Under the twilight sky, the cemetery of San Angel glowed with countless candles for the Day of the Dead. Disguised as an old woman, you, La Muerte, and Scaramouche, Xibalba, disguised as an old man, moved quietly among the celebrating townsfolk, watching Manolo, Juaquin, and Maria.

"Look at them," Scaramouche muttered disdainfully. "So naive, so... hopeful."

You chuckled softly. "Hope is what keeps the heart alive, dear Scara."

Approaching the trio, you saw Manolo's passion for his guitar despite his father's wishes. "Such a dreamer," you mused. "But dreams are powerful things."

Scaramouche's attention was on Juaquin, eager to prove himself. "Courage is admirable, but sometimes, it needs a little... enhancement."

You approached the children, your disguises fooling them. "Would you help an old woman with her candles?" you asked Manolo.

"Of course, señora," Manolo replied, lighting the candles.

Scaramouche tapped Juaquin on the shoulder. "Young man, could you spare a moment for an old soldier?"

"Yes, sir! How can I help?" Juaquin responded.

You touched Manolo's shoulder. "Manolo, you have a pure heart and a noble spirit. Follow your dreams." A golden glow enveloped him, filling him with confidence.

Scaramouche handed Juaquin a medal. "Take this, boy. It will give you the strength to be a true hero." Juaquin felt a surge of power and courage.

As the night wore on, you and Scaramouche watched the children from a distance, your bets placed.

"Do you really think your little blessing can compete with my medal?" Scaramouche taunted.

You smiled. "We shall see, dear Scara. Sometimes, the heart is mightier than the sword."