The streets of the Pride Ring were shrouded in a heavy darkness, where even the streetlights emitted a decaying, murky red glow.
A massive five-meter figure stood silently in the shadows of an alley.
Spade looked down, his eyes lowered, gazing at the dilapidated building at the end of the alleyway that bore the sign “Happy Hotel.” His signature mechanical clown attire was exceptionally striking—impossibly long mechanical legs supported well-pressed dark trousers, the cuffs adorned with delicate gold tassels.
His hands were intricate constructs of dull gold metal, each finger a sharp, slender blade that glinted coldly as they flexed.
A white mask was fixed in a permanent smile that reached his ears, accented by a crimson lip line, appearing both eerie and elegant in the gloom of Hell.
He had been watching quietly for over half an hour.
The activity inside, the people coming and going, the tone of their conversations—it was almost identical to the pilot episode he had watched countless times.
Only some of the dialogue had been slightly altered; the rest followed the same old script.
Spade complained silently to himself: *Tsk, the same old recipe, the same old chaos.
Not an ounce of originality.* Inside the Happy Hotel.
The walls were peeling, the floorboards creaked underfoot, and a few precarious wires dangled from the ceiling.
No matter how you looked at it, the place resembled an abandoned warehouse ravaged by a thousand Hell-storms; there wasn’t a single trace of “happiness” to be found.
Alastor—the legendary Radio Demon of Hell—dressed in his red-and-black striped suit and topped with a small hat, wore his signature gentle yet terrifying smile.
He pushed open the hotel doors with practiced ease, moving as if he were entering his own home.
He immediately spotted Charlie standing in the center of the lobby.
Her blonde hair was soft and fluffy, her small demon horns sat obediently atop her head, and her eyes sparkled with innocence and passion.
This was Charlie Magne, the Princess of Hell and the founder of the redemption plan for Hell’s sinners.
“Why, hello there, Princess!
Long time no see~” Alastor launched into his standard pilot lines, his voice light and airy, with the characteristic upbeat lilt of a radio broadcast.
“It seems your ‘great work of redemption’ is still proceeding…
quite spectacularly?” Charlie’s cheeks flushed at his words, and she waved her hands awkwardly.
“Alastor!
You—you’re here!” On the sofa, Vaggie sat curled up, her dusty purple hair a mess.
Her demon ears were pricked up warily, and her eyes were locked onto Alastor, her entire body language screaming “stay away from me.” As Charlie’s most loyal partner and bodyguard, she held zero trust for any dangerous elements approaching the hotel.
*Not this radio psycho again…* Vaggie rolled her eyes internally, frustratedly running a hand through her hair.
Beside her, the pink-and-white furred adult film star, Angel Dust, was lounging lazily on another sofa, scrolling through his Hell-phone with an air of detached indifference.
He glanced up at Alastor and immediately leaned in, his tone gossipy and nonchalant.
“Oho, if it isn’t the big-shot Radio Demon?
What brings you to this neck of the woods?
Our little dump of a hotel can’t possibly accommodate a big shot like you.” Angel had always been uninterested in Hell’s political struggles and power plays; he only cared about money, parties, and his career.
His question was born of pure curiosity.
Hearing this, Vaggie turned her head wordlessly and whispered to Angel, “He’s here to be the ‘manager’ for Charlie’s redemption plan.
Don’t ask; the more you know, the bigger the headache.” “Oh—” Angel drawled, realization dawning, before he immediately curled his lip.
“Fine by me.
Doesn’t involve me anyway.” Alastor scanned the hotel interior—the dilapidated furniture, the peeling paint, the drafty windows.
The curve of his smile widened slightly, his eyes clearly asking: *Can people actually live here?* Charlie read his expression instantly.
She scratched the back of her head sheepishly and defended the place in a small voice: “The—the exterior renovations are finished!
It’s just the inside…
it’s still a bit run-down.
Please, don’t mind it!” Alastor chuckled and waved a hand, stating his intent directly.
“I’m not here to critique the decor, Princess.
I’m here to help you turn this redemption farce into a grand performance that all of Hell will love to watch.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he snapped his fingers.
*Snap!* An old fireplace in the corner of the lobby suddenly vibrated violently.
With a loud *clatter*, it burst open, and a petite black shadow tumbled out of the dust.
A single large, round eye blinked rapidly, looking small and pitiful.
Alastor reached out and plucked the tiny thing up.
