The scene was strangely… peaceful.
Vergil was reclining on the sofa, his body unusually relaxed, his breathing slow and deep. His head rested on Aphrodite's lap, who ran her fingers through his hair with almost hypnotic patience. Her delicate nails scratched his scalp in soft, repetitive movements, as if she were cradling a dangerous beast—and somehow succeeding.
An hour had already passed.
The screen in front continued to display images of the arena being prepared, the stands gradually filling, energy accumulating in the air. The announcement of the tournament's start still indicated an hour remaining.
Vergil was almost asleep.
Aphrodite smiled as she noticed his weight relaxing even more in her lap. She tilted her head, observing him with an almost possessive affection.
"You stay so still like this that you relax…" she murmured, more to herself than to him.
He responded with a low grunt, something between a "hm" and a satisfied sigh.
