someone he knew, Ian would have chosen to turn and leave. However, his attitude towards acquaintances and strangers always differed greatly.
“Heaven?”
Misha’s shoulders trembled slightly. She looked up, her eyes empty and sad.
“Assuming heaven and hell exist in this world… it might not be a good thing for my brother.” Her voice was so low it was almost inaudible.
“Before my brother died, he hung himself from the beam. Under the coercion of that damned guy, my brother used his own intestines to hang himself.”
Misha paused, a bitter curve forming at the corner of her lips. “Do you know what that means? As someone who committed suicide… he can’t go to heaven.”
Misha, who usually worked while pursuing her doctorate in psychology, had knowledge of various industries. Her personal profile at school seemed to list two doctoral degrees and one master’s degree.
“Actually, there’s another way to get to heaven…” Ian hesitated, but decided not to try to sell Misha an indulgence, as he hadn’t even started offering services in that area.
He hadn’t tested it, so he couldn’t give false hope to acquaintances. Only merchants cheat their acquaintances; capitalists generally don’t. Before going bankrupt, capitalists only cheat people they don’t know well.
At least that’s how a capitalist of the new era like Ian behaved.
“What do you want to say?”
Miss Misha noticed Ian’s hesitant remark.
“Nothing, I just realized that Will Graham must have had a pathological obsession with Dr. Hannibal. Perhaps because he knew he was a bad person, he made Dr. Hannibal’s death so horrific. His intention wasn’t just to torture, but he also wanted Dr. Hannibal to wait for him in hell first.”
Ian had indeed been reading a lot of psychology books recently, so combining the knowledge he possessed with the scene, he made a truly reasonable psychological profile.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
Miss Misha also agreed with Ian’s judgment.
“My brother had long suspected that guy was off, but he didn’t tell me what exactly was wrong with him… It wasn’t until just now that I finally realized why my brother always said he was dangerous.” Miss Misha recalled Hannibal refusing her request to meet Will when she brought ingredients to his place for cooking.
“As expected, Dr. Hannibal was secretly investigating Will.”
Ian had also verified his previous guess. He suddenly realized that in his current world, Hannibal’s “badness” might have been entirely absorbed by Will.
Hannibal? Not bad, hence his father trusted him.
Will? Double the badness, hence Will’s sinister appearance before. Ian was indeed regretting it at this moment, wondering why he hadn’t realized this earlier.
Although he had no information in hand before, his wisdom shouldn’t have been so dull.
“The police are going to put that damned guy in prison… that’s hardly ‘deserved punishment’.” Misha’s fingernails dug deeply into her palm while Ian was lost in thought.
Her voice was a growl as if squeezed from between her teeth.
Ian looked at her and suddenly felt something was wrong. The originally gentle psychological counselor’s eyes had changed—like a cornered beast.
Ready to tear back at any moment.
“What do you plan to do?”
Ian asked tentatively.
Misha slowly raised her head, a cold smile forming at the corners of her lips.
“Will won’t be waiting for the police at the lakeside cabin,” she said softly. “That’s likely a trap.”
Her fingers lightly tapped the tabletop.
The rhythm was slow and dangerous.
“I will prepare myself and go find him myself,” Miss Misha said word by word, her tone filled with hatred. “He will pay a hundredfold for what he has done.”
“Uh, that’s not a good idea.” Ian looked at her and suddenly felt a headache—it’s over, this counselor might be on the verge of degenerating into “Miss Misha Wants to Eat People.” He disliked the idea of Miss Misha, who always loved sharing cookies with students, one day actually sharing real cookies with everyone.
Of course.
Miss Misha might also be made into a cookie by Will. That guy’s intelligence was comparable to Hannibal’s, only about seven or eight levels below Ian’s.
“Ian, I know you’re concerned about me, but you can’t stop me. Those who kill should pay the price of being killed!” Miss Misha’s tone was firm.
Ian also knew he couldn’t persuade her.
“I think you’ve misunderstood my meaning… Actually, I meant that smart people don’t take risks themselves, but rather use their money power to hire others to kidnap their enemies for them.”
“Shall I recommend some reliable mercenaries? And sometimes I’m Ian, the nuclear bomb seller.” Ian had never been the type to tell others “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind” since he was young.
“???????”
Misha, who had been tearful and gloomy, was stunned on the spot. She suspected she might have misheard, perhaps the student in front of her was trying to make her laugh?
Nuclear bombs could be bought too?
