Ever since the last wave of overwhelming news broadcasts swept through every corner of Hell, reporting on that massive gathering over and over again, the residents of the Hazbin Hotel had been shrouded in an indescribable atmosphere of gloom.
It wasn’t exactly fear, but it was far from relaxed.
The best way to describe it was that everyone had filed down their usual sharp edges.
They spoke and acted with a certain cautiousness, as if afraid that one wrong move would provoke an existence they shouldn’t mess with.
In the entire hotel, there was only one exception.
That was Spade.
As an old monster who had lived for thousands of years, he had seen the shifting tides of Hell, the bloodbaths of the Exterminations, and the rise and fall of countless demons.
To him, this little commotion was nothing more than an interlude over tea.
Aside from the secrets of the Angels—constrained by the laws of Heaven and not easily spoken of—he understood everything else like the back of his hand.
It didn’t stir a single ripple in his heart.
As for the famous “Strawberry Pimp,” Alastor…
Naturally, he would investigate the source behind the news.
He would dig into the sequence of events and scrutinize every clue he could get his hands on.
But those in the know understood: even if he turned all of Hell upside down, he would never link this matter to Spade.
Certain chasms had their boundaries drawn from the very beginning.
There were existences that even the Radio Demon wouldn’t dare touch lightly, let alone go looking for trouble by casting his gaze upon them.
In the first-floor lounge of the hotel, the atmosphere remained exactly as it was in the original timeline.
Charlie stood in the center of the room, her hands tightly clenched together, her knuckles turning white.
Her beautiful eyes were filled with tension and unease as she paced back and forth, her brow furrowed into a tight knot.
“What do we do, what do we do…
The news is so huge.
Will it bring trouble to the hotel?
Will it make demons even more afraid to come?
What if the Angels notice this place…” She muttered incessantly, her voice tinged with a panic she couldn’t hide.
She looked utterly helpless.
Seeing this, Vaggie quickly stepped forward and gently patted Charlie’s back, her tone soft and steady as she comforted her.
“Don’t be nervous, Charlie.
Everything is still under control.
It’s just a report on a common gathering; it won’t affect our hotel.
What you’re doing is right.
Don’t doubt yourself just because of outside noise.” “But…
but so many reporters, so many eyes…
what if someone targets us on purpose?” Charlie’s voice was still trembling.
“I’m here.
I won’t let anyone hurt you, and I won’t let anything happen to the hotel.” Vaggie’s eyes were firm, giving Charlie a sense of security with every word.
On the nearby sofa, Angel Dust lay sprawled out lazily, his posture identical to his usual self.
He was boredly scrolling through his phone, and the lines he muttered were highly consistent with the original plot, delivered in a perfunctory and scattered tone.
“Ugh, seriously, this is so boring.
It’s the same crap news every day.
Can’t Hell find something actually fun to talk about?
Charlie, don’t be so tense.
If the sky falls, the tall guys will hold it up.
It’s not our problem.” He swiped at his screen, oblivious to the tension around him, concerned only with killing time.
He had the air of someone who couldn’t care less.
Meanwhile, on the hotel balcony, Alastor was leaning against the railing, slowly enjoying his afternoon tea.
The wind brushed against his coat, and the scent of strawberries mixed with a faint demonic aura drifted away.
His lips carried his signature smile, and his eyes watched the scenery of Hell with amusement.
He clearly intended to watch the show quietly and wait for the subsequent fallout to ferment.
However, this leisure did not last long.
“BOOM—!!” A violent explosion suddenly erupted, shaking the entire hotel.
The balcony railing hummed from the shockwave.
Alastor’s teacup paused.
He looked up and saw another large hole blasted into a nearby building, with rubble and dust flying through the air.
A familiar scene, a familiar commotion—just like the countless farces that had happened before.
Immediately afterward, the figure of Sir Pentious scrambled out of the dust in a pathetic state, his expression panicked.
He had clearly followed some trail to find his way here.
And this time, accompanying him was a massive airship, aggressively sailing toward the hotel with a clear target.
He was here to settle accounts with Alastor.
On the balcony, Alastor’s smile widened, a glint of interest flashing in his eyes.
He wasn’t annoyed by this sudden trouble; instead, he found it increasingly entertaining.
At the same time, on the other side of Hell.
V Tower.
Standing in the core area of the Pentagram, this building was the hub for information, media, and entertainment—a symbol of traffic, the right to speak, and endless prestige.
At this moment, the base of V Tower was already packed with reporters.
Flashes went off constantly, microphones were shoved forward, and a cacophony of questions rose one after another, everyone desperate to dig up the inside story.
Inside the tower, in a room surrounded by countless computer screens, a figure sat.
A metallic TV head, a cold and rigid body, and an aura of technology mixed with a desire for control—this was Vox, the world-famous TV Demon of Hell and one of the core members of the Vees.
He was a master of using his hypnotic abilities to subtly manipulate the masses, harvesting massive amounts of prestige and belief as his source of power.
Currently, Vox was facing a screen, conducting a remote dialogue with a reporter, his tone calm and composed as he controlled the rhythm of the conversation.
“Regarding the recent gathering event, the Vees will continue to monitor the situation.
