After all of them are reborn, who would still want to marry 2.5 Jo Satoru?

"Ugh--"

Liuli lay on the small desk and couldn't help but sigh again.

She was really curious about the so-called god that Hei Mo mentioned, but no matter how she asked, the other party just smiled and refused to explain.

In the end, Hei Mo simply tapped her forehead with his fingertips and sent her back.

Not a minute had passed. I had been talking to Hei Mo on the way to Jinshan for so long, but in real life, the second hand of the clock had only jumped once.

It really seemed like just a blink of an eye.

But in the blink of an eye, before her original troubles were solved, new troubles had already arisen!

Liuli puffed up her cheeks in distress. She was clearly not in Gotham, so how could the Riddler still be there?

Did the Riddler settle down in an island country after he got out of Gotham?

Liuli reached out and touched her forehead. This trip was not without gain.

She remembered the words Hei Mo left behind when he was covered by white fog before he came back.

"Ji Jun, since you are unwilling to accept money, then please accept these fortunes."

"Please don't refuse. This is a welcome gift from me as a friend."

With so much wealth and the ability to control financial fortune, couldn't Hei Mo be known as Ebisu?

Liuli couldn't help but guess in her heart.

However, if she accepted a gift from a friend, she had to give a gift in return. She had to think carefully about what kind of gift the gods would want.

While Liuli was lost in thought, Lan Tang shifted his position uncomfortably, hoping that his colleagues next to him would look away as soon as possible.

Originally, among a group of low-level people, Lan Tang was one who would not attract other people's attention.

Although he was a tall and good-looking foreigner, his clothes were very strange. He put on a thick coat, a scarf and earmuffs as soon as autumn came.

But he was too salty.

This French man smells like salted fish, as if he has "giving up" engraved on his forehead, "slacking off" squeezed into his teeth, and the four big words "hate work" are stuffed from his tonsils to his prostate.

Whenever he picked up a kitchen knife and fought with others, even his enemies would suspect that the port mafia was not complying with labor laws.

I swear to God, the port mafia operates on a shift system, working four days and resting three days. The maximum working time per day does not exceed eight hours, and overtime is paid triple pay.

More formal than some companies!

In short, due to Lan Tang's passive response and the indifferent society of the island country itself, his workplace relationships are quite bad, but no one cares much about this.

If everyone is involved in corruption, who cares about harmonious workplace relationships?

Perfect colleagues are those who don't stab each other in the back.

Lan Tang himself also enjoyed this kind of social state that had nothing to do with others, and was happy not to attract anyone's attention.

But this afternoon, he really couldn't do that.

At lunchtime, low-level mafia members often have only a few options: go to the supermarket to buy rice balls or reasonably priced bento. Supermarkets are usually equipped with microwave ovens for them to use while waiting in line.

Those with better conditions will go to Matsuya to order a set meal and rest for a while after eating.

Lan Tang was originally one of the people who bought lunch boxes.

But this afternoon, he took out a small blue plaid package from where he had stored his belongings.

When I opened it, it was obvious that it was a carefully crafted handmade bento.

A two-layer bento box, one of which is full of white rice and topped with a thick sauce.

It seems to be a large piece of beef marinated with black pepper, with a sauce made from other vegetables, chickpeas and fennel. Even without heating, you can still smell the aroma.

The second layer is even richer. On the far left is a large piece of French lamb chops that have been fried to a golden brown, sprinkled with white sesame seeds, a layer of fried toast underneath, and a few red tomatoes on the side.

In the middle is a row of Nicoise salads, a mixture of eggs, basa fish, potatoes, sweet potatoes, and corn. The colors look particularly bright, which makes people's appetite increase just by looking at them.

On the far right is a peanut-kernel Madeleine shaped into a shell. Judging from the shape, it is obvious that they are all handmade.

The colleagues next to him looked at the lunch box in shock, almost with dumbfounded expressions.

"Could this be the legendary wife bento?"

The captain of their ten-man team said this with envy while biting a rice ball.

"That's something only a super virtuous and super beautiful girlfriend can do."

Someone nearby also interjected, "Looking at you, Lan Tang, I thought you were single, but you actually already have a girlfriend, the kind who's willing to cook for you."

"It's so rare. These days, having a girl willing to cook for you is a huge blessing!"

"No wonder you go shopping for clothes as soon as you get your paycheck and don't even go to the izakaya with us. If I had a girlfriend at home, I wouldn't go either!"

Lan Tang was holding the heated lunch box, feeling a little uncomfortable. He shifted his position and said, "She's not my girlfriend, she's my sister."

Seeing his colleagues' eyes light up, he added, "My sister is nine years old this year."