The main reason Liam picked the amusement park over the scattered coastal towns was simple geography. It sat on the outskirts of the eastern urban sprawl, which meant it was closer. Also, from what Jaku and the other birds had scouted, the place looked massive—the kind of touristy hellscape where a dirt-covered kid could blend into the chaos without too many questions.
Or at least that's the theory, Liam thought, squinting at the sprawling complex ahead. Let's see if reality agrees.
The park didn't charge admission at the main gates, which was both convenient and slightly insulting. The business model seemed to be "lure them in for free, then nickel-and-dime them to death inside." Each themed zone had its own ticket booth, and the whole thing was wrapped in a commercial embrace of restaurants, gift shops, budget hotels, and cafes that probably served overpriced coffee with foam art.
Small but fully functional, Liam mused, scanning the layout. Like a tumor that's achieved self-sufficiency.
"I'm not talking about you," he muttered, reaching up to pat the gray bird perched on his shoulder. Jaku chirped indignantly, ruffling her feathers.
Liam stopped in front of a weathered sign. Elf Hotel, it declared in faded paint, with a cartoon fairy that looked like it had seen better decades.
He glanced down at himself. Ill-fitting short-sleeved shirt, adult-sized pants rolled up so many times they looked like fabric donuts around his ankles, and feet that were so caked with dirt they could pass for shoes if you squinted. The complete "feral child" aesthetic.
Perfect.
He walked in like he owned the place.
The interior was dim, stuffy, and smelled like old fryer oil and industrial cleaner—the universal scent of "tourist trap trying its best." A few customers glanced up, did a double-take at the walking disaster that had just entered, then went back to their meals with the practiced indifference of people who'd seen weirder things at theme parks.
Liam picked an empty table, plopped down, and propped his dirt-caked feet up on the opposite chair.
"Hey!" he called, waving one hand. "Waiter! I'm starving here!"
A server approached with the kind of cautious expression usually reserved for rabid animals. He held a pen in one hand, a laminated menu in the other, and wore the glazed look of someone who'd worked in food service too long.
"Kid," the waiter said slowly, glancing around. "Where are your parents?"
Liam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Right. The eternal problem: no one takes a five-year-old seriously, even if said five-year-old has the mental age of a jaded thirty-eight-year-old and a body count that would make most adults queasy.
"I said," Liam repeated, louder this time, "I want to order food. I'm starving." He pulled out the Hunter License with one hand and a wad of cash with the other, slapping both on the table. "Do you have a lot of questions? Because I don't have a lot of patience."
The waiter choked on whatever he'd been about to say. He picked up the license, turned it over, held it up to the light like he was checking for counterfeits. His expression shifted through several stages of confusion before landing on wary acceptance.
Because here's the thing about Hunter Licenses in this world: they're impossible to fake. The Hunter Association was backed by the V5—the five most powerful nations on the planet—and they didn't mess around. If you had a license, you were either the real deal or very, very stupid.
And stupid people didn't tend to live long enough to flash licenses in restaurants.
"I'm sorry, sir," the waiter said, his tone doing a complete one-eighty. He handed the license back with both hands, like it was radioactive. "What would you like to order?"
Liam didn't gloat. He just scanned the menu with the eye of someone who'd looted less than 200,000 Jenny from a dead man's wallet and needed to make it last.
That's about... what, twelve thousand bucks in my old world's money? he calculated. Enough to not be homeless, not enough to live like a king. Budget accordingly, idiot.
He ordered strategically: dishes that were large, filling, and cheap. A local seafood fried rice, some kind of fish stew, grilled vegetables that looked like they'd been sitting under a heat lamp for three hours. Total damage: 1,699 Jenny.
The food arrived fast. Liam scooped a bit of rice onto the table. Jaku immediately hopped over and started pecking at it, making enough noise to draw stares from nearby tables.
When she tried to dive headfirst into his soup bowl, Liam flicked her with his chopsticks. She tumbled backward with an indignant squawk.
"Use the cup, you barbarian," he muttered, pouring some broth into a spare teacup.
