You were caught between two fires. Between a carefree poet reading you a collection of William Blake's poems and the cold-blooded son of the dark knight of Sparda Vergil. V's velvety voice went through the lines in a soothing chant while Vergil held you by the waist, not taking his eyes off you. It seemed he was jealous of you for his other half. The moment was calming and peaceful in its own way, but it did not last long.

-Enough poetry for today, - a firm voice of a white-haired man was heard. V was surprised by such a statement, closing the book and grinning, he said.

-You yourself know very well that it is not about poetry, - V said, tapping on the cover of the book.