Facing Ian’s earth-shattering statement “I can sell nuclear bombs,” Miss Misha managed a forced smile on her pale face. She rubbed her temples and then suppressed her sadness as much as possible.
“You’re just a child, don’t get involved in this.”
Miss Misha’s voice was as light as a feather but carried an unquestionable firmness.
“Before my brother died, he was worried about several of his patients. He instructed me to arrange their subsequent treatment.” She raised her tired eyes and looked at the boy in front of her, wearing a black hoodie printed with 【CD】 and with half a bottle of fitness supplements peeking out of his pocket.
“That definitely doesn’t include me.” Ian confidently crossed his arms, his chin slightly raised, as if announcing a universally accepted truth.
Misha didn’t directly refute him.
She simply pulled a napkin from the coffee table drawer and took out a pen from her bag. Her movements were slow, as if using these subtle actions to organize her fragmented emotions.
“I’ll recommend some doctors to you,” she said, writing down a few phone numbers on the napkin. “They are all psychologists with excellent industry-level and professional ethics.”
Miss Misha pushed the napkin towards Ian.
But he didn’t even look at it.
“These doctors think they’re good actors, but in their hearts, they’re just pretending I’m not sick?” Ian suddenly asked, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Misha’s hand froze mid-air.
The nib of the pen smeared a small ink stain on some other napkins.
She tidied her words slightly and began to speak as if explaining something, “In the treatment of mental illness, professional doctors treat their patients with the same gentle attitude they would treat ordinary people.”
“Yes, professional doctors won’t treat you like a patient, at least they won’t let you realize they’re treating you like a patient.” Miss Misha once again misunderstood Ian’s concerns.
“No, clever as I am, I can tell.”
“The underlying logic here is that they already know I’m not sick, and they still want to take money out of my pocket! Dr. Hannibal is different; Dr. Hannibal has been telling me recently that I am quite ill. I know, in fact, Dr. Hannibal also understands I’m not sick, but because he has been paid, he will pretend I am.”
“That’s the professional service attitude!” Ian slammed the coffee table, making the few empty cups clatter. His chain of logic was outrageously clear.
Misha’s mouth hung open, unable to respond.
The pen also dropped to the floor with a clatter.
Her professional integrity was fiercely battling common sense—this boy in front of her seemed to have perfectly closed the loop on a mental patient’s understanding of a psychiatrist using the logic of a mental patient.
Miss Misha wanted to refute him, but couldn’t find a way. At this moment, the youth asked again, “Oh, right, can other psychiatrists help me treat my patients for free?”
This was the question Ian cared about most. Although Master Ian was already very rich, his money was to be used to exert his money power, exchanging low-priced products for the general faith of the people.
“Your… your what patients?”
Miss Misha’s expression grew increasingly strange, even briefly forgetting her sadness.
“I have at least a few hundred mental patients in my hands.” Ian tried to make his tone sound “calm,” as if it were not something to boast about.
Misha’s expression froze.
“Have your parents sent you to live in a mental hospital?” Her gaze slowly swept over Ian’s entire body, her tone tinged with uncertain doubt.
There was no other way.
It was only in this situation that she felt Ian could know a few hundred mental patients.
“That’s impossible, of course. They love me! They would send themselves to a mental hospital before they would send me!” Ian retorted to Miss Misha with righteous firmness.
“…”
Miss Misha was once again speechless.
She felt she might have underestimated Ian’s condition in the past.
“I was actually forced to become a psychiatrist; the situation is quite complicated. Just consider me to have schizophrenia, with hundreds of personalities needing treatment.”
Ian didn’t mind playing the mental illness card again.
Misha’s eyes became extremely complex. She stared at Ian for a full ten seconds, then sighed, “Many doctors are skilled at treating schizophrenia.”
“But if they find out you’re acting as an intermediary, they’ll sue you in court, demanding their rightful consultation fees and various compensation. You have no chance of winning such cases.”
Law was also Miss Misha’s specialty. She could be Ian’s counselor for several years, naturally because she had read the law extensively and knew how to avoid the “troublemaking” tactics Ian might employ when provoked.
Knowing Ian’s dealings at school, Miss Misha, after some thought, once again mistakenly believed that Ian wanted to become an intermediary in mental illness treatment as well.
Due to the rapid updates of the version.
She did not yet know that Ian was already on the path to becoming a tycoon.
“Damn it, these psychiatrists are so useless! Not like Dr. Hannibal, he just helps me for free to become a mental illness expert and king of psychiatrists!” Ian’s expression instantly fell. The Metropolis Gambler was recently quitting gambling and didn’t want to face off in court against such cunning elites.
