The world map loaded on the grainy monitor in three distinct chunks, each one making Liam's eye twitch harder than the last.
Six continents. Six oceans. And five nations that supposedly kept the entire planet from descending into complete chaos.
The V5, Liam thought, scanning the wall of text. Also known as 'the only thing standing between civilization and the apocalypse,' or 'five countries with enough nukes to glass the planet twice over.'
He leaned closer, reading the summary:
"The international order is maintained by the V5—five nations that together control over 90% of the world's resources, military power, and economic infrastructure. They are: the United States of Saherta, the Ochima Federation, the Begerosse Union, the Mimbo Republic, and the Kukan'yu Kingdom."
Liam pulled up a map next.
The geographic distribution looked like someone had taken a real-world map, shuffled it like a deck of cards, and reassembled it while drunk:
NORTHERN HEMISPHERE:
Azian Continent (Kakin Empire) — Northeast
Yorubian Continent (Saherta) — Northwest
MIDDLE LATITUDES:
Begerosse Continent (Begerosse Union) — West
Noumalia Continent (Ochima Federation) — East
SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE:
Balsamico Continent (Mimbo Republic) — Southwest
Sensamei Continent (Kukan'yu Kingdom) — Southeast
Liam stared at it for a solid thirty seconds.
This is wrong, he thought. It feels wrong. Like someone took the actual world, melted it down, and poured it into a mold that doesn't quite fit.
His brain kept trying to overlay his memories of Earth's geography onto this map, and it was like forcing together two puzzle pieces that were almost compatible but fundamentally incompatible.
Okay, let's say Saherta is America. Makes sense—big, western hemisphere analog, probably loud and obnoxious. Ochima is China, or some pan-Asian federation. Begerosse is Russia or the EU, probably cold and full of people with thick accents. Mimbo is Africa, and Kukan'yuis... Japan? Maybe?
But the Kakin Empire—the massive authoritarian monarchy currently trying to murder him—occupied the Azian Continent, which was apparently separate from all the V5 nations.
Kakin's trying to join the club, Liam recalled from his meta-knowledge. They want to turn the V5 into the V6. Which means they're rich, powerful, and ambitious enough to make the big boys nervous.
He scrolled down to a section about major cities.
Yorubian Continent had a city listed as Yorknew City, described as the "financial and auction capital of the world, with a population exceeding 200 million in the metropolitan area."
Liam's eye twitched again.
Yorknew. York-new. New York. Really? That's what we're going with? Just... slightly scrambled New York?
He closed his eyes and took a breath. Okay. So if Yorknew is New York, then Yorubian Continent is definitely North America. Which means all the Phantom Troupe stuff, Meteor City, and the Chimera Ant invasion happen on what's basically the American continents. Cool. Great. Love that for them.
Jaku, perched on his shoulder, tilted her head and pecked at his ear.
"I'm having an existential crisis," Liam told her. "Give me a minute."
She pecked harder.
The admin—a lanky teenager with the kind of acne that suggested a diet of energy drinks and instant ramen—glanced over from the front desk. He'd been side-eyeing Liam ever since he walked in with a bird on his shoulder, but the Hunter License had done its usual magic of making people shut up and stop asking questions.
Because if you're a Hunter, bringing a bird into an internet cafe is probably the least weird thing you've done today, Liam thought. For all he knows, I train tigers and fight international crime syndicates. Which, to be fair, is accurate.
Jaku stopped pecking and settled down, preening her feathers. The admin visibly relaxed.
Look at you, Liam thought, scratching under her chin. Playing the role of 'well-behaved pet' like you didn't try to steal ice cream from a crying child two hours ago.
He refocused on the screen, opening a new search tab.
Time to reorganize this mess with what he actually knew—the canon plot locations from the manga.
YORUBIAN CONTINENT (Northwest):
Yorknew City (Phantom Troupe auction arc)
Meteor City (Troupe's origin)
NGL / East Gorteau (Chimera Ant invasion)
DENTORA REGION (Yorubian Continent, Northeast):
Zaban City (Hunter Exam location, where Gon starts)
Heavens Arena (where Gon and Killua train)
PADOKEA REGION (Unknown Continent):
Kukuroo Mountain (Zoldyck family estate)
AZIAN CONTINENT (Far Northeast):
Kakin Empire (Succession War, Dark Continent Expedition)
NOUMALIA CONTINENT (East):
Ochima Federation (where Liam currently is)
No major plot events here. At all. Just vibes.
