Edward asked in puzzlent, "Why are you giving your father's notebook?"
Bernadette replied earnestly, "Because in that dream world last ti, you seed very interested in that kind of writing. Daddy's notes are all written in that script, so I thought…maybe it would be useful to you."
"Uh…"
What had fascinated him wasn't the script itself, but that elentary school textbook…or more accurately, its owner—Lilith.
Still, since Bernadette had already brought the notebook, he decided to keep a copy. Who knows—perhaps it could serve so strange purpose in the future when dealing with Roselle. Especially reading it aloud in front of Bernadette…that might carry more weight than a thousand anchors.
As the swirling mist before her dissipated, Bernadette began to hug the "notebook," swinging her legs patiently in the room as she waited.
Not long after, Edward's figure stepped out of thin air.
"Here!"
She hopped off the bed, held the notebook in both hands, and handed it to him like a treasure, reminding him earnestly, "You can only study it here. I still have to return it later."
"Alright."
Edward took the diary and flipped through it rapidly.
As expected, Roselle's early entries were filled with daily trifles and complaints, a jumble of amusents at first glance.
Especially during his days as the newly anointed "Son of Steam," basking in the lilight.
He was young, handso, and greatly welcod by noble ladies and daughters.
He truly enjoyed himself to the fullest—no limits on location, no limits on the number of partners, and perhaps…no limits, period.
What was shocking was that he shalessly recorded every detail in the diary.
Rossell didn't write in the diary every day. He would skip three or five days, sotis even an entire week.
Most entries were brief.
This single black leather notebook contained all of his diary entries from the ti shortly after he crossed over, all the way up to when Bernadette was born.
After Bernadette's birth, the diary entries noticeably beca more restrained. Although there were still occasional inappropriate remarks, the overall tone had clearly beco far more serious.
Seems that saying is true—only after becoming a father do n truly begin to grow up.
"Alright, finished."
"So fast?!" Bernadette's eyes widened in astonishnt. She quickly asked, "Did it help you?"
"Yes. Very much so."
"That's good!"
She exhaled in relief, as though a heavy burden had lifted.
Edward thought for a mont and asked, "Bernie, do you know what your father actually writes in this notebook?"
"Daddy said it's just random, unimportant things he jots down."
"Unimportant?"
"Yes. He always leaves it lying around on his desk. He even said that if anyone could understand a single character, he'd reward them with a thousand fergins!"
Bernadette spread her hands. "Otherwise, how could I have brought it to you?"
"I see…"
Edward easily guessed Roselle's mindset. Since no one in this world could read Chinese, the more casually he treated it, the less suspicion it would draw. No wonder his diaries would one day end up scattered across the world.
"Mr. Sparrow!"
Bernadette called out again, pulling sothing from behind her back. "This is for you—it's a drawing I made myself."
"I drew two copies. One for Daddy, and one for you."
Edward quickly took it, smiling.
"Thank you."
The drawing depicted her, Edward, and fairy-tale characters happily playing on a ship. The artistry wasn't refined, but it radiated childish charm and genuine effort.
Seeing Edward study it carefully, she fidgeted and muttered, "I just drew it casually. It's not nearly as good as Mama's. If you don't like it, you can throw it away."
Your face is practically shouting 'please keep it.'
"Thank you," Edward said seriously, carefully tucking the drawing away.
"I'll treasure it."
She forced a nonchalant look, stretching out her small pale hand.
"Then what about the thing you owe ?"
"What thing?"
"When you gave the Little rmaid doll, you promised that as long as I kept my promise, you'd give more dolls. I want…" She thought hard. "Snow White! You didn't forget, did you?"
"Of course not."
Edward was about to cast a Transfiguration, but Bernadette hurried to her bedside table, pulling out another doll. "Daddy carved this one. Can you make it the sa as the Little rmaid?"
"Of course." For original chapters go to novel fire
He snapped his fingers, activating False Reality.
"Go ahead, try it."
Bernadette eagerly stroked the doll. In the blink of an eye, she found herself inside a lavishly decorated castle chamber. One wall held a massive, ornate mirror—but there was no sign of Snow White.
"Where's Snow White?"
Edward's voice echoed gently. "Ask the Magic Mirror."
Bernadette walked to the mirror and asked softly, "Magic Mirror, Magic Mirror, do you know where Snow White is?"
A faint light shimred across the surface. Inside the mirror appeared a girl in a delicate princess gown, her skin fair and pale.
"Far away, yet right before your eyes, my princess," the reflection replied.
"Huh?"
