The dim, somber light of Hell was never as bright as that of the mortal realm.
Lead-gray clouds perpetually loomed over the hotel, and mottled demon graffiti crawled across the exterior walls.
The newly repaired front doors still bore faint traces of restoration; several days had passed peacefully since Sir Pentious’s ridiculous attack.
The main lobby on the first floor remained the most boisterous area.
Warm-toned magic lamps hung from the center of the ceiling, their light soft yet unable to dispel the deep shadows in the corners—Spade’s favorite place to stay.
His massive, five-meter-tall frame didn’t seem cramped tucked away in the darkness.
The Prototype 1006 mask, with its eternal, eerie smile, concealed all his expressions.
Only his two pitch-black, hollow eye sockets occasionally shifted, scanning the frantic group in the lobby like cold, silent monitors.
Over the past few days, there hadn’t been a single moment of peace in the hotel.
Charlie’s redemption plan had moved into the promotion phase.
This blonde, fluffy-haired Princess of Hell, whose eyes were always filled with naive fervor, was dead set on spreading her philosophy of demon redemption throughout all of Hell.
She had been dragging everyone into filming promotional advertisements day and night.
From script conception and set decoration to filming and post-production, she poured all her passion into it, yet the results were less than satisfactory.
At this moment, Charlie was slumped on the cream-colored fabric sofa in the center of the lobby.
Her golden curls hung messily around her face, and her usually sparkling eyes drooped, looking for all the world like a deflated balloon.
She clutched a crumpled roll of film in her hand, her fingertips unconsciously curling the edges.
Her small brow was furrowed tight, the corners of her mouth turned down, her face a mask of unconcealable frustration.
A pile of discarded scripts, messily drawn storyboards, and several half-finished cups of bitter Hell-coffee were scattered across the coffee table.
Dark stains clung to the sides of the cups—a messy scene that perfectly illustrated the chaotic filming routine of the past few days.
“Sigh…” A soft sigh escaped Charlie’s lips.
She tossed the film onto the coffee table and sank back into the sofa, covering her face with her hands.
Her voice came out muffled: “It’s still not working…
No matter how many times we film it, the ad feels weird.
It’s not engaging, and it doesn’t explain the meaning of redemption clearly…” Sitting beside her, Vaggie sighed and reached out to gently pat Charlie’s shoulder.
Her tone was helpless but as tender as possible.
“Charlie, we’ve done our best.
Everyone has cut back on sleep these past few days.
It wasn’t easy to even get it to this point.” Vaggie wore a crisp, short jacket, her hair pulled back neatly.
As the actual manager of the Hazbin Hotel, she always maintained a calm and rigorous state.
However, the continuous filming and editing had left a layer of faint exhaustion beneath her eyes, and her usually sharp gaze was tinged with powerlessness.
She glanced over the tangled mess of scripts on the table, her frown deepening.
“We tried the heartwarming route, the inspirational route, and even the exaggerated style popular in Hell.
But every version was missing something.
They were either too stiff or completely forgettable.” In the shadows, Spade slowly moved his fingers.
His long, slender metal digits, resembling precision surgical instruments, lightly tapped the metal armrest beside him with a faint *clack, clack*.
He hadn’t been a cold bystander over the past few days.
On the contrary, he had offered many practical suggestions—the rhythm of the shots, simplifying the dialogue, highlighting promotional priorities, and even precisely identifying the preferences and interests of Hell’s demons.
The problem didn’t lie with the suggestions, but with the execution and cooperation of the group.
Charlie was too obsessed with perfection, always trying to cram every single idea into a one-minute ad.
Vaggie was too rigorous, nitpicking the details of every shot until the rhythm dragged.
Angel was flippant the entire time, frequently spacing out or trying to look cool during filming, delivering his lines with total apathy.
Husk was drunk through the whole process; it was considered a favor just to get him to stand in front of the camera.
No matter how good an idea was, when placed in the hands of a group of demons with zero filming experience and wildly inconsistent levels of cooperation, the final result could only be described as barely passable—and definitely not good.
Spade’s hollow eye sockets swept over the group, no emotional ripple showing beneath his mask.
He had expected this outcome and had tried to adjust the plans, but given the behavior and personalities of the group, no matter how good he was at planning, he couldn’t win against a bunch of people who didn’t play by the rules.
There was nothing for it.
Absolutely nothing.
He simply retreated further into the shadows to continue his role as an observer, only tossing out a tip or two when Charlie was so worried she was on the verge of tears.
Charlie was well aware of this.
She knew Spade’s advice was precise and practical.
Whenever she hit a bottleneck, she could always get a pointed direction just by going to him.
But this time, even Spade had metaphorically furrowed his brow beneath that metal mask.
She understood she had to find a way herself; she would only trouble that mysterious existence hiding in the dark if she were truly at a dead end.
Just as the two of them were fretting over the pile of discarded scripts, a set of light, mocking footsteps approached from the stairs.
The hem of a red suit jacket swept against the steps, and the smile beneath the top hat was both elegant and manic.
Alastor, clutching his microphone-shaped cane, gave it a little twirl before strolling over to an armchair opposite the sofa.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying its usual, inscrutable mirth: “Oh my, my dear Princess, and our industrious Miss Vaggie.
It seems your grand promotional endeavor has hit a little…
minor snag?” His tone was airy, as if he were discussing an insignificant trifle—exactly the same as in the original story, forever the poised, unbothered Radio Demon.
Charlie looked up at Alastor, a hint of a plea in her eyes.
“Mr.
Alastor, our ad is going very poorly.
No matter how hard we try, we can’t achieve the effect we want.
