The wind sweeping down from the northern ridges carried a bitter chill, threading through cloaks and sleeves, fluttering against the barren land like an enemy waitng for attacking. Stark rested heavily in Sein's arms despite the careful distribution of magic reinforcing his muscles. Even so, the boy felt, too warm against the cold air, breath rasping shallow and uneven against Sein's shoulder.
Kraft's spoke, again.
"How did he end up with the curse?"
Sein's frowned. "Who told you it was a curse?" His voice came sharper than he intended, protective instinct rising in a way he didn't want. "And how would you even know that? You sensed something from miles away, you say? How does someone like you know about something like that?"
Kraft didn't flinch. The male elf stood with hands loosely tucked into his sleeves, green hair shifting in the wind. His gaze wasn't accusatory, only contemplative, almost… mournful?
"The miasma clinging to him," Kraft replied, "is so potent that even I could feel it long before I saw you. It coils around the boy like a veil. Very obvious and undoubtedly ancient. It does not feel like one of the ordinary curses."
Fern's brows knit together, she tried to be calmr, yet her eyes sharpened. "Then how come we didn't feel it?" she asked. "If it's that obvious."
Kraft's gaze shifted to her. "You did feel it," he replied without missing a beat. "But you lacked context. When one travels with something long enough, the senses grow accustomed. It becomes background noise. A faint wrongness you dismiss because you don't yet have a name for it."
Sein felt a small sting at that. Had he grown numb to it? Had he been too focused on treatment to truly examine the nature of what lingered in Stark's wounds? But he was with Stark for not long.
"Kraft," Frieren said at last. Her voice was calm, but there was a note in it, measured and cautious. "You seem to know a lot about this… curse."
The elf inclined his head slightly. "I have been around for a long time," he said. "Long enough to see patterns repeat. Long enough to witness things most believe are myths or don't even remember anymore,." His gaze drifted toward Stark's pale face. "And I have encountered this phenomenon… twice before."
Sein's looked at Stark. "Twice?" he repeated then looked at Kraft. "How?"
Kraft's expression did not change, but there was something behind his eyes, something… sorrowful "The specifics are not important," he said. "The important thing is this: why is the boy cursed by the megami?"
The group paused, none spoke for a moment.
"Did he perhaps disrespect a monument?" Kraft continued. "Defile a sacred relic? Or commit some grave offense that drew divine ire—"
"He fought a demon who wounded him," Frieren interrupted, as if she wanted to reach the conclusion of this conversation as soon as possible.
Kraft blinked.
His breathing seemed to still for a moment.
"What?" he said, frowning. Then louder, incredulous. "A demon? A demon inflicted these wounds?"
He stepped closer, boots crunching against the frozen ground. Sein instinctively shifted Stark's weight, positioning himself slightly between the elf and the unconscious boy.
Kraft leaned in, studying the faint discoloration creeping along the bandages, the subtle pulse of something dark beneath Stark's skin. "Is this correct?"
"It is," Frieren said.
"I see," Kraft murmured. "This is certainly… unprecedented."
Fern leaned closer to Frieren and whispered under her breath, "Is it okay to let him know this?"
Frieren didn't hesitate. "He can be trusted."
"How?" Fern asked quietly.
"Trust me," Frieren replied.
The words felt… wrong than they should have.
Fern's eyes shifted to toward Stark. The last time Frieren had spoken with that quiet certainty… about Linie and Lügner… Fern and Stark had trusted her completely. They had gone forward without doubt.
Now Stark was unconscious for days, breath not healthy, life balanced on something they did not understand.
Frieren's face remained unreadable, but something behind her eyes trembled, so faint only someone who had traveled with her long enough would notice.
Kraft straightened.
"Where are you headed?" he asked.
"Äußerst," Sein answered without hesitation.
"To Serie, I presume?" Kraft said.
"Yes." Sein shifted Stark slightly. "She's the most knowledgeable mage alive. If anyone can understand this corrupted mana, it's her. I thought she could… analyze it. Help us find a way to cleanse it."
Kraft's expression softened into something almost regretful.
"Unfortunately," he said, "she cannot help you."
The words struck harder than any blade.
Fern's eyes widened instantly. "How do you know that?"
