Voldemort wished he could tear Sean apart alive, yet deep down, he knew better than anyone that he had no way to deal with him.
If he developed murderous intent just because Sean currently looked like an eight- or nine-year-old child, he would only be asking for trouble.
What Voldemort likely had not expected was that even in this illusory world, the innocent-looking child before him was far more ruthless than he had imagined.
Sean wore an innocent expression and even gave a shy smile. "Didn't you hear what I just asked you?"
Voldemort took a deep breath, forcibly calming himself before saying unwillingly, "It means nothing to you. I... hmph, I only became like this because I'm in the state of a Residual Soul."
Sean shrugged noncommittally. Under Voldemort's furious gaze, he rummaged around on the table and casually began making himself some black tea.
"You really know how to enjoy yourself... Want a cup?"
Voldemort's expression was complicated. He wanted nothing more than to kill Sean, yet had no idea what to do. And that calm, unhurried attitude of Sean's even made him somewhat... envious.
Though he did not want to admit it, Voldemort knew perfectly well that only sufficient strength could forge such confidence.
He had once been like that too... and his current weak state was what he found most unacceptable.
The moment he thought of how he had ended up this way because of the brat across from him, Voldemort's teeth began to itch with rage again.
How could Sean know Voldemort had imagined so much in an instant? He was still trapped in the trial of Peak of Soul's Return. If he could not get out, that would be a serious problem.
Still, he had never been an impatient person. Under the current circumstances,