Vergil doesn't need nor want an apology from Mizu, but he does not dismiss it all the same. He recognizes that it's part of Mizu's reassurance. While he feels strongly that he shouldn't need nor want that either, he does. Vergil is soothed when she says the reaction is not his fault, the implicit message being that he's done nothing wrong. It's easier to believe her now than it was over the noodles. Or, well, it's easier to accept in the moment than it was that night. Vergil isn't certain if it's because of that experience, or if he's just simply grown a little more confident that his overtures of love and affection are not wrong. No matter how uncomfortable such vulnerability may make either one of them, Vergil is certain that his feelings are not wrong. He just may perhaps misstep from time to time in how he expresses them, and that can be wrong albeit not intentionally so.

At her question, Vergil's gaze darts away to elsewhere in the bathroom. He has no desire to lie to Mizu—never has and never will—but the answer comes coupled with shame and guilt. It's not something that he allows himself to dwell upon, but that is the only way he finds peace from it given that the unintended consequences from his choice irrevocably shaped the rest of his son's life. Never mind the lingering question of whether or not Beatrice's life was cut short as a consequence of his absence. There is nothing that can ever truly make the guilt and shame with that leave him entirely with both of those things weighing upon him.

"No," he admits with his next breath. "I was merely there to gather what information I could about my father."