Kraft folded his arms loosely. "Serie is undoubtedly the strongest and wisest mage of this era. Perhaps of several eras. But strength and wisdom do not equate to omnipotence. And this…" He gestured towards Stark. "This is not her area of expertise."
Sein felt irritation rise and he felt defensive. "Are you implying you know her capabilities better than we do?"
"I am saying," Kraft replied without getting impatient, "that I know the boundaries of magic. And this is not purely magic."
Frieren's gaze narrowed slightly. "Explain."
Kraft exhaled slowly, as if thinking how much to reveal.
"The miasma around the boy," he said, "is divine in origin. Or rather… it mimics divinity. A perversion of it. The megami's curse is not something that can be dispelled with ordinary spells. Nor even extraordinary ones. It is woven into the target's existence, body and spirit alike."
Sein's heart sank further. "So you're saying Serie can't do anything?"
"I am saying," Kraft corrected gently, "that even she would be unable to remove something designed to transcend conventional magical frameworks."
Fern's hands tightened slightly at her sides. "You're speaking in riddles."
Kraft's gaze moved between them. "Let me put it plainly. The megami's curse is not a spell you dispel. It is a punishment."
The word lingered in the cold air.
"A punishment?" Sein echoed.
"Yes. It binds itself to the 'meaning' of the target's existence. It punishes not flesh, but essence."
Sein's grip trembled slightly. "He's just kid," he said, low and strained. "He didn't offend anyone. He just fought a demon."
"And that," Kraft said quietly, "is precisely why this is unprecedented."
Frieren's eyes flickered. "Demons don't wield divine authority."
"No," Kraft agreed. "They don't. Which means either the demon invoked something it did not fully understand… or something else intervened."
The implications coiled like a serpent.
Fern's voice was steady, but there was a faint tremor beneath it. "You said you encountered this twice before."
"Yes."
"And what happened?" she asked.
Kraft was silent for a long moment.
"One survived," he said at last. "One did not."
Sein's felt sweat forming on his forehead.
"And the one who survived?" Frieren pressed.
"Was freed not by magic," Kraft said, "but by something… else.."
The wind rose again, tugging at cloaks and hair.
Sein swallowed. "You keep speaking like you're not fully saying what you mean."
Kraft gave a faint, almost amused smile. "Perceptive."
"Then say it clearly," Fern said.
Kraft's gaze settled on Stark once more.
"You are traveling north to seek the greatest mage alive," he said. "But this is not a problem of magical understanding. It is a problem of origin."
Sein's frustration broke through. "Then are you saying you are capable of handling it?"
Kraft's smile vanished immediately.
"No," he said firmly. "Never."
Silence.
"But…" Kraft continued.
Sein's eyes narrowed. "But?"
Kraft's expression grew thoughtful and serious.
"I might have an idea."
The road was narrow and half-swallowed by tall grass silvered under moonlight. The world had gone quiet in that late hour when even insects seemed hesitant to disturb the dark. Only the faint crunch of boots and the whisper of wind brushing across open plains kept the silence from becoming absolute.
Übel walked close. So close that Subaru didn't approve.
No, she clung.
Her shoulder brushed Subaru's arm with every step, fingers occasionally catching the fabric at Subaru's sleeve as if testing texture, presence, reality. When the ground dipped slightly, Übel didn't correct her balance away, she leaned in instead, letting their hips bump.
It wasn't affection.
It was study. Übel was the researcher and Subaru was the specimen.
Subaru felt it in the way Übel's gaze slid over her profile when she thought Subaru wouldn't notice. In the slight tilts of her head. In the way she breathed just a fraction slower whenever Subaru's mana shifted.
She was trying to "understand."
Trying to empathize.
Trying to copy.
Subaru resisted the urge to sigh aloud.
At least this was better than dying.
Better than the flash of steel. Better than the sensation of being bisected midair. Better than waking in blood and silence and knowing she'd have to do it again.
This, annoying proximity, invasive curiosity, was survivable.
"Subaru," Übel hummed, her voice almost playful as she leaned her head slightly closer. "Can I ask something?"
"You're going to anyway."
A grin formed at the corner of Übel's lips. "You're… strange."
"That's not a question."
"I know."
Übel's fingers slid lightly against Subaru's forearm, as though tracing something unseen. "You feel humanish."
Subaru's brow twitched. "Humanish."
