[Realm of Little Alice]

"You really should think before you speak," Alice said softly, her voice gentle in a way that merely felt rehearsed if anything. "Not because I am offended—offense is such a crude, human thing—but because words have consequences here, and you speak as though you are immune to them."

Her voice reached him softly, yet it carried no warmth whatsoever. There was no anger in it, no irritation or any hint of wounded pride—only a flat tone that made the words far more unsettling than if she had shouted them. She lifted her porcelain teacup with an unhurried movement, the motion smooth as she brought it to her lips. She took a brief sip, just enough to wet them, before setting the cup back onto its saucer.

Her vacant eyes rose immediately afterward, latching onto Grimm.

"Though I find myself wondering," she continued evenly, "whether you speak so freely because you are truly brave… or because you are so deeply foolish that you cannot recognize danger even when it is seated across from you."

"Neither," Grimm replied after a brief pause, his tone unchanged. "If I speak without restraint, it is because I am confident in my abilities, and because I have learned that fear rarely serves a purpose worth acknowledging."

For a moment, Alice simply stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, a soft giggle slipped from her lips. It was a small sound, as though she had just heard something terribly amusing.

It did not reach her eyes.

"Confidence," she echoed slowly. "Or is it simply overconfidence born from an inflated sense of your own importance?" Her smile thinned. "You are, after all, merely the descendant of a dragon—removed from any kind of divinity by generations, diluted by time—yet you carry yourself as though you stand above consequence. It would almost be charming, were it not so painfully misguided."

"Hm," Grimm murmured. His gaze drifted briefly over the field, the sky and the constructed perfection of the realm. "Creating a realm like this is respectable. But if this is the full measure of your power, if this display is meant to intimidate me, then you misunderstand me entirely. This is something I can handle."

Her brows drew together subtly, confusion alight across her face before hardening. Though his voice was muffled beneath his helm, she heard it clearly—the tone and the certainty behind it. This was not arrogance. Nor was it ignorance.

It was belief.

Not belief born of bravado or blind confidence, but the unshakable conviction of someone who had already measured the outcome.

("…Is he merely insane?") Alice wondered silently. There could be no other answer. ("He does not deny that I am capable of creating a realm,") she thought. ("And yet his delusion persists. Why?") Her gaze sharpened. ("Because he is Untainted… perhaps?")

She shook her head once, dismissing the thought. It did not matter. She knew her own strength. And this—this was simply the delusion of a man unfamiliar with fear.

Ignorance was not bravery.

It was idiocy.

"So you acknowledge what I am capable of," she said quietly, "and yet you dismiss it all the same." Her head tilted. "Tell me, Grimm—do you truly believe this confidence of yours is something special, or are you simply the type of man incapable of imagining a force greater than yourself? You seem to be too certain in your own delusions," Alice continued after a beat, her voice sharpening just slightly. "But certainty does not change reality. You stand no chance against me. I am an avatar of The Abhorrent—an existence that eclipses Gods, Divine Beasts, Ancestors, and Dragons alike. Compared to that, you are inconsequential."

Grimm folded his arms.

"Then stop explaining yourself," he said flatly. "Either prove you are interesting or stop wasting my time."

Alice went completely still.

Her eyes remained fixed on him, unblinking, her expression blank. If she felt anger, there was no sign of it. She looked less like a living girl now and more like a doll left sitting too long in one place.

"I will give you one opportunity to apologize," Alice said at last, her tone stripped of even pretense. "You intrigue me, Grimm, and many powerful beings are watching your story unfold with great interest. But do not mistake curiosity for mercy."

"I do not need mercy," Grimm replied. "And I do not concern myself with threats spoken instead of acted upon."

Alice scowled faintly, the smallest crease forming between her brows. "So you choose to be deliberately rude," she said. "Because you find me uninteresting? And now you are prepared to discard your life simply to satisfy your boredom?"

"Anything that lacks interest," Grimm answered evenly, "lacks meaning. And anything without meaning is already dead."

He continued without pause.

