The main hall was lit only by the bluish lights emanating from the large screen suspended in midair—an ethereal panel made of pure demonic energy. Symbols floated, rearranging themselves into names, faces, and titles as the system compiled the records of the Celestial Tournament competitors.
Vergil sat relaxed in one of the dark leather armchairs, one leg crossed over the other. Ada rested on his lap, her golden eyes half-closed, watching the projection with a curious—and slightly bored—expression.
"So... these people are the competitors?" Vergil asked, tilting his head slightly, his eyes fixed on the screen. "Hmph. How disappointing."
He paused, and the ironic tone deepened. "I thought it would be more... interesting."
Across the room, Paimon let out a long, weary sigh—the kind of sigh only someone emotionally exhausted could produce.
"Don't underestimate others, man..." she murmured, adjusting her reading glasses with her index finger. "Stop being a child."
