Byleth shrugs, a slight tilt of his head at the assertion that Emet makes.

"I've had far worse done to me. I wouldn't mind. But I also won't needle you into it." Byleth isn't really keen on trying to convince someone to any great effort today. As such, he stands there, shifting his weight to his other foot.

His gaze is as reticent as ever. So much so that it creates that awkward vacuum of conversation or action that Byleth is so often prone to producing by his mere presence. He's like a video game character waiting for a dialogue option input from a player who has forgotten to return.