With a flick of his fingers, he cleared away the soot on her body instantly.
This was the hotel’s yandere little maid—Niffty.
Tiny in stature but exploding with manic energy, cleaning was her sole obsession.
“Wow!
New friends!
So much dust!
I need to clean!” Niffty immediately shrieked with excitement, her eye gleaming with fanaticism.
Immediately after, there was another distortion in space.
Husk, a former Overlord, was forcibly teleported in.
He was still clutching a handful of playing cards from a casino, his face a mix of “I was about to win” fury and total confusion.
“What the hell?!
I was about to clean out the casino!
What bastard dragged me here?!” Husk roared irritably.
His greatest loves in life were bartending and gambling; having his game forcibly interrupted sent his temper through the roof.
The already chaotic hotel lobby instantly became a madhouse.
Vaggie covered her face, a look of utter despair as she slumped onto the sofa, muttering to herself, “It’s over.
It’s completely over.
This place is going to be torn apart by these lunatics sooner or later…
why did Charlie ever agree to this!” Charlie, however, remained optimistic, waving her hands.
“It’s fine, it’s fine!
The more the merrier!” Just as the noise in the lobby reached its peak.
*Knock—knock—knock—* Three elegant yet heavy knocks suddenly sounded at the door.
The entire hotel went dead silent.
Every demon turned their heads in unison toward the main entrance.
Charlie took a deep breath, hurried over, and pulled the door open.
The figure outside caused Charlie to freeze on the spot.
She had to tilt her head back to the limit, her neck nearly straining, to see the visitor’s full height.
The five-meter-tall mechanical clown demon stood quietly at the entrance, leaning down slightly to maintain a sense of ultimate elegance.
It was Spade, who had been watching the scene from the alley for quite some time.
His metal fingers were long and sharp, the smile on his mask never changing.
His mechanical legs stood straight, and a low-key yet terrifying sense of pressure radiated from him.
Rumors about him circulated throughout all of Hell— The owner of the Toy Factory.
It was said he could stuff any demon into a doll and transform them into a horrific monster.
Sinners who offended him were caught and turned into “canned demons,” and he didn’t care if his targets were Overlords.
Carmilla, her two daughters, and Zestial would occasionally tease him about these rumors, which once annoyed Spade so much he captured every demon who wrote those stories.
Consequently, the rumors only grew wilder, with even ancient demons adding their own embellishments.
But only a few demons knew that Spade’s factory was divided into two sections.
Section One produced ordinary dolls sold to the residents and nobles of Hell—a legitimate business.
The so-called “monster dolls” were entirely fabricated by unscrupulous storytellers.
When Charlie was little, her favorite toys were all ordinary dolls produced by Spade’s factory.
She just never knew that the man who had shaped her childhood was the protagonist of these terrifying legends.
Spade looked down at the blonde princess whose eyes were wide with shock.
From behind the mask, his tone carried the casualness of an old acquaintance as he uttered a single word: “You.” The next second.
*Bam!* Mimicking Alastor’s earlier entrance exactly, he reached out and slammed the door shut.
Charlie: “…” Charlie stood outside the door, completely stunned, her breathing a bit hitched.
What kind of day was this?
First, the Radio Demon Alastor shows up to be a manager, and now Spade, the mechanical clown whom the rest of Hell dares not provoke, has arrived!
She gripped the doorknob, her heart a mess of panic: *It’s over, it’s over…
the rumored clown demon actually came in person!
He made all my dolls when I was a kid!
Is he really going to turn people into monsters?!* Inside the hotel.
Vaggie snapped upright, her eyes wary to the extreme.
An angelic spear manifested in her hands instantly.
“That aura…
is it that clown demon?!
Why would he come here?!” Angel also put down his phone, his white ears perking up, becoming uncharacteristically serious.
“Uh oh, big trouble’s here.
That psycho from the Toy Factory isn’t like Alastor—he doesn’t just like to put on a show.” Alastor stroked his chin, his smile deepening, his radio voice full of interest.
“My, my!
It seems the guest performers at the Happy Hotel today are getting more interesting by the second~” Spade stood outside the closed door, his five-meter frame looking exceptionally prominent in the dim alleyway.
He sighed softly and tapped his metal finger against his mask, complaining wildly in his mind: *Unbelievable.
The same old pilot episode trope.
Slamming the door after saying one word—can’t we change the routine?
Bending over to knock on a door at five meters tall is a lot of work, you know!*