"Mm." Übel nodded thoughtfully. "Demons are usually very simple. Stoic. Bored. Arrogant. They lie when cornered. They get angry when their pride is touched. But you…" Her green eyes sharpened. "You express things. Too many things."
Subaru stared ahead, keeping her face neutral.
Options.
Tell her the truth? That she had once been a boy from another world? That she had woken up in this body, in this form, with memories that didn't match the reflection she saw?
That she had died enough times to forget what her original voice sounded like?
No.
Too complicated and dangerous.
Lies were easier. Lies were manageable. Lies could be adjusted later. But…
"I was fighting a human," Subaru said evenly. "Then I suddenly changed."
Übel tilted her head. "Oh?"
Her fingers tightened slightly on Subaru's sleeve.
"What caused this… change?"
"I don't know."
The answer was quick, flat. True in its own way.
Übel hummed again, longer this time. "Hmm. Hmm. I see."
Did she?
Subaru doubted it.
"And how did you escape him?" Übel continued casually. "Did you kill him?"
The memory...
A blade. Blood spraying warm across his red attire, his body collapsing. Her own hands shaking as she had stabbed him repeatedly.
Subaru swallowed the faint dryness in her throat.
"No," she replied. "I couldn't bring myself to kill him."
Übel's steps slowed half a beat.
"I wounded him," Subaru added flatly, "and ran away before anyone else could come."
A grin bloomed across Übel's face, bright, delighted.
"Ooh," she breathed. "I like it."
Of course you do.
There was no horror in her expression. No moral recoil. Only appreciation, like someone admiring brushwork on a painting.
"Say, Subaru," Übel continued lightly, releasing her sleeve only to lace her hands behind her head as she walked, "do other demons have spells like yours too?"
There it was.
The real question.
Subaru's gaze shifted to the side briefly.
She hadn't exactly had any meaningful conversations with demons. Her only encounters had involved screaming. Or running. Or dying. In the hands of three individuals. She never met any demon… and no.
She didn't know what spells they possessed. Didn't know what they were capable of. Didn't know what she herself was capable of half the time.
Lie?
Say yes, make it seem common?
Say no, make herself special?
Both had risks.
"I don't know," she said at last.
Übel glanced sideways at her, searching her face for cracks. For hesitation. For deception.
Then she smiled again.
"I see."
The wind brushed past them again, colder now.
"Well," Übel said, stretching her arms overhead as she walked a few steps ahead, her silhouette briefly framed by moonlight, "let's find somewhere to stay for the night. It's almost midnight."
Subaru blinked.
She hadn't even noticed the hour.
"Wait," Subaru said, slowing slightly. "You're… coming with me?"
Übel looked over her shoulder, grin widening.
"Yeah, yeah." She waved dismissively. "But only if you let me copy… what was it called again?"
Subaru's lips pressed thinly.
"Erafassen."
"Ah, that, that." Übel's tone was almost sing-song. "Erafassen."
She rolled the word around like candy.
Then she walked ahead fully, arms still stretched lazily, posture relaxed.
Subaru's purple eyes followed her.
And the world changed.
It happened without effort now.
Without conscious command.
The air around Übel fractured into lines of possibility.
Silhouettes.
One.
Two.
Ten.
Thirty.
One hundred and three.
They layered over her figure like ghosts of intent.
One hundred and three ways to kill her.
Now.
A cut to the throat from behind.
A blade through the heart.
A spell detonated at point-blank range.
A fracture of bone.
A severed spine.
One hundred and three perfectly calculated outcomes.
Subaru's breath paused, not in fear.
In recognition. It would be very easy.
She knew exactly how. But she wouldn't.
She wouldn't.
For some reason, some instinct deeper than logic… she knew Übel wouldn't betray her.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Übel was dangerous, yes. Unstable. Curious in ways that bordered on lethal. But betrayal? No. Not in the immediate future.
And besides—
She wanted to copy Erafassen?
Subaru almost laughed.
That was impossible. She had died nearly one hundred and fifty times. One hundred and fifty separate deaths. Pain. Terror. Regret. Desperation. You couldn't replicate that or couldn't empathize with it.
No one could ever truly understand the sensation of watching your own life end and restarting with memory intact. No one could visualize that deeply. No one could share that burden.
Erafassen wasn't just technique.
It was trauma weaponized. Übel could cling. Could observe. Could try to sync her thoughts.