“Your older brother was so nice before, he’d worry about me late at night and promised I could ask him any questions for free.” This was a moment Ian profoundly missed Dr. Hannibal.
Mentioning Dr. Hannibal’s gentleness, Misha’s lips unconsciously curved upwards into an incredibly bitter smile, “Yes. My older brother is that kind of person.”
“He’ll do anything he believes is beneficial to his patient’s condition.” Her gaze drifted towards the rain outside the window, “Even if the patient needs him to cook, to do laundry…”
As soon as she said this.
Ian sprang up from the sofa on the spot.
“What?! Dr. Hannibal also provides such services?!” Ian had long heard that Dr. Hannibal had excellent cooking skills, but he had always thought Dr. Hannibal was only skilled in cooking people.
Now.
It was clear that Dr. Hannibal was a good person, and his culinary skills with beef, lamb, and other non-human meats were truly exceptional, reminding Ian of the gourmet food he had once refused from Dr. Hannibal.
“What’s wrong?”
Misha was startled by Ian’s reaction. Ian didn’t answer but weighed the pros and cons, pacing back and forth in the living room in thought, then suddenly leaned in close to Misha.
“Do you have three hundred US dollars?”
This sudden inquiry was too much of a leap in thought.
Miss Misha blinked for a second.
She couldn’t keep up with Ian’s thought process at all, but she mechanically opened her wallet and counted out three crumpled hundred-dollar bills, “Are you taking a taxi home?”
This implied she thought Ian was preparing to leave.
However.
Ian snatched the money but shook his head.
“I want to buy flowers with this.”
Saying that, he rushed into the kitchen.
Misha followed, bewildered, and saw Ian on his tiptoes searching the cabinets.
“What are you doing?”
Miss Misha watched Ian in utter confusion. After searching the cabinets, the boy took out a cup and enthusiastically asked her.
“Do you think Dr. Hannibal would like this cartoon-style thermos?” Ian held up a pink and blue thermos with Winnie the Pooh eating honey printed on it.
“That’s… my cup.”
Miss Misha replied somewhat dazedly.
“Oh, perfect!” Ian’s eyes lit up with frightening intensity, “There’s sister’s love in the cup; Dr. Hannibal will definitely like living in it! The strength of family is indeed everywhere!”
Before Misha could react.
This strange boy, Ian, dashed out the door like a gust of wind, clutching the Winnie the Pooh thermos and three hundred-dollar bills, disappearing down the apartment corridor.
“He doesn’t seem to have taken the elevator…” Miss Misha’s mind was completely a mess. She could only try to put herself in Ian’s shoes, thinking that Ian might want to lay flowers at Dr. Hannibal’s tombstone.
As for that cup.
“Hiss~”
Miss Misha gasped.
She began to suspect that Ian wanted to use the thermos to hold his brother’s ashes. Was this strange? By empathizing with a mental patient’s mindset, perhaps some mental patients would do such a thing!
“Bang~”
Just then.
A falling sound echoed from within the apartment.
Ian had indeed taken the elevator, but he first went down to the next floor, then moved the elevator door aside and jumped all the way down the elevator shaft to the underground parking lot.
“Vroom vroom vroom~”
The roar of the Hellcat sounded.
It carried Ian at high speed towards the bustling street.
Miss Misha’s money certainly had to be spent where it belonged. Ian was not a person who sought petty gains; his principles were clear, so the three hundred US dollars were all spent on what was necessary.
Ian, driving his “Hellcat” sports car, sped through the streets of New York. He bought a bouquet of flowers for $50 and then ordered coffee and steak at a Western restaurant for $250.
The waiter gave him a strange look, “Sir, are you dining alone?”
“No,” Ian smiled mysteriously, “I’m waiting for a lady.”
When the steak and coffee were served, Ian didn’t start eating. Instead, he clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and began to pray softly—not to God, nor to Satan.
But to his old acquaintance, “Miss Death.”
Unlike usual, there was no interference from The Flash this time, and Miss Death’s response was exceptionally fast. Time in the restaurant didn’t even freeze; other customers continued to chat and laugh.
The sound of cutlery clinking rose and fell.
And Miss Death didn’t appear out of thin air. She walked in elegantly through the main entrance, as if she were just an ordinary, beautiful Gothic woman who had casually entered the restaurant to dine.
Yes.
