[The fact that they're both wearing swimwear (and Haru's is... certainly not as modest as she would have personally preferred or chosen had she had the option, alas) lends a certain level of absurdity to the situation.

Her chest aches. Haru steps forward. Her hands ball into fists, and then relax.]

There's a lot of things I've wanted to do to you. [To bash his face in. To shred him to bits with Milady's guns. To throttle him until he could feel just a fraction of what she'd felt watching what happened to her father. She exhales.]

But they wouldn't really change anything, would they? For my father, or for you.