I really don’t know what to do.” “Advertisements are mere trifles, the icing on the cake,” Alastor said, lightly tapping his cane against the floor, his laughter carrying the texture of radio static.
“The denizens of Hell have always preferred excitement and spectacle.
Your overly gentle expression simply fails to catch their eyes.
But no matter; I shall remain by your side, watching this amusing game of redemption slowly unfold.” While these words sounded like comfort, they provided zero actual help.
It was his usual style—watching the fun without lifting a finger.
Charlie lowered her head, her fingers twisting the hem of her clothes.
Her voice was low and sincere.
“Thank you so much, Mr.
Alastor.
I’m already very happy that you’re willing to stay with us…
but I really can’t think of any more good ideas.
We’ve tried every method I can think of.” At those words, Vaggie finally snapped.
She lunged up from the sofa, bracing her hands against the edge of the coffee table and leaning forward.
Her usually tempered eyes became sharp as blades, her voice thick with days of suppressed frustration and anger.
“Fine!
This is not the result I wanted!
We’ve been busy for a whole week.
You said you would help us, that you’d contribute to our redemption plan, and what happened?
In the end, it’s all just a joke!” Vaggie took a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over the leisurely Alastor.
Her tone grew heavier.
“Aside from that Mr.
Clown hiding in the shadows who occasionally gives us a bit of barely useful help, no one else in this hotel is helping at all!
If this keeps up, when will Charlie’s dream ever come true?!” She was truly furious.
She felt for Charlie’s exhaustion and depression over the last few days, she was angry that the plan had no progress, and she was even more incensed by Alastor’s dismissive “talk-but-no-action” attitude.
As her words poured out, the atmosphere in the lobby instantly stiffened.
The smile on Alastor’s face didn’t change, though a very faint coldness flashed in the depths of his eyes.
He didn’t lash out, however, maintaining his elegant posture.
Not far away, Angel, who was hogging another long sofa, raised a hand lazily, the tip of his tail brushing idly against the sofa’s surface.
He was dressed in tight, bright clothing, his posture seductive and demonic.
His gesture of raising his hand carried a deliberate laziness and flirtatiousness.
Vaggie was already fuming.
Seeing Angel raise his hand, she immediately turned toward him impatiently, her brow furrowed tight.
“What?
Angel, now is not the time for fooling around.” Angel didn’t mind Vaggie’s anger at all.
Instead, he slowly wiggled his slender waist and leaned back against the sofa cushions.
He propped his chin up with one hand and shook his phone with the other, his tone dripping with flippancy and pride.
“Aww, why so grumpy?
I just have a super great idea I want to share.” He arched an eyebrow, a cunning smile in his eyes, drawing out his words.
“Why don’t you have your ‘adult film’ star personally take the lead?
As long as I, Angel, am on screen, I guarantee the ad will blow up across all of Hell instantly and get a ton of attention!
You won’t have to worry about people coming to the hotel for redemption then.” As soon as he said this, the vein in Vaggie’s temple began to throb.
She glared at Angel, her voice full of exasperation and rebuke.
“Angel!
This is the Hazbin Hotel for redemption, not a filming set for your vulgar adult films!
Your idea is completely inappropriate; it would ruin Charlie’s original intention!” Angel shrugged nonchalantly and tossed his phone onto the sofa.
He went back to scrolling through his screen, browsing Hell’s demon social media platforms, and replied airily, “Tsk, you don’t know quality.
Don’t come regretting it later.” Over at the bar, Husk was slumped over the dark wooden counter, clutching a dirty rag.
He wiped an empty bottle over and over in a mechanical, half-hearted motion.
The old cat’s ears were flattened, his face a mask of “none of my business” indifference.
His drunken eyes were half-closed, and he muttered incoherent complaints under his breath.
“So annoying…
My head hurts from the noise…” “What does filming an ad have to do with me…
I’d rather be drinking…” “A bunch of people with too much time on their hands…” His voice was very quiet, just barely covered by the surrounding noise.
No one cared about the drunkard’s grumbling.
The entire lobby remained trapped in an atmosphere of irritation and helplessness.
Charlie looked at the bickering Vaggie and Angel, then at the indifferent Husk, and her depression deepened.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something to soothe them, but she didn’t know what to say.
She could only bite her lower lip lightly as a thin layer of moisture shimmered in her eyes.
Just then, a crisp telephone ring suddenly sounded from Charlie’s pocket.
It was a magic-energy phone exclusive to Hell.
Its ringtone was light and stood out clearly in the noisy lobby.
Charlie blinked, quickly reaching into her pocket to pull out the small phone.
When she saw the contact name flashing on the screen, her eyes widened slightly, and a flash of nervousness and anticipation crossed her face.
“It’s Dad…” she whispered to Vaggie.
She quickly stood up and walked to a relatively quiet window in the corner of the lobby before pressing the answer button.
In the shadows, Spade slowly turned his head, his hollow eye sockets locking onto Charlie’s back.
His hearing far surpassed that of an ordinary demon.
Even at a distance, the voice on the other end and Charlie’s dialogue entered his ears without missing a single word.
It was exactly like the original plot: Lucifer was calling.
He brought news that the emissaries from Heaven were descending and told Charlie to go meet the people from Heaven to report on her redemption plan.
Charlie’s fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
She was nervous at first, but as she listened, her previously despondent eyes lit up bit by bit.
Her gloom and frustration were instantly replaced by surprise.
Her voice rose slightly, carrying uncontrollable excitement and anticipation as she nodded repeatedly, her tone so light it seemed as if she might fly.