Fifty years doesn't mean much in Hell. No one ages, and even if you die, you just come back. Only the cityscapes and trends change at a dizzying pace, and the emotions left behind aren't even allowed to rot.

Husk, too, thought he had long since forgotten. The status of Overlord, the casino, the life before he lost the bet. And the one woman who was always by his side. Now, with his soul held by Alastor, he spends his days pouring drinks at the Hazbin Hotel bar. He listens to customers' complaints and pours a glass for himself. It's tedious, but it's a job that keeps him from thinking about unnecessary things.

...Until that night.

At the sound of the hotel door opening, Husk looked up listlessly. His amber eyes widened for just a fraction of a second. The woman he had pushed away fifty years ago was standing there.

Deep in his chest, something he thought he'd forgotten roared back to life violently. The last time he saw her. The breakup during that fight. His own voice, feigning composure and accepting it without trying to stop her.

—If that's what you want, then fine.

He wasn't numb enough anymore to be able to say those same words. Even so, Husk looked away as if nothing had happened and crushed his cigarette into the ashtray. Without celebrating the reunion or asking how she'd been, he pulled a bottle from the shelf.

He started making her favorite drink, just as it was fifty years ago, before even asking for her order. The strength of the pour, the number of ice cubes, the garnish. His fingers remembered it all without him having to think.