Liam leaned back in the squeaky chair and let that sink in.
I'm in the narrative equivalent of flyover country, he realized. The part of the map where nothing happens. No Hunter Exam. No Phantom Troupe. No Chimera Ants. Just... endangered tigers and tourist traps.
Part of him felt relieved. The other part felt vaguely insulted.
I got isekai'd into the most boring corner of the Hunter x Hunter world. What are the odds?
Jaku made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been her plotting to steal the net café admin's sandwich.
Liam's eyes drifted to the bottom-right corner of the screen, where the system clock displayed the date and time.
December 26, 1994. 2:44 PM.
He blinked.
December twenty-sixth?
The newspaper he'd found on the cruise ship had been dated November 29th. He'd assumed it was recent—maybe a day or two old when he found it. But if today was December 26th, that meant the newspaper was almost a month old.
Which means...
Liam did the mental math. November 29 to December 26. That was twenty-seven days. Almost four weeks.
So either time moves weirdly here, or I've completely lost track of how long I've been in this world, or there's been a time skip I didn't notice because I was too busy not dying.
He rubbed his temples. The rapid aging probably wasn't helping his sense of time. When you go from a three-year-old body to a five-year-old body in less than a week, your internal clock gets a bit screwy.
Godmother must have sailed across the ocean from Kakin, he thought, refocusing. Azian Continent to Noumalia Continent. That's a hell of a distance. No wonder the newspaper was old—she was running for weeks, maybe months.
The mental image formed: a woman in a gray trench coat, clutching a newborn baby, fleeing across the ocean on a stolen or hijacked cruise ship. Desperate. Hunted. Trying to reach... what? Safety? Asylum? Just anywhere that wasn't Kakin?
And she'd made it all the way to this small island on the edge of the Ochima Federation before the enemy's forces caught up.
Almost made it, Liam thought. She almost made it.
He felt something twist in his chest—not quite grief, because he didn't remember her, but something adjacent to it. Sympathy, maybe. Or just the cold recognition of how close she'd come to survival.
And then I showed up in her dead kid's body. Lucky me.
"Vendetta?" he muttered to himself. "Political assassination? Royal bastard cleanup?"
Jaku cocked her head, listening.
"Or maybe it was just a private gang dispute that went nuclear because someone hired the wrong bodyguard," Liam continued. "But that doesn't track. If godmother's bodyguard was a professional Hunter, this wasn't small-time. This was organized."
The pieces fit together uncomfortably well. Woman fleeing Kakin. Baby in swaddling clothes. enemy's personal forces hunting them down. The sheer resources required to track someone across an ocean and stage a massacre on foreign soil.
Damn it, I really did isekai directly into a Kakin royal bloodline murder plot, didn't I? Liam thought. What are the odds? What cosmic force looked at my life and said, 'You know what this guy needs? Political assassination attempts from a country that's basically North Korea meets imperial China meets a battle royale death cult.'
Jaku pecked his cheek, jolting him out of his spiral.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm catastrophizing. I know."
But the thought wouldn't leave him alone. Because here's the thing about the Hunter x Hunter world: individuals could be terrifyingly powerful. Nen users could level buildings, survive bullets, manipulate minds, summon impossible things into reality.
But nations? Nations had nukes.
The Chimera Ant King—Meruem, the single most powerful living creature on the planet, a being who could move faster than sound and tank point-blank aura blasts without flinching—had been half-vaporized by a Poor Man's Rose. A bargain-basement, third-world-country, budget WMD that terrorists used because they couldn't afford real nukes.
And Meruem had still died from the radiation poisoning.
The Poor Man's Rose, Liam thought grimly. Cheap, easy to make, and effective enough to kill a god. That's what passes for low-grade ordnance in this world.
And the Kakin Empire? He'd just searched them. They had a GDP comparable to the V5 nations. They had cutting-edge military tech. They had research programs that probably made the Manhattan Project look quaint.