Hell’s order has its own rules; there is no need for excessive panic…” His words were steady, carrying an unquestionable authority.
The lights and shadows on the TV screen shifted constantly, complementing his tone and creating a subtle sense of pressure.
Just then, a call notification popped up on a screen in front of him.
Caller: Velvette.
Vox didn’t even blink.
With a casual wave, he dragged the call interface to another screen and tapped to connect.
The next second, the screen displayed the lobby of V Tower.
The scene was a mess, littered with debris.
The noisy sounds and chaotic shouting filtered through the screen, almost identical to what had happened in the original story.
Velvette’s voice came through with a hint of irritation.
Although the lines were slightly different, the flow and tone were exactly the same as the original plot.
“Vox!
We’ve got a situation in the lobby.
Get down here and check it out!
The reporters are driving this place crazy!” On this end, Vox remained indifferent.
He picked up a teacup from the desk, took a light sip, and kept his gaze on the documents in his hand.
His eyes didn’t even flicker, as if the chaos in the lobby had nothing to do with him.
“What’s the rush?
It’s just a small matter.
Handle it according to the original plan.” He replied flatly and returned his attention to the files, flipping through them slowly, completely ignoring the commotion.
A moment later, Vox finally rose leisurely and headed toward the lobby.
As soon as he stepped in, the reporters swarmed him like a tide.
Various microphones were shoved in his face, and questions rained down.
“Mr.
Vox, is this gathering related to the Vees?” “Will V Tower issue an official statement regarding this event?” “There are rumors that this involves high-level officials in Hell.
Is that true?” Vox stood his ground, his expression indifferent.
Facing the swarming reporters, he showed no panic.
He started by answering a few questions at a measured pace, his words airtight.
Then, a faint light flashed in his eyes as he quietly activated his hypnotic power.
Invisible force spread out.
The originally agitated reporters gradually calmed down, their eyes becoming dull as their questions faded away.
With the reporters settled, Velvette took over the follow-up matters to clean up the remaining mess.
Vox turned and left, heading in another direction—to find the moth demon who was never without a cigarette and who controlled Hell’s adult industry: Valentino.
Along the way, there was a steady stream of irrelevant chatter—reports from subordinates, pointless pleasantries, and trivializing the recent events.
Nothing unexpected outside the original plot occurred.
While the Vees were busy with their respective affairs, over at the hotel, Sir Pentious—as ordained by the plot—officially joined the Hazbin Hotel as its newest member.
Inside the hotel, Spade took all of this in.
From Alastor’s balcony farce to the reporter blockade at V Tower, and finally to Sir Pentious joining—every scene, every dialogue, and every process was almost identical to the original story.
He had simply watched a repeat of the same old play, a battle process with zero innovation, and a plot progression that followed the script to the letter.
After watching it all, only one word was written in Spade’s eyes.
Boring.
Utterly, completely boring.
There were no surprises, no variables, and no ripples that could pique his interest.
Everything followed a predetermined track like a pool of stagnant water that couldn’t produce even a single splash.
Having lived for thousands of years, he had seen too many such plays.
The repetitive plots, the repetitive conflicts, and the repetitive farces had long ago made him numb.
He had hoped for something new to kill time, but in the end, it was just watching a story he had already seen once more.
“Tsk, how dull.
Is this all Hell has to offer?” Spade curled his lip, complaining with a face full of disdain.
“Not even a single accident.
This is blander than drinking plain water.” He stretched, completely losing interest in staying at the hotel.
Since there was no fun here, he might as well go out and find something to do.
Thinking of this, Spade walked straight to Charlie and said: “Charlie, I’m going out for a bit.
I’ll be back soon.” Charlie, still immersed in her own anxiety, was stunned for a moment.
She quickly asked, “Mr.
Spade, where are you going?
Do you want me to go with you?” “No need.
I’m just going for a walk to find some fun,” Spade waved his hand dismissively.
“By the way, if you get hungry, there are plenty of desserts in the fridge, and the meals I made earlier.
Just heat them up in the microwave.
Don’t wait for me.” “O-okay.
Come back early then,” Charlie nodded quickly.
Spade waved and walked out of the hotel without a backward glance.
He had originally planned to visit Carmilla.
After all, as one of Hell’s powerhouses, Carmilla usually spent her days in her office dealing with piles of paperwork.
Spade didn’t actually want to trouble her; he was just bored and wanted someone to talk to.
But on second thought, Carmilla was busy all day and couldn’t spare a moment.
Moreover, her two daughters, Odette and Clara, had their own tasks to do.
Their schedules were packed tight with no free time at all.
Going to them would only be an intrusion.
“Sigh, everyone is so busy they can’t even touch the ground.
It’s hard to find a playmate.” Spade sighed helplessly and continued walking aimlessly.
After wandering around for a bit with nowhere to go, he finally turned his gaze toward Zestial’s residence.
That demon, who always liked to enjoy tea in his backyard with such composure, was likely living a leisurely life right now.
Since there was nowhere else to go, he might as well sit with Zestial, have some tea, and chat.
It would at least kill some of this boring time.
His mind made up, Spade set off toward Zestial’s backyard, intending to find a moment of peace amidst the repetitive and stifling plot.