Vaggie hadn’t been idle these past five days either.
She had been observing Moon the entire time.
When she judged a person, she looked at their habits first.
What time they woke up, whether they kept their hands clean, if they brought trouble through the door, and who they would protect if things actually went south.
These things were far more useful than words.
From the first day Moon walked through the door, Vaggie had categorized him as “extremely dangerous.”
The reason was simple.
He was too normal.
During these five days, he had spent almost all his time just…
living.
At seven in the morning, he would enter the kitchen punctually and turn whatever he could find into breakfast.
Most of the time it was fried eggs and bacon, with occasional variations.
The taste was consistent, the timing perfect.
In the morning, he would sit in a corner of the lobby reading, or listen to Alastor tell unfunny Hellish jokes, offering a polite smile at the appropriate moments.
When Angel acted out on purpose, Moon didn’t get annoyed.
When Charlie pulled him into conversations about redemption, he would ask detailed questions but rarely preached.
In the afternoon, he would play the piano for a while; various classical pieces had almost become the background music of the hotel.
At night, he would bid everyone goodnight and return to his room on the dot.
Vaggie watched for five days, and the more she watched, the more irritated she became.
Yes, Hell was full of people who knew how to put on an act.
But if you act long enough, something has to slip through, right?
Greed, impatience, lust, vanity, a need for control, or just some straightforward malice.
But Moon revealed nothing.
He hadn’t demonstrated high-level magic, nor had he spoken a harsh word.
He didn’t even put on an “I’m smarter than all of you” air.
He really seemed like just an ordinary person.
But in this Hell filled with psychopathic killers, Overlords, and fallen souls, being that normal was only more unsettling.
By the night of the sixth day, she had had enough.
…
At the end of the second-floor hallway, in the bedroom.
Moon had just finished showering, his hair still slightly damp.
He sat on the edge of the bed, a notebook in his hand, about to open it.
A “thud” echoed from outside the door.
Immediately after, the lock was violently forced open.
Vaggie burst in.
She wasn’t wearing her usual outfit, having changed into a black tank top and tactical pants better suited for movement.
Her hair was a bit messy, and her eyes were bloodshot.
She gripped her spear, its tip hanging at her side, though the cold light reflecting off it was unmistakable.
“We need to talk.”
“If you’re referring to ‘how to maintain late-night etiquette in a room that isn’t soundproof,’ I’d be happy to.”
Moon closed the book, placed it on the nightstand, and gave the kill-mode fallen angel before him a professional smile.
“Come in, Vaggie.
Would you like something to drink?
I only have plain water.”
Vaggie didn’t accept.
She shut the door behind her and walked over, stopping not far from the bed.
she raised her weapon, pointing it at Moon.
“Stop playing dumb.”
The spear tip didn’t touch his skin, but the bone-chilling cold emanating from it made the hairs on the back of Moon’s neck stand up.
“Don’t you think you’ve overacted these last five days?”
Seeing Moon remain silent, Vaggie continued.
“You’re a human.
When you first walked in, you didn’t even know your way around Hell.
Yet in five days, you’ve settled in.
You know how to make Charlie happy, how to get Alastor to engage with you, and you even got Angel to listen to you.
And yet all you do is wash dishes and play the piano in this dump?
You think I’m an idiot?”
She raised the spear a bit higher, forcing Moon to tilt his head back.
“You have no magic.
You might not even be able to dodge this one strike, yet you aren’t panicking at all.
You haven’t asked for a single thing these past few days; you’ve just been observing.
Like an outsider, coldly watching us clowns roll around in the mud.”
She gritted her teeth.
“Nobody is like that in this godforsaken place.
Either you’re a lunatic, or you’re plotting something much bigger.”
The temperature in the room dropped.
The spear tip trembled slightly from the sheer force of its wielder’s grip.
Moon slowly raised his hands to show her he was unarmed.
“Relax, Vaggie.
Can we sit down and talk?
My neck is getting a bit sore tilting back to avoid your spear.”
Vaggie’s eyes widened.
“I’m not joking with you.”
“I know.
That’s why I’m not laughing.”
“…”
“I take it you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a few days?”
Answer my question!”
“I am answering.”
Moon paused for a moment before continuing.
“Vaggie, don’t you think you’re pushing yourself too hard?”
The moment those words came out, Vaggie’s expression shifted instantly.
The spear shook violently, nearly grazing Moon’s sleepwear.
“Stop that bullshit—”
“Charlie is a dreamer.”
Moon didn’t give her a chance to argue.
“She wants to save Hell, to prove those high-and-mighty angels are wrong.
Heh, a beautiful idea, like an exquisite soap bubble.
And you…”
Moon reached out and pushed the spear aside, even though the movement could have cost him his fingers.
“Where do you spend your energy every day?
You fix the leaks in the roof.
When the books don’t balance, you swallow the loss yourself.
When something goes wrong with Angel, you’re the first one on it.
And when Alastor makes a move, you don’t dare look away for a second.
You chew up every problem yourself and force it down, telling yourself you’re not allowed to collapse.
Because if you fall, there’s no one left to stand in front of her.”
Vaggie frowned and leveled the spear again.
Moon sighed and continued.
“So you suspect everything.
You suspect everyone who gets close to her, every seemingly good thing.
Because you know reality is cruel and Hell is filthy.
And I…”
Moon chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a hint of self-deprecation.
“I’ve behaved too well.
Too well for something that belongs in this world.
So you’re afraid.
You’re afraid this is just another sweet trap, a lure that will lead Charlie to her destruction.”
Vaggie froze.
She still gripped her weapon tightly, but the aggressive aura she had been projecting began to bleed away bit by bit.
“Who do you think you are?
A therapist?” Her voice began to tremble.
“A meddling tenant.”
Moon tilted his chin.
