Vergil remained motionless for a few seconds after Seris's last sentence.
The silence wasn't empty—it was dense. Heavy. Laden with something that made the very air seem to hesitate before moving.
"No," he repeated, now with more weight. It wasn't a request. It was a statement.
Seris raised an eyebrow, but didn't smile this time.
"Vergil…"
He turned completely to her, his eyes already beginning to acquire that cold, deep glint that preceded irreversible decisions.
"She won't participate," he said. "Not in this tournament."
Alice opened her mouth immediately.
"But—!"
"No," he repeated, raising his hand, not aggressively, but with enough authority to make her stop. Vergil then turned to Seris. "You know exactly what this tournament is. It's not a testing ground. It's a political slaughterhouse."
Seris sighed slowly.
"I know," she replied. "But you also know she's not weak."
"That doesn't matter."
Vergil stepped forward. The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