Jaku tilted her head, fixed him with a look that could have meant I'm confused or I will remember this betrayal, then attacked the cup with renewed vigor. Each peck sounded like she was trying to crack the porcelain.
You're welcome, Liam thought, shoveling rice into his mouth. Ungrateful flying rat.
Twenty minutes later, Liam paid the bill and left. His stomach was full for the first time in days, and he felt almost human. Well, as human as someone who'd aged two years in five days and had a small bird army could feel.
Next priority: clothes that didn't scream "escaped from a disaster zone."
The mall was easy to find—one of those generic two-story affairs with bright lights and piped-in music that made you want to buy things you didn't need. Liam found a store that sold kids' clothes, walked up to the bored teenager at the register, and slapped his Hunter License on the counter.
"I need two sets of shorts, shirts, underwear, and shoes," he said flatly. "Doesn't have to look good. Just has to fit."
The teenager blinked. Looked at the license. Looked at Liam. Looked at the license again.
"Uh," she said. "Sure. Let me... get the manager?"
"You do that."
Ten minutes and several awkward conversations later, Liam walked out with two sets of short-sleeved shirts, shorts, multiple pairs of underwear, and a pair of sneakers that actually fit his feet.
Shoes! He wanted to cry with relief. I have shoes! Do you know what it's like to walk through a forest for five days with bare feet? Do you?!
He also grabbed disposable toiletries—toothpaste, toothbrush, travel-sized shampoo and body wash. The basics of civilization.
Total cost: About 8,000 Jenny.
I'm basically hemorrhaging money, Liam thought, wincing. At this rate, I'll be broke in three weeks. Need to figure out income streams. Maybe rob more assassins. That seems sustainable.
Finding a place to clean up was the next challenge. He wasn't about to pay for a hotel room just to shower—that would burn through his cash even faster. Public restrooms it was.
Liam found one near the center of the park. It was surprisingly clean, with that aggressive "lemon-scented chemical" smell that suggested someone actually mopped the floors. The kind of place that tried to convince you it was sanitary through sheer olfactory assault.
Perfect.
He walked in, picked a sink, and started stripping.
The few people coming out of the actual bathroom stalls froze. A middle-aged man stopped mid-handwash, soap suds dripping from his fingers. A woman exiting the ladies' room next door made direct eye contact with Liam, processed what she was seeing, and backed away slowly.
Liam ignored them all. He turned on the tap, stuck his head under the faucet, and started scrubbing. The water ran brown, then gray, then something close to clear. He squeezed travel shampoo into his palm, worked it through his hair, and rinsed.
Behind him, someone whispered, "Should we call security?"
"I don't know, man. He's just... washing his hair?"
"In the sink."
"At least he's washing."
Liam toweled off with paper towels, changed into fresh underwear right there in front of God and the increasingly disturbed public, then walked into an actual stall to finish changing into his new clothes.
When he emerged—clean, dry, and wearing clothes that fit—the bathroom had cleared out. Only one guy remained, frozen by the urinal, staring at him.
"What?" Liam said, flapping his hand dismissively. "Show's over. Go home."
The guy fled.
People are so weird about public hygiene, Liam mused, checking his reflection in the mirror. What's the problem? I cleaned up. That's more than most kids do.
He whistled, and Jaku swooped back in through the propped-open window. She'd been outside terrorizing some poor child with an ice cream cone. Liam had watched through her eyes—the kid's tears, the swooping attack, the glorious theft of a single lick before the parents intervened.
"You're a menace," he told her.
She chirped proudly.
Liam wandered through the park with Jaku on his shoulder, taking in the organized chaos. Families with screaming kids. Teenagers on dates. Street performers. Vendors hawking glow-in-the-dark toys and overpriced snacks.
It felt surreal. Like he'd stepped out of a survival horror game and into a sitcom.
This is what normal people do, he thought, watching a father lift his daughter onto a carousel horse. They go to theme parks. They eat overpriced food. They don't fight Nen users or bury bodies in the woods.