Bernadette blinked in surprise.
"But…isn't that ?"
Edward's figure surfaced in the mirror, smiling faintly.
"So, you are Snow White."
Bernadette froze for half a second before breaking into delighted laughter.
"Thank you, Mr. Magic Mirror!"
———
Once convinced that Rose Street No. 7 was cursed, Dubois's efficiency doubled.
By noon the next day, the "Sparrow family" had already completed their move from Rose Street to No. 28 Erald Street, a pri district just one block away from "Son of Steam" Roselle's residence.
The entire morning was a blur of frantic activity for everyone—servants and Dubois alike. Only Edward, the great "master," spent the ti lounging about: sitting, leaning, or lying down, eating when food was served, drinking when poured, basking in everyone's service.
Ah…now I finally understand why nobles are so addicted to this life. Once you rise from frugality to luxury, you'll never go back.
New house, new life.
Servants and slaves bustled about unpacking and rearranging. Edward stood on the third-floor balcony, overlooking the busy courtyard below. A peculiar feeling settled in his chest.
In the future, with Lilith and Audrey by my side, I never had the chance to think of a "ho of my own." But here, in this foreign past with no family, I've sohow assembled a household...O. Henry's irony now, isn't it?
By late afternoon, the villa finally looked presentable. But since the previous owner had taken a lot of belongings, there were still many things to purchase. If Akasha were still around, she would have enjoyed managing this kind of thing.
As night fell, the villa's gas lamps flared one by one, casting a warm amber glow that softened the darkness outside.
Dubois hurried over. "Boss, Roselle is here."
"Hm?"
Edward was startled. "He's here? Why?"
"Apparently, to congratulate you on your housewarming."
That Roselle knew about the relocation was no surprise. But etiquette dictated he wait for a housewarming banquet invitation—not show up on his own.
Since when did we beco this close?
Edward rose with a smile. "Well then, let's go welco the great 'Son of Steam.'"
When he entered the living room, Roselle, his wife, and little Bernadette were already seated on the sofa, sipping coffee. None of his guards had followed him inside.
"Welco, Mr. Gustav, Madam, and the lovely Miss Bernadette," Edward said warmly.
Roselle waved his hand, feigning sternness.
"Ah, Klein, I already told you—just call Roselle."
"Alright then…Roselle!" Edward chuckled, settling into the chair opposite them. "It must've been you again who smoothed things over with the Special Services Bureau the other day. I can't thank you enough. Without you, I'd probably still be rotting in a cell."
"Hahaha, think nothing of it. It was just a word in the right ear."
Roselle suddenly leaned forward, waggling his brows mischievously. "You really haven't seen that maid of yours again, have you?"
"Not at all."
Edward looked genuinely frustrated. "To this day I still don't understand what really happened. First that brat of a count's grandson causes trouble, then sohow it's my maid who gets arrested. I racked my brains trying to save her, and the very next day, I hear she has assassinated the count? How does that make any sense?!"
He slamd his palm down in indignation. "I can't believe it. Either she's been made the scapegoat, or the whole thing was a setup against . Maybe soone saw I'd co to Trier with money and thought I'd be an easy target!"
Bernadette suddenly huffed.
"Don't worry, Mr. Sparrow! With Daddy here, no one will dare bully you! Isn't that right, Daddy?"
Roselle raised an eyebrow. "You heard her. In Trier, I've got your back."
"Then I must thank you, Miss Bernadette."
She giggled, exchanging a knowing glance with him.
Roselle, anwhile, sighed dramatically.
"Honestly, I rather hope it really was your maid who killed Count Clair."
"???" Edward blinked.
"Because then I'd have a chance to et her and say 'thank you.' Hahahaha! I've been sick of that old bastard for years!"
Then his eyes flicked toward Dubois, who stood quietly behind Edward. Pretending just now to notice him, Roselle called out: "Well, well, if it isn't Dubois! Don't you see an honoured guest in front of you? My shoulders are sore—co give a massage."
Dubois's expression didn't shift.
"Forgive . I'm a butler, not a masseuse. If you need one, I can arrange it. Three girls? Or five?"
Roselle's mouth twitched as both his wife and daughter glared daggers at him. He forced a smile, his eyes twitching.
"Klein, when are you finally going to fire this insufferable bastard? I'll pay to hire you the best butler in Trier!"
Edward put on a thoughtful look.
"Alright, I was just thinking I'm not very satisfied with Dubois either."
Roselle leaned back with a smug grin, raising his chin.
"You hear that? You're fired!"
———
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