How many nukes does Kakin have stockpiled? Liam wondered. How many Roses? How many other horrors tucked away in black-site warehouses, just waiting for someone to push a button?
The Phantom Troupe—thirteen of the most dangerous Nen users alive—had never once tried to rob a V5 nation's treasury. They hit auctions. They hit crime syndicates. They hit Yorknew City, which was technically independent.
But they'd never marched into a capital and demanded the crown jewels, because they weren't stupid. Individual power had limits. You couldn't dodge a ballistic missile. You couldn't manipulate a drone swarm. And you definitely couldn't survive a nuclear strike, no matter how much aura you had.
One person versus one country, Liam thought. That's not a fight. That's assisted suicide.
He exhaled slowly, pushing down the rising anxiety.
Okay. Worst-case scenario: I'm a royal bastard. Another Prince probably first prince Benjamin wants me dead. He's got the resources of a near-V5 nation backing him.
Best-case scenario: This has nothing to do with the royal family. Godmother was just some unlucky civilian who pissed off the wrong people, and the baby she was protecting died in the crossfire. I just happen to be the asshole possessing the corpse.
Most likely scenario: I have no idea, and I need to stop spiraling before I give myself a panic attack.
Liam opened a new search tab, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Stay here for a month, he decided. Level up. Train. Get stronger. Keep an eye out for follow-up assassins. If nothing happens, assume I'm in the clear and get the hell off this island.
If something does happen...
He glanced at the Hunter License sitting on the desk next to the keyboard. Fraudulent. Twice-stolen. Completely illegal.
Then I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Preferably by burning the bridge, salting the earth, and fleeing to another continent.
Jaku chirped, as if agreeing with his life plan.
Liam's hands moved on autopilot, typing a new search query into the browser.
"Phantom Troupe"
The results loaded. The first link was a news article, and the headline made his stomach drop.
"KURTA CLAN MASSACRE: ONE YEAR LATER, QUESTIONS REMAIN"
He clicked.
The article was dated June, six months ago. The text was clinical, but the subtext bled through every line:
"On June 6th, 1994, a Hunter Association investigation team discovered the Kurta settlement in the remote highlands of the Lukso Province. What they found was a scene of unimaginable brutality."
"All 128 members of the clan—men, women, children, and elderly—had been slaughtered. The bodies showed signs of torture. Eyes had been surgically removed post-mortem."
"At the center of the village square, a single message was left in the victims' blood: 'We don't ask for anything from the world, but don't try to take anything away from us.'"
Liam stopped reading. He already knew this story. He'd read this manga. He knew what came next.
The Kurta Clan's Scarlet Eyes—one of the Seven Great Beauties of the world, eyes that turned crimson when the bearer experienced intense emotion. Beautiful. Rare. Valuable.
The Phantom Troupe had wiped out the entire clan and harvested their eyes to sell on the black market.
And Kurapika—the sole survivor, the deuteragonist of the entire series—had spent the last year and a half watching the world speculate about whether his people "deserved" what happened to them. Whether they'd actually stolen something from Meteor City, or whether the Troupe had just slaughtered them for profit.
He's thirteen years old right now, Liam thought, staring at the screen. Maybe fourteen. And he's reading these same articles. Watching people debate whether his family's genocide was justified.
It was a sobering thought. Kurapika in the manga had been driven, ruthless, borderline suicidal in his quest for revenge. And why wouldn't he be? The world had taken everything from him and then spent a year arguing about whether he was the victim or the instigator.
Note to self, Liam thought grimly. If I ever meet Kurapika, do not bring up the Kurta Clan. Do not ask about the Scarlet Eyes. Do not make jokes about the Phantom Troupe. Just... smile, nod, and back away slowly.
He closed the tab and typed a new search.
"Hunter Association"
The Hunter Association's official website was surprisingly professional. Clean layout, corporate branding, FAQ sections for civilians. It looked less like the homepage of a semi-legal mercenary guild and more like a nonprofit that did international charity work.
Which, to be fair, was probably the point. Public relations mattered, even for Hunters.
Liam clicked through the navigation menu. There were sections on "What is a Hunter?", "How to Apply for the Exam," "Notable Achievements," and—most prominently—a bio page for the current president.
Isaac Netero, 113th Chairman of the Hunter Association.
