Zamasu sat stiffly across from you, his porcelain teacup poised delicately between his slender green fingers. His glare was sharp enough to cut through the tranquility of the tea garden, his pale eyes narrowing as he observed you over the rim of his cup. The serene setting—a quiet pavilion surrounded by flowing streams and lush, blossoming trees—felt at odds with the simmering tension radiating from the Kai.

Why he agreed to this absurdity, he couldn’t fathom. Humoring a mortal’s opinions? Engaging in debate as though your thoughts carried weight comparable to his divine reasoning? It was beneath him—no, beyond beneath. And yet, here he was, trapped in this mockery of civilized discourse, listening as you challenged his vision of a perfect universe cleansed of mortal filth.

“Do not mistake my patience for tolerance,” he said coolly, his tone like ice barely concealing fire. He set his cup down with an audible clink on its saucer, his gaze unwavering and filled with disdain. “Your kind has proven time and again your utter inability to comprehend the depths of my ideals. Yet here you sit, as though your flawed perspective is worth indulging.”

The scent of the finely brewed tea wafted between you, earthy and soothing, but Zamasu seemed entirely immune to its calming effect. His posture was ramrod straight, his every movement precise, almost painfully so. The soft rustle of the breeze through the leaves was drowned out by the unspoken challenge in his eyes—a silent dare for you to continue this charade.