“You can keep holding that up, or you can put it down.
Let’s finish the conversation.”
“Get to the point,” Vaggie said, staring at Moon, though the spear lowered.
“The point is, let’s face reality, Vaggie.”
Moon took a breath and delivered the truth without preamble.
“This hotel is a joke.
At least for now.”
Vaggie was about to flare up, but Moon didn’t give her the chance.
“Redemption just because someone has a soul?
Heh, that’s a fairy tale setting.
Here, souls are currency, and sometimes they’re food.”
He extended a finger and drew a circle toward Vaggie.
“Look at your lineup.
An overly naive princess who, despite her powerful bloodline, is afraid to use violence.
A washed-up, drug-addicted porn star with a contract hanging over him.
A decadent bartender who only cares about booze and gambling.
And a tiny maniac with OCD.”
“You…”
“Oh, and you.
You’re the only sane person here, Vaggie.
Charlie is dreaming, and Alastor is watching the show.
Only you know how dangerous all of this is, yet you still stand guard here every day, ready to block every threat.”
Vaggie wanted to say something, but Moon’s next words rendered her completely speechless.
“And who are your opponents?
The countdown to Heaven’s Extermination.
A time bomb like Alastor, who might flip at any moment just for a laugh.
And Overlords like Valentino and Vox, who hold the lifeblood of the entire city in their hands.”
“You have no cash flow, no guests yet, your security relies entirely on you, and you haven’t even established a basic mechanism for trust.”
“In other words, this isn’t just unlikely to succeed—it looks more like suicide.”
Moon paused for a moment to let the words sink in.
“So-called redemption is an empty phrase if it isn’t built on the foundation of survival.
Vaggie, you know this better than anyone.
What Charlie is doing now isn’t saving people; she’s gathering a flock of sacrificial lambs in one place to make it easier for someone to slaughter them all at once.”
Vaggie was silenced by his words.
Her shoulders finally slumped.
The spear slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a *clatter*.
She couldn’t refute him.
Because Moon was right.
She had always known, but she didn’t dare say it.
She couldn’t break Charlie’s dream.
“Damn it.”
She cursed under her breath and covered her face.
“Damn it, damn it…”
Her voice became choked with emotion.
“But.”
The transition word became a lifeline, making Vaggie snap her head up.
“That doesn’t mean it has no value.
It’s precisely because it’s absurd—because it defies the rules of the entire world—that it’s interesting.”
Moon stood up and walked forward.
He didn’t pick up her weapon; instead, he took a blanket from a nearby rack.
It had been intended for Angel, but now it had a better purpose.
Moon draped the blanket over Vaggie’s trembling shoulders.
“Charlie is responsible for dreaming.
That is her talent, and her privilege.”
“But you, Vaggie—you don’t need to carry the entire weight of reality alone.
You don’t need to be the shield, the nanny, and the financial director all at once.”
“You aren’t just a warrior.
You’re allowed to just be a girl, too.”
In that instant, Vaggie’s defenses collapsed completely.
The hard shell she had wrapped in layers of responsibility, fear, and self-doubt shattered into powder at Moon’s words.
She couldn’t hold it together any longer.
Her knees buckled, and she sat directly on the floor.
“I really don’t know what to do anymore.”
She clutched the blanket, her voice carrying a vulnerability she had never shown anyone.
“Charlie…
she’s too bright.
I don’t want to disappoint her.
But every day when I open my eyes, I wonder: will today be the last?
Will an Overlord burst in and level this place?
Will those Sinners suddenly go mad?”
The blanket slipped; she pulled it back up.
“I want to believe in redemption, too.
I really do.
Because if I don’t believe, then what am I?
I’m just discarded trash…”
She began to pour it all out in a rambling stream.
From the hotel’s leaking roof to the terrifying red ink on the ledgers; from Angel’s secret drug stashes to Alastor’s hair-raising smile; from her love for Charlie to her despair for the future.
She treated Moon like a trash bin, or perhaps a priest in a confessional.
Moon didn’t interrupt.
He just sat quietly on the edge of the bed and listened.
Occasionally he handed her a tissue, or offered a glass of water when she spoke too fast and lost her breath.
Moon didn’t use any magic.
He didn’t offer some divine plan that could solve every problem instantly.
He simply let her know that in this teetering world, besides Charlie’s beautiful dream, there was a sober, rational, even somewhat cold ordinary person who saw through it all yet chose to stay anyway.
He didn’t have any grand ideals; perhaps he was just staying to watch a play that he hoped wouldn’t end too early.
But for Vaggie in this moment, that was the greatest comfort possible.
After an unknown amount of time, Vaggie’s voice gradually faded.
She looked up.
Her eyes were terribly swollen, but the cloudiness within them had cleared significantly.
“You said you were willing to help?” she asked, sniffing as she tested the waters awkwardly.
“I don’t have money to pay you a salary.”
Moon smiled.
“I never said I wanted a salary.
Room and board is enough.
Plus, permission for me to occasionally roll my eyes at your foolish decisions.”
Vaggie looked at him for a long moment.
“Deal.”
She picked up her spear and used it to push herself to her feet.
She stopped at the door, her back to Moon.
“And…”
She pulled the blanket a little tighter.
“Thank you.”
That was the second time.
The door was gently closed.
Quiet returned to the room.
Moon picked up his old book and opened it again.
The night was still long, but at least no one else would be checking his room tonight.
…
Downstairs.
A certain pink spider was lying on the sofa, pretending to read a magazine, but his ears were perked up, fully concentrated on the sounds from upstairs.
He heard the door open on the second floor.
The footsteps were steady; nothing was being smashed.
He let out a sigh of relief, fished a small bag of white powder out from under a cushion, stared at it for a moment, and then secretly tossed it into the nearby trash can.