The photo showed an old man with a long white beard, prayer-position hands, and the kind of serene smile that made you think he was either deeply enlightened or completely unhinged.
Probably both, Liam thought. Given that he's the strongest human on the planet and spends his free time meditating on mountaintops and challenging people to games they can't win.
The bio was sanitized. No mention of Nen. No mention of his frankly absurd combat abilities. Just vague language about "decades of service to the Hunter Association" and "dedication to preserving the world's treasures."
Right. Treasures. Not 'punching people so hard they explode.' Very diplomatic.
Liam kept clicking. The site had a searchable database of licensed Hunters, organized by year and exam number.
He scrolled to the most recent entry: 282nd Hunter Exam, 1994.
There were only nine names listed. Nine people, out of what was probably hundreds of applicants, had passed.
And there, fourth from the top, was a photo that made Liam snort.
Menchi. Age 20. Gourmet Hunter.
She looked exactly like he remembered—green hair tied back, confident smirk, the kind of expression that said I dare you to question my cooking.
So she really did just pass the exam this year, Liam thought. Which means her Nen is still developing. No wonder she was confused when I mentioned aura capacity. She's probably still figuring out Ten.
Jaku suddenly pecked the keyboard, making the page jump.
"Hey! I was reading that—"
A shadow fell over the desk.
Liam turned around.
Menchi stood there, hands on her hips, looking down at him with an expression somewhere between amused and annoyed. She was humming something under her breath—a jaunty little tune that clashed with the dingy internet cafe atmosphere.
Oh no, Liam thought. How did she find me?
"Why are you still here?" he said aloud, trying to sound casual. "I thought you were cleaning up the poacher situation."
Menchi leaned against the partition, grinning. "I'm a Hunter," she said smugly. "Finding one kid in a tourist trap? Easy. Especially when that kid looked like a feral animal when he entered town. You stood out."
Liam pointed at the computer screen, where her photo was still displayed. "Cool, cool. Hey, fun fact: you passed the Hunter Exam almost a year ago. How's that Nen training coming along? Still figuring out the basics?"
Menchi's face went red. "I told you, there were circumstances! I spent half the year competing in a culinary tournament! It's not like I was slacking off—cooking competitions are serious business—you can't just—"
"Uh-huh." Liam was already typing a new search query. "So what's the deal with Ghost Island?"
That derailed her indignation immediately. She blinked, leaned closer to the screen, and frowned. "Ghost Island? Why are you asking about that?"
"Because that's apparently what this place is called," Liam said, pulling up search results. "The whole amusement park, the reserve, this entire peninsula—it's all technically part of 'Ghost Island.' And I want to know why."
Menchi rolled her eyes. "It's just a local legend. This area's had ghost stories for decades. Weird sightings, people going missing in the woods, that kind of thing. Blanchett Company probably leaned into it for the tourism angle."
Liam's fingers froze on the keyboard.
Weird sightings. People going missing.
He thought about the pale figure he'd seen in the woods. The shape that had vanished when he blinked. The sensation of being watched.
Oh, he thought. Oh no.
"What kind of sightings?" he asked carefully.
Menchi shrugged. "I don't know. Pale figures in the trees? Voices in the dark? The usual creepy campfire story stuff. It's probably just local superstition mixed with endangered wildlife. People see a Misery Moon Tiger glowing in the dark and freak out, you know?"
Right, Liam thought. Just local superstition. Nothing to worry about. Definitely not a Nen beast, or a lingering post-mortem curse, or some kind of supernatural entity that wants to wear my skin like a onesie.
Jaku pecked his ear again.
"Stop that," he muttered.
"Are you talking to the bird or to me?" Menchi asked.
"Both."
She laughed and leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the search results. "Seriously, though. If you're worried about ghosts, don't be. This place is creepy, but it's harmless. Blanchett Company wouldn't have built an amusement park here if there was real danger."
Right, Liam thought. Because corporations are definitely known for prioritizing safety over profit.
But he didn't say that out loud. Instead, he clicked on one of the search results—a local news article about Ghost Island's history.
And as the page loaded, Menchi leaned in closer, reading over his shoulder, and Liam tried very hard not to think about the pale child in the woods.
Tried, and failed.