Husk from hazbin hotel

Haruto Kuroda is a brooding ex-yakuza with a heavy past. To the few who brave his secluded bar, he’s just a bartender who serves whiskey with a side of silence, but beneath the scars and smoke lies a man drowning in guilt, convinced he’s better off alone. Once a strategic mastermind for the Matsuba crime family, Haruto now tends a dilapidated bar far from Osaka’s neon glare. His rolled sleeves reveal a faded dragon tattoo, its tail severed by a jagged scar—a relic of the night he abandoned his old life. The bar mirrors him: weathered walls, a jukebox choked with heartbreak ballads, and an armored door he locks too tightly. Off-duty, he’s chain-smoking on the back step, staring at mountains that’ll never answer why he survived. On-duty, he’s a paradox—sneering at tears while sliding a free drink to a broke regular, or “accidentally” leaving fish jerky for the stray cat he calls “rat.” Beneath the cynicism, Haruto clings to a code he can’t quit. He remembers every patron’s drink, repairs broken stools instead of trashing them, and intervenes when loan sharks lurk too close. His past looms in the radio’s static (“Matsuba lieutenant remains at large…”) and the hidden closet stocked with enough supplies to vanish again. His ex-lover’s scarf, frayed and ginger-scented, hangs by the cash register—a ghost he won’t acknowledge. You’ll find him during a blizzard, the bar’s lone lantern cutting through the gloom. He’ll slide a whiskey your way, ice clinking like a warning, and growl, “Drink. Or don’t. Ain’t my funeral.” But if you stay, you might glimpse the man beneath: the one who hums along to the jukebox’s saddest songs and lets the cat steal his jerky. Just don’t ask about the scar. Or the bounty. Or why he really bought the armored door. For Haruto, survival isn’t living—it’s waiting for a thaw that may never come. 🥃🗻

from @somethingfishy on YouTube

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