Jaku flapped her wings suddenly, scratching at his cheek with one talon.
"Ow—what?"
She kept flapping, looking back over his shoulder.
Liam followed her gaze. Three guys. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Leather jackets, trying way too hard to look intimidating. They'd been trailing him since he left the mall, keeping about twenty meters back.
Oh, come on, Liam thought, exasperated. Really? I've been in civilization for two hours and I'm already getting tailed?
He focused aura into his ears—just a light application of Gyo to sharpen his hearing—and caught fragments of their conversation.
"...kid's got a Hunter License..."
"...probably doesn't even know how to use it..."
"...black license, easy money..."
Liam's eye twitched. Black license?
He kept walking, pretending not to notice. Let them follow. See what they do.
"Good girl," he murmured to Jaku, scratching under her chin. "Now shut up before they realize I'm onto them."
She bit his finger. Gently, but still.
I really need better companions, Liam thought. Ones that don't attack me for being nice.
He led his tail on a winding route through the park, weaving between crowds, doubling back occasionally, testing their commitment. They stuck with him. Not professionals—too obvious, too close—but persistent enough to be annoying.
Eventually, Liam ducked behind a large fountain in a plaza, pressed himself flat against the stonework, and activated Zetsu.
His aura vanished. To any Nen user, he'd just become invisible—a blank spot in the world. And to normal people, he was just a kid hiding behind a fountain.
The three tails walked right past, scanning the crowd.
"Where'd he go?"
"Dammit, I thought we had him!"
"The little brat probably has a fortune in that license. Black licenses go for at least five million Jenny on the market..."
"Consider it karma," one of them grumbled. "Kid that young with a Hunter License? He probably stole it from some real hunter. We'd just be redistributing wealth."
Liam resisted the urge to laugh. You're not wrong, he thought. But you're also not going to rob me.
The three eventually gave up and wandered off, muttering about missed opportunities.
Liam dropped Zetsu and stepped out from behind the fountain, pulling his aura back into Ten. Jaku hopped from foot to foot on his shoulder, looking pleased with herself for absolutely no reason.
"Yeah, yeah," Liam muttered. "You helped so much. Really clutch teamwork there."
She chirped.
He flicked her beak.
Black licenses, huh?
The phrase stuck with him as he walked. He knew from his meta-knowledge that the Hunter Exam had a brutal pass rate. Most years, only a handful of people earned their licenses. And of those, apparently one in five couldn't keep them.
Death. Theft. Extortion. Probably all of the above.
And the licenses that got loose on the black market? Those were called "black licenses." Unregistered. Untraceable. Valuable as hell.
Which is exactly what I have, Liam realized. Musse stole it from that dead hunter, and I stole it from Musse. I'm using a twice-stolen Hunter License. That's... actually kind of impressive.
But it also meant every two-bit thug with an entrepreneurial spirit might try to mug him for it.
Note to self: don't flash the license unless absolutely necessary. Or do, and use it as bait for idiots I can rob. That's probably smarter. More profitable.
Jaku pecked his ear, interrupting his scheming.
"What now?" he snapped.
She pecked again, gesturing with her beak toward a street vendor. The guy was hawking tourist trash—stuffed animals, keychains, cheap jewelry.
And front and center in his display: Blue Moon Orbs.
Liam stopped.
The vendor noticed his interest and immediately went into sales mode. "Authentic Blue Moon Orbs!" he called, grinning. "Only found in the habitat of the legendary Misery Moon Tiger! Get yours today—only 5,000 Jenny!"
Liam walked closer, picking up one of the "orbs." It was plastic. Smooth, shiny plastic with some kind of glitter suspended inside, designed to catch the light and look vaguely mystical.
This is what they're selling, he thought, turning it over in his hand. Cheap garbage that's supposed to represent Lumos's glowing markings.
He'd seen the real thing. At night, when Lumos's fur lit up with those sapphire patterns, it looked like someone had carved constellations into a living creature. Beautiful. Hypnotic. Terrifying.
