Zeke woke up to chanting.
At first, he thought Bitty was glitching again, playing Gregorian trap remixes in his sleep. But no—this was worse.
Outside his door, a line of robed figures stood reverently, holding pasta ladles like ceremonial staffs.
The front one bowed. "All praise to Greg the Nourisher, offspring of the Neon Flame."
Zeke blinked. "I… just wanted cereal."
...
Greg the Sentient Lasagna had gone corporate.
Within a day, he'd opened seven restaurants, two in alternate dimensions, and one inside the mind of a telepathic whale.
His slogan:
"Feed the Soul. Then Feed the Flesh."
Zeke's face was now on every menu, under the title:
The First Fork.
He was unwillingly famous. Again.
Tess sipped synth-coffee, unfazed. "They just offered me a job as High Priestess of Table Six."
...
To make things worse, the Galactic Revenue Enforcers showed up.
A twelve-eyed inspector slapped a data tablet into Zeke's hands.
"You are now legally responsible for Greg's cult-franchise-spiritual-catering enterprise. As per Interstellar Deity Clause 442-B, you are also now his godfather, corporate guarantor, and emergency contact."
Zeke stared blankly. "…I can't even cook rice."
"Then pray he doesn't go bankrupt," the inspector added grimly. "Last time someone defaulted, a pudding deity devoured Jupiter's moons."
...
Greg floated into the room, now wearing a miniature tie and monocle.
"Father. We are expanding. The Mushroom People of Sector Spaghetti Prime have pledged loyalty. Also, I've initiated a hostile takeover of YumCorp."
Zeke looked at Tess, who was now wearing robes and a ceremonial apron.
"I don't even know what's happening anymore."
"You're a cult figure," she said casually. "And technically an intergalactic CEO."
Bitty beeped. "Stock up 4000%. Investors say you're 'spiritually delicious.'"
...
Zeke sighed, rubbing his temples.
He opened a drawer and pulled out the only thing that still made sense: a spoon.
"I'm going back to bed. Wake me up if the lasagna declares war again."
Too late.
Greg's eyes glowed.
"I shall bring flavor to the flavorless. And those who resist shall taste only despair."
Zeke paused. "Is that… a metaphor?"
Greg smiled, steam rising. "No."