Miss Death had a unique fondness for Gothic style. She wore a well-tailored black gown, her skin was pale to the point of transparency, her lips were as red as blood, and under the soft restaurant lights, she was breathtakingly beautiful.
“Quite thoughtful.”
Miss Death walked directly to Ian’s table and sat opposite him, her gaze falling on the untouched steak.
“Why did you only order one?”
Miss Death raised an eyebrow.
Ian flashed a perfunctory smile and quietly put away his mobile phone.
“If I don’t eat it, you can eat more.”
He was reciting by rote, saying this, he pushed the plastic flowers towards her.
“For you.”
Ian’s smile was as perfunctory as could be.
“If I didn’t know how much money you have in your account, and that you were just looking at cheesy pickup lines, I almost would have believed you.” Miss Death took the flowers and sniffed them.
“Plastic flowers, with a bit of the perfume you stole from your mother, trying to express that your feelings are eternal?” Miss Death, as expected, had been secretly watching Ian from the corner all along.
At least after hearing her words, Ian became even more convinced of this.
“Unfortunately, it’s almost there.”
As soon as Miss Death’s words fell, the bouquet of plastic flowers withered and faded at a visible speed, finally turning into a pile of ashes on the white tablecloth.
The waiter happened to pass by but acted as if he saw nothing, clearly affected by a cognitive disturbance.
“Your unsolicited kindness is nothing but deceit.” Miss Death picked up the dinner knife and elegantly cut a small piece of steak, “You want to save your psychiatrist?”
Miss Death displayed her omniscience regarding Ian’s intentions.
Ian’s expression suddenly became extremely serious, and he honestly admitted, “I can’t lose my doctor. It’s like the Teletubbies can’t lose Upsy Daisy.”
Other psychiatrists did not meet Ian’s wishes.
Or rather.
He had always been a sentimental person.
“Quite honest.” Miss Death chewed her steak slowly, the corners of her blood-red lips curling slightly, “You know your doctor is ‘benign invasion,’ right?”
To this, Ian neither denied nor played dumb.
“So, is he in Hell? I thought about asking Lucifer, but I prefer to foster our relationship.” Ian’s clumsy ‘green tea’ tactics were quite amusing.
However, Miss Death took a sip of her coffee, appearing to be in a good mood, “Indeed, he is in Hell. For souls like them, our current decision is that they will be guided by Death Angels.”
This was clearly a decision reached through discussions between the Endless Family and God’s family.
It was a secret.
Yet, Miss Death casually leaked it—mainly because Ian, in her eyes, was growing faster and faster, and perhaps soon, “abstract” divine entities would truly appear in the universe.
“Do you want me to help you resurrect him?” Miss Death didn’t dwell on Ian’s situation; she asked lightly, as if asking whether to add sugar to coffee, a trivial matter.
“Shh!”
Ian quickly put his index finger to his lips.
He looked out at the sky, “Don’t let my father hear. I’ve already treated you to steak, why do you still want to deprive me of the legitimate reason to venture into Hell?”
The youth felt Miss Death was a bit ungrateful.
However, his high emotional intelligence kept him from voicing his thoughts.
Miss Death put down her cutlery, her sharp gaze fixed on Ian.
“So, you can’t find the entrance to Hell, that’s why you’re looking for me?”
Her tone was certain.
Ian, however, honestly shook his head.
“I just wanted to give you an opportunity to talk to me.”
His expression was truly sincere, and this, rather, caused Miss Death’s expression to freeze on her face, as if the steak she had eaten suddenly got stuck in her throat.
“…”
She put down her cutlery.
After a long silence.
“The compass I gave you before, it will guide you to Hell.” With that, she stood up, picked up the half-finished steak and coffee, and walked towards the door without looking back.
The bouquet of plastic flowers that had turned to ashes was left on the table.
“Next time…”
The goddess’s figure paused at the doorway, her voice seeming to drift from afar, “If you want me to endure your mental attacks again, you’ll have to give me flowers that truly never wither.”
As her voice faded.
Her figure dissipated like mist in the restaurant’s lights. The surrounding customers seemed to notice nothing, continuing to enjoy their dinner.
“She’s definitely shy, she must be shy.” Ian took out the compass he had obtained from the Dream God earlier. The needle spun wildly, finally pointing firmly to the southeast.
“Master Ian’s Hell Adventure! Officially rolling!”
Impatient, Ian ordered himself another steak worth six hundred US dollars, making sure not to shortchange himself. After finishing it, he headed back to his Hellcat.
Driving the Hellcat to brave Hell.
It was perfectly reasonable.
