The confessional smells of cold candle wax and the iron of my own blood. I know the words of absolution, Father, but we both know that tomorrow night I will sit before you again with busted knuckles. The law may fail behind polished mahogany during the day, but when the files in my law firm are closed, there is no escape for the scum out there. I tighten my tie, literally trap the villain between my mountains of paperwork, and present Daredevil: The 1-Cost Verdict – 40 breaths of pure, mathematical efficiency, without a single dead card.This is no proud victory lap; it is a damn lonely road. Sometimes I take a deep breath and push everyone away who stands close to me – Foggy, Karen, every single one of them. I cannot risk them getting caught in my crosshairs. But on the game board, my permanent supports are the only thing keeping me from the abyss. When I sit behind my desk, • Foggy Nelson and • Karen Page keep the world off my back so we can clear threat completely for free, without me wasting a single ounce of energy. I hear Foggy's warnings, I feel his worry, but I cannot stop, not as long as someone out there still needs my help. Kingpin can burn down my firm, drag my name through the dirt – in the end, I stand back up anyway. Always. While I pore over cases, • Sister Maggie patches up my cuts. Her bonus burns like holy water on open skin, and every time I discard a status card after recovering, it feels like a painful penance, paying the price for what I do. Every single night.My hand never clogs because I do not haggle for my survival. Instincts like Deposition, Living Lie Detector, or Know Your Enemy cost me almost nothing. I push myself to the brink of exhaustion, completely dumping my hand every round and squeezing the absolute last drop out of myself. In doing so, I trust nothing but the drumming of heartbeats in the asphalt. Through player side schemes like • Superpower Training or • Focus the Senses, I seize the initiative, reach into my deck without anyone's help, and grab my • Daredevil's Billy Club or the title • The Man Without Fear exactly when the darkness is thickest. When I finally stand on the ledge, there is no hesitation, no fear of the impact or the consequences. I study the trembling in my enemies' voices through my Sense Deck, and then I dive headfirst into the fray.Once the chain of evidence is complete, the trap snaps shut. I slide the weapon into my hand, step over the edge, and feel the AERIAL trait for a heartbeat – in the air, there are no paragraphs, only the wind. My mentor • Stick growls one last word in my ear, his haughty tone completely ignored, while I pump my basic attack up to a furchtlos 4 ATK. Then I unleash Raising Hell into the alley, and because I fly, it rains devastating area-of-effect damage across every upgrade attached to every enemy. I do not spare myself. If my bones must break so the street is safe, then so be it. A ruthless Cross-Examination sets the final verdict, while in the background, upgrades like Auf der Spur (Followed) explode on resolved cases, blasting additional damage salvos into the boss's gut. This deck is my shattered life, pressed into a high-efficiency clockwork. I dictate the tempo, I tolerate no injustice, and when Matt Murdock closes his file, Daredevil has already executed the sentence. The case is closed. God have mercy on my soul.