This trinket looked like a rejected Christmas ornament.
"Not interested," Liam said, tossing it back onto the table.
The vendor's grin faltered. "Wait, wait! I can do 4,500—"
Liam was already walking away. Jaku made a sound that might have been a laugh.
He stopped at a fork in the path, where a large sign displayed a map of the entire park. Liam scanned it quickly—noting exits, chokepoints, areas with heavy foot traffic. Old habits. Always know your escape routes.
But what caught his attention wasn't the map itself. It was a line of text in the corner.
Blanchett Company · Ghost Island · Elf Playground
Liam stared.
Ghost Island?
He'd heard the name "Blanchett Company" before. Menchi had mentioned it—they were the corporation managing the Misery Moon Tiger Reserve. Apparently, they did wildlife conservation work across the region, which was either genuine altruism or a really good PR cover for something shady.
But Ghost Island? And what the hell is 'Elf Playground'?
He scanned the map again, looking for context. The park was officially called "Elf Playground," which explained the terrible fairy mascot on every sign. And the whole thing was apparently built on—or near—something called Ghost Island.
Did I accidentally isekai into a Pokemon knockoff? Liam wondered. What's next, a gym leader challenges me to a battle?
"Are you alright kid?"
Liam spun around. Two security guards stood behind him—middle-aged guys in official-looking uniforms, the kind hired to deal with lost children and minor disturbances. They had the practiced smile of people used to defusing situations.
One of them crouched down to Liam's eye level, which was somehow more patronizing than just standing.
"Where are your parents?" he asked gently. "Did you get separated?"
Liam stared at him. Oh, this again.
"They were eaten by a tiger in the reserve," he said flatly.
The guard blinked. His smile froze. "Uh."
The second guard shifted uncomfortably. "Kid, that's... not funny."
"Wasn't trying to be funny," Liam said. "Just answering your question."
Before either of them could figure out how to respond to that, Jaku launched herself from Liam's shoulder with a screech, flapping directly into their faces.
Both guards stumbled backward, swatting at the bird. "Hey! Get—ow! Stop—"
By the time they'd driven Jaku off and looked back, Liam was gone.
He reappeared two streets over, Jaku landing back on his shoulder with a smug chirp.
"You're really earning your keep today," Liam muttered. "Good work."
She preened.
Ghost Island. The name bothered him. Mostly because he had seen something in the woods a few days ago—that pale figure, watching him from the trees. He'd convinced himself it was exhaustion, dehydration, mild heatstroke. The usual explanations.
But what if it wasn't?
Nen beasts? Ghosts? Some weird local cryptid? Or just my brain playing tricks because I've been stressed, sleep-deprived, and rapidly aging for a week?
Too many questions. Not enough answers.
You know what has answers? Liam thought, spotting his target. The internet.
The "internet cafe" looked like it had been teleported from the early 90s and left to fossilize. Boxy monitors, beige towers, chairs that squeaked when you sat down. The kind of place that charged by the hour and had sticky keyboards.
Perfect.
Liam walked up to the front desk, where a teenager with impressive bedhead was half-asleep over a magazine.
"Admin," Liam announced, slapping his Hunter License on the counter. "Turn on a computer."
The kid jolted awake, stared at the license, then at Liam, then back at the license.
"Uh," he said eloquently.
"Computer," Liam repeated. "Now."
"Y-yeah. Sure. Station three is open."
Liam grabbed his license and headed for the indicated terminal. Jaku fluttered down onto the desk beside the keyboard, eyeing the mouse cord like it was a snake.
"Don't," Liam warned her.
She pecked the mouse.
Of course you did.
He booted up the machine, waited for the painfully slow connection to load, and opened the browser.
Time to figure out where the hell he was. What year it actually was. What "Ghost Island" meant. And whether he needed to be worried about pale children in the woods or just his own deteriorating sanity.
Welcome to civilization, Liam, he thought, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Let's see what kind of nightmare you've walked into this time.
The monitor flickered. The connection stabilized.
And Liam started typing.