It wouldn't matter. Subaru let the silhouettes fade.
In a way…
She was using her. The thought came uninvited. Übel was strong. Skilled. Alert. A natural predator. If danger came, Übel would react instantly. If something targeted Subaru, Übel would likely counter first out of sheer reflex or curiosity. Subaru was walking beside a shield disguised as a girl.
The realization tasted bitter.
She let out a short laugh under her breath.
The boy who once dreamed of being a gentleman. Of helping cute girls, Of standing heroically in front of danger. Now walking behind her as insurance.
"Guess I'm evil now, huh," Subaru muttered softly.
Or maybe not evil. Changed. Loops did that to people. Death did that to people. Heh.
When you'd felt your body split apart, when you'd heard your own screams echo into nothingness enough times, priorities shifted. Morals blurred. Survival came first. Always.
Ahead, Übel glanced back, moonlight catching in her green hair.
"Oi, Subaru," she called casually, hands resting behind her head again. "You comin'?"
Frieren had gambled.
She rarely did.
For most of her long life, she had moved carefully, patiently, with the quiet certainty of someone who had centuries to correct mistakes. But this time she had spoken too easily.
You can win.
She had looked at Stark and Fern and said it without hesitation.
They had believed her.
And Stark had paid the price.
Now the world around them was nothing but white fury.
The blizzard of the Decle Region swallowed the horizon whole. Snow didn't fall, it attacked. It came in slanted sheets, biting against skin and fabric, screaming across the plains like a living thing determined to erase every trace of warmth.
They walked in a line to avoid losing one another.
Kraft led.
Behind him, Stark lay unconscious in his arms, wrapped tightly in cloaks and spare cloth, head resting against the elf's shoulder. His breath came faintly, fogging weakly in the freezing air.
Sein followed close, murmuring a steady priestly incantation under his breath. A faint golden warmth radiated from him, not enough to melt the snow but enough to keep their limbs from stiffening completely.
Fern walked next, staff raised slightly, a steady glow lighting the path ahead through the white chaos.
Frieren came last.
Normally, she would have already gone stiff from the cold, her body succumbing to lethargy in this kind of climate. She disliked cold deeply and had never hidden it.
But today she did not falter.
A thin veil of mana wrapped around her like an invisible cloak, keeping frost from settling into her bones. It was inefficient and wasteful, something she would normally avoid.
Today, she allowed it.
She would not slow them down.
She would not be another burden.
Fern glanced back from time to time.
Not openly.
Not accusingly.
Just quick looks over her shoulder.
Checking distance. Making sure Frieren hadn't fallen behind. Making sure she wasn't swallowed by the storm.
But every time their eyes met, Frieren felt something unspoken.
This is your fault.
Fern never said it. Fern would never say it. But Frieren felt it anyway. The wind howled louder, as if agreeing.
She replayed the battle again in her mind.
That demon girl. Technique like that was rare. To be strong enough to harm Stark…
Stark, who could cleave adult wyverns in half. Stark, whose raw physical strength rivaled most creatures…
Frieren had underestimated her. She had miscalculated. Type, arrogance, experience, none of it mattered. The result was the same.
Stark lay unconscious in another's arms. And they were chasing hope through a blizzard. Where were they even going? Sein and Fern didn't fully know.
Kraft had given them an answer, if it could be called that.
There is a place.
A place where we can gamble. A risk. A crossing through the blizzard. The price: a chance at healing Stark. A chance. That was all.
"Where is this cabin?" Sein called forward, his voice nearly stolen by the wind.
"Close," Kraft replied without turning. His voice carried strangely well despite the storm. "Just follow me."
Sein frowned but did not argue.
He was not an adventurer by trade. Not someone accustomed to navigating death through snowstorms and cryptic elves. He was a village priest who had thought his greatest struggle would be mundane illness or the occasional bandit wound.
Now he carried a boy like fragile glass in a land that did not care for faith. Or at least not that he knew or fully understood.
The snow deepened as they went deeper.
Fern's boots sank nearly to her calves at times, but she did not complain. She only tightened her grip on her staff and pressed forward.
Frieren kept her gaze on Kraft's back.
The elf moved with unnatural ease, as though the blizzard parted for him out of respect.
She knew of this place. Of course she did. Eighty years ago, she had stood there. Eighty years ago, the snow had not felt this heavy. Or perhaps it had and she simply had not noticed. Because she had not been alone.
Himmel had laughed at the cold. Heiter had complained loudly while secretly enjoying the hardship. Eisen had walked silently, carrying more supplies than necessary just in case. The memory surfaced.
"We're here," Kraft announced suddenly.
Through the white storm, a shape emerged. A cabin. Small. Weather-beaten. Half-buried in snowdrifts. The roof sagged slightly under accumulated frost. One shutter hung crooked. The wood had darkened with age.
Sein hurried forward, pushing through the last stretch of snow. He reached the door and forced it open with a heavy shove.
The hinges groaned in protest. Cold air spilled inside first, followed by them. One by one they entered.
Kraft stepped in carefully, lowering Stark onto an old wooden table near the wall.
Fern moved immediately to the stone fireplace, kneeling and brushing away ash from long-dead embers. With a flick of her staff and a controlled burst of magic, dry wood caught flame. Orange light bloomed. Warmth began to spread slowly.
Sein hurried to Stark's side, adjusting wrappings, checking his pulse, whispering another quiet prayer.
Frieren stepped further inside.
The cabin smelled of old timber and faint smoke that had settled into the walls decades ago. Her eyes drifted to the bed in the far corner.
Still there.
Same frame. Same uneven legs. She walked toward it slowly and sat down. The wood creaked under her steps.
Eighty years.
The last time she had been here, she had not thought about returning. Why would she? Humans moved on so quickly.
Places blurred. Moments faded. But now it all felt painfully clear. Kraft approached and sat beside her without a word. For a while, neither spoke.
The fire crackled softly.
Sein murmured near Stark. Fern stood quietly, gaze fixed on the boy's pale face.
Frieren broke the silence. "You think this will work?" Her voice was softer than usual.
Kraft did not answer immediately. "I am not sure," he admitted at last.
"The last time," he continued, "the one who survived was a priest. And it was in the early stages."
Frieren's gaze did not say anything.
"Stark's condition is worse," Kraft went on. "And he is no priest. No warrior of faith." He glanced toward Stark. "If what you've told me about the demon is correct… then Stark has very little time."
The words were facts
"The wounds aren't getting worse," Sein said quickly, almost defensively. "They've stabilized."
Kraft's eyes shifted to him.
"It's not killing his body, Sein," he said quietly. "It's killing his soul."
The fire popped sharply. Sein fell silent. Fern's fingers tightened around her staff. Frieren stared at the floorboards. Soul. She understood that word too well. She had watched enough souls pass beyond reach.
Fern finally spoke. "Are you sure this will work?"
There was no accusation in her tone. Only tension. Controlled, barely restrained tension.
Kraft exhaled slowly. "It's the only thing I can think of now."
The only thing. That was not reassurance.
"When do we leave?" Sein asked.
He looked uneasy, glancing between the door and the windows rattling faintly under wind pressure.
"Usually," Kraft said, leaning back slightly, "I would stay here for months. Wait for the blizzard to calm down."
Sein's expression stiffened. Months? Stark did not have months.
Kraft's gaze turned toward the unconscious boy.
"But…" he continued, voice quieter, firmer, "I say we leave in the morning."
The mattress was too soft.
Or maybe it was her body that felt wrong against it.
Subaru lay on her back in the dimly lit inn room, staring at the ceiling beams as moonlight slipped through the thin curtains. The unfamiliar weight of her longer hair pooled across the pillow like spilled ink. Every time she shifted, strands brushed against her shoulders, tickled her cheek, reminded her of what she was.
What she wasn't.
She lifted one hand slowly and let it hover above her chest, fingers curling experimentally as if she might wake from this at any moment.
Different proportions. Different center of gravity. Different breathing. Different everything.
It had been long enough that she could move without stumbling. Long enough that she no longer startled at the pitch of her own voice.
But acceptance? That was another matter entirely. And then there were the horns.
She turned her head slightly, catching the faint outline of them in the mirror across the room. Curved, dark, unmistakable.
No hiding those.
They weren't just physical changes. They were declarations. You are not human. Her gaze drifted sideways.
Übel slept beside her, sprawled without care, one arm thrown lazily across the space Subaru had occupied moments ago. Her breathing was slow, even. Peaceful.
Moonlight painted her neck in pale silver. Soft and exposed. Subaru felt it before she could stop it. That pull. That instinct.
