The thought slides into place with disgusting ease. He almost laughs, sudden and sharp. He clamps his teeth shut until it passes.
In his old world, this meant arcs and power-scaling debates and "what Nen type are you?" quizzes. Here it means bureaucracy, dangerous work disguised as opportunity, and people who can erase him from existence on a whim.
For a nameless, underfed orphan? Perfect hunting ground. For other things.
He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth and makes himself breathe normally.
All right. Congratulations. You unlocked "hard mode."
His brain pulls up stored data.
Nen.
Aura, life energy, whatever term you prefer. Ten to keep it in, Zetsu to hide it, Ren to bring it out, Hatsu to turn it into "fun" personal nightmares. The six categories. Enhancement, Emission, Manipulation, Transmutation, Conjuration, Specialization.
He knows the theory. Not perfectly, but obsessively enough.
He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, right there in the yard, and tries something stupid but irresistible.
He pays attention to his skin, his breathing, the edge where body meets air. Tries to imagine something flowing out from inside and staying close, a thin layer.
There is cold. There is the rough fabric of his shirt. There is a faint breeze and the sound of someone arguing down the street.
Nothing else.
No warmth, no pressure, no strange sensation. Just a kid loitering next to a wall.
He opens his eyes.
Good. If aura had just magically snapped into place because he remembered some exposition, he'd have started worrying about how cheap this universe actually was.
You don't get Nen for free. Not in this world. Nodes are closed. No teacher, no "water divination," no maniac forcing them open. Just one idiot with prior knowledge and a weak constitution.
He leans back slightly, shoulders touching the wall by the poster, eyes half-closed like he's just resting.
So. Tools on hand:
Knowledge of the rules, mostly high-level. A body that loses to a strong breeze. No money. No connections. No idea what year it is relative to canon, or even where on the map he is.
Great.
Step one: don't die of something boring before it matters what year it is. Disease, hunger, random street crime.
Step two: quietly move this body up from "frail" to "passable." Not by doing kata in the yard like an escaped mental case, but by using whatever work and walking he can get.
Step three: figure out more about the city. Names, directions, politics, how far the nearest real Association branch is.
Step four: long-term, get near a Nen user in a way that doesn't end with him as a footnote.
Nen itself goes in the "future investment" folder. Right now, it's a liability: something he knows exists and can't touch.
Something