The realization hit Bernadette like a pang. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something in the coffin... a stack of papers.
She paused, reached for them, and saw the top sheet read:
"Why hesitate? Won't you awaken Roselle with the Fist of True Love?"
Unlike the previous notes, this handwriting wasn't Roselle's... it belonged to someone else.
"Is this really not a joke?" Despite seeing the phrase again, Bernadette's heart wavered with doubt.
She flipped to the next page, which bore familiar blocky script... Roselle's cryptic diary language... paired with Loenese translations.
"Translations?" Bernadette wasn't sure. Her attention locked onto the translated text, and she froze.
The paper read: "March 17th: Are the ladies of Intis all this forward? Did I seduce her, or did she seduce me? Something feels off."
Bernadette instantly recognized it as Roselle's romantic escapades. She wasn't naive; she knew her father's private life was messy.
But knowing was one thing... seeing it was another. Roselle had always been proper around his daughter, so despite his notorious reputation, the raw words hit her hard.
Her father wrote this in his diary?
She bit her lip, eyes glued to the pages, uncovering more of his affairs... not just with various ladies but even a rendezvous while her mother was pregnant.
Her fist clenched as she glared at Roselle's corpse-like form, a cold laugh escaping her.
Hah! If his diaries were filled with this, what did that make her century-long quest to decipher them? A clown?
Before, her hatred for Roselle stemmed from his inhuman actions, driven by justice. Now, her urge to punch him was purely personal.
But she held back, flipping through the remaining pages until the last one, which read:
"Why are you still hesitating?"
Indeed, why?
Bernadette's restraint snapped. She looked at her strong, slender hand, balled it into a fist, and slammed it into Roselle's handsome face.
"Ow, ow, ow!"
Roselle jolted upright in the coffin, clutching his face dramatically. He flashed an awkward yet excited smile at Bernadette, blurting, "Bernadette…"
"Father." She met his gaze, visibly moved but not rushing into a warm reunion. Instead, she held up the stack of translated diary pages, her voice low. "Are these translations accurate?"
"Uh, well!" Roselle broke into a cold sweat, cursing inwardly.
Why was he lying in a coffin waiting for Bernadette's Fist of True Love? Simple... Alaric had convinced him that her love and resentment ran deep. For their father-daughter bond, a dramatic reunion was needed to defuse her anger.
Roselle had bought it... or rather, he had no choice. Alaric made it clear that refusal meant no reunion. Plus, Roselle didn't want past mistakes to ruin his relationship with Bernadette, so he grudgingly agreed.
Hence the earlier setup: no direct meeting to give her time to prepare, building anticipation; the Fist of True Love to let her vent, preventing bottled-up resentment; the diary reveal because, as Alaric argued, "transmigrators" were common now, and Roselle's secrets weren't safe. Better to rip the bandage off during an emotional reunion than risk a later family blowup.
Alaric's plan made sense, at least in theory, which was why Roselle went along.
But even with mental preparation, facing Bernadette's fiery glare, he shrank back, offering a sheepish grin. "The translations are correct, but Bernadette, let me explain…"
"No need!" She cut him off, her face expressionless as she stared at the father she'd sought for over a century. Gritting her teeth, she said, "Father! You're truly my dear father!"
She let out a laugh... part sneer, part exhaustion and disappointment... then turned to leave this painful place.
"Wait, Bernadette!" Roselle panicked, grabbing her arm. "I know you're angry! I was a scoundrel back then, did plenty to wrong your mother, and I'm sorry… Punch me! For her sake…"
Bernadette paused, hearing his seemingly sincere yet half-hearted words. Her emotions churned, and her fist tightened again.
"You're right, Father. I should punch you... for Mother." She took a deep breath, muttering as she clenched her fist and faced him, the atmosphere thick with a bittersweet father-daughter tension.
…
"Yo, cosplaying a panda there?"
Minutes later, Alaric whistled, smirking at Roselle's black-and-blue eyes.
"You've got some nerve saying that." Roselle shot back, glaring before cautiously glancing at Bernadette, who seemed to have calmed down, his doting father act in full swing.
"Why wouldn't I? You got beat because of your own mess. If you'd been even a bit more restrained, you wouldn't have taken this thrashing." Alaric said with a smile, sipping his tea leisurely. He glanced at Bernadette. "Or do you have complaints about your little princess's verdict?"
***
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