Her lips parted slightly. If she leaned forward… If she sank her teeth into that soft skin—
Her fingers twitched. She could almost imagine the warmth. The taste. The rush of—
Subaru jerked upright violently. "Nope."
Her breath came faster than it should have.
She dragged both hands through her hair, gripping tight near the roots, grounding herself.
"I am not doing that," she muttered under her breath.
She swung her legs off the bed carefully, making sure not to disturb Übel, and stood. The wooden floor creaked faintly beneath her bare feet.
She crossed the small room quietly and climbed onto the windowsill, pushing the curtain aside just enough to peer outside.
The night greeted her in silence.
Stars scattered across a velvet sky. The moon hung large and serene, bathing rooftops in silver light. The world looked gentle from up here.
Peaceful.
"Huh," Subaru whispered softly. "Beautiful."
It was strange how calm things looked when you weren't being hunted. When you weren't bleeding out on cobblestones. When a red-haired boy wasn't slicing you apart with terrifying precision.
Her lips trembled at the memory. Loop after loop. Death after death.
She hadn't used any powers at first. Not until around the hundredth loop or so. And even then, it had been instinct. Levitation. No wings. No chanting. Just rising. Like gravity had suddenly decided she no longer belonged to it.
Apparently demons did that. Flew like it was nothing.
Good to know.
She rested her chin on her knees, staring at the moon.
But Erafassen…
That hadn't come until much later. Past one hundred and forty loops. She still remembered the moment. She had been dying again. Blood in her lungs. Vision fading. And then… A whisper. Not audible. Not external. Just… there.
Erfassen.
The word had echoed through her mind like something ancient had grown tired of watching her fail. And suddenly she understood. Understood structure. Understood imitation.
Understood how to grasp the concept of something and replicate its shape, its presence, its essence—
—imperfectly But sufficiently.
As if someone or something had decided she'd suffered enough.
Subaru exhaled slowly. She raised her right hand in front of her. Focused. Imagined. Weight. Metal. Power condensed into form. A pulse of mana shimmered.
And in her palm… A hammer materialized.
Mjölnir.
Solid. Not as heavy as one might think. Intricately carved. She blinked at it. Then barked out a soft, awkward laugh.
"This is so stupid…"
She shifted her grip and hopped down from the windowsill, landing lightly. She planted one foot forward and raised the hammer dramatically.
"Behold!" she whispered loudly. "I'm Thor Odinson, the King of Asgard and the strongest Avenger—"
She froze mid-pose. Slowly, Very slowly, She turned her head toward the bed.
Übel hadn't moved. Still asleep.
Subaru exhaled in relief. "Okay. Good. Good."
She straightened awkwardly and willed the hammer away.
It dissolved into flickers of mana, fading like embers in reverse.
From what she understood, Erafassen could copy anything she imagined.
Anything.
Weapons.
Spells.
Powers.
But there was a catch.
It was inferior.
Always inferior.
A shadow of the original.
A replica built from understanding rather than authenticity.
If she imagined a legendary weapon, she could manifest it, but it would never carry the full authority of the original.
Still.
Even an inferior copy of something broken was dangerous.
She rested her back against the wall beside the window.
She didn't fully know this world's power scale yet.
Didn't know who sat at the top.
Didn't know what counted as "untouchable."
But she knew one thing.
If she ever imagined something like Ea…
She let out a low whistle.
No way anyone here was surviving that.
Her biggest weakness wasn't strength.
It was information.
Knowledge.
She couldn't counter what she didn't understand. Couldn't imagine what she'd never seen.
Which was why Übel was useful. Subaru's eyes drifted back to the bed. Übel wasn't just a potential threat.
She was a library. A walking database of how magic worked here. How people thought. How this world operated. And she was curious enough to stick around.
That curiosity might be Subaru's greatest advantage.
Subaru flexed her fingers slowly. She had levitation. She had Erafassen.
She had survived over a hundred and fifty deaths. Pain didn't scare her anymore. Fear didn't paralyze her anymore. If anything, it sharpened her. Her gaze hardened slightly. She was ready.
Let this world throw its strongest. Let its greatest mage step forward. Let its so-called legends test her.
Would she lose? A slow grin tugged at her lips.
"Nah," she murmured quietly to herself. "I'd win."