"There was a time when magic fascinated me. When power felt profound. When the idea of destiny, inheritance, and purpose held weight. But those things dull quickly." His voice remained calm. "Once something ceases to engage me, it ceases to matter. In this world, I seek only what can still provoke thought, conflict, or discovery."

His gaze fixed on her.

"And you," he said quietly, "do none of those. As such you are meaningless."

Silence crushed the space between them.

Pure, absolute silence. The wind vanished. The distant sounds ceased. Even the air seemed to still, pressing down on them. It was not a peaceful quiet.

It was suffocating.

Grimm expected her to lash out—to rage, to sneer or to even strike.

But instead he saw something else.

Most would have missed it. It lasted no more than a fraction of a second. A minute shift. Something behind those vacant eyes.

But Grimm noticed.

"What was that look just now?" Grimm asked calmly, his voice suddenly much closer than it had any right to be.

"Huh?"

Alice blinked, catching a smear of black at the edge of her vision. She turned her head—and nearly jumped out of her chair when she realized Grimm was suddenly beside her, towering far too close, one gauntleted hand lifting to the chin of his helm as though she were suddenly something worth examining.

She blinked again, more sharply this time. Not at the speed—speed was trivial—but at the audacity.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her brows knitting together. "And when did you decide personal space was optional?"

"You looked downtrodden," Grimm said evenly, peering down at her. "For half a second. Like something slipped. It was small, but noticeable."

She scoffed, folding her arms. "Are you quite certain your delusions aren't escalating? You've already demonstrated a habit of seeing meaning where there is none."

"No," Grimm replied without hesitation. "My eyes do not lie. And I find it curious." His head tilted slightly. "You posture as something beyond humanity, yet at the end of the day you're just some kid."

Alice's eye twitched.

She kept her posture dignified—rigid spine and a chin lifted—but the irritation leaked through her expression anyway. "I am not 'some kid,'" she snapped. "I am an entity of immense power, refinement, and authority. And more importantly, I am a lady. A concept I suspect is entirely foreign to a brute who would no doubt solve all his problems with violence and ignorance."

"You look like most snot-nosed children I've encountered," Grimm said idly, as though commenting on something mundane. "All that attitude and no restraint."

"I AM NOT SNOT-NOSED!" Alice shouted, springing up from her chair and pointing at him with a trembling finger. "I am dignified!"

The fact that she barely reached his chest did her no favors and that it was so easy to rile up the girl who had acted so dignified moments ago.

"Ah," Grimm murmured thoughtfully. "I see." He paused. "Normally, I do not extend mercy—even to children. That said, I would rather not dirty my hands with the blood of brats if it can be avoided." He leaned slightly closer. "Besides, you look like you're one sharp comment away from crying."

Her eye began twitching violently.

"I am not a child, damn you!" she shrieked, her voice cracking just enough to betray her anger.

"Children shouldn't swear," Grimm replied flatly. "It's bad for the soul."

"Grrrr—!" Alice clenched her fists, teeth bared, vibrating with rage.

"Well," Grimm continued after a moment, as if reconsidering an earlier assessment, "I suppose I owe you a correction. You are, in fact, the most interesting thing I've encountered here so far."

("And now I'm a thing?!") Alice thought incredulously, her fist shaking as she raised it higher.

"On second thought," Grimm added, already turning away, "that may not be a compliment."

She opened her mouth to retort—

"Well," he said casually, "see you around. Or not. Stay nice. Or whatever it is brats do."

And then he was gone.

Alice blinked.

Once.

Twice.

"Huh?" Her voice came out smaller than intended. "He's… gone?" She scanned the field, the sky, the fabric of her realm.

Nothing.

Her eyes widened. ("He detached himself from my realm.")

Shock would have assaulted her were it not for her anger.

Her hands clenched at her sides.

"Good!" she shouted suddenly, spinning around to glare at absolutely no one. "I didn't want to see that insufferable, rude, overconfident fool again anyway!"

The wind did not answer and the realm did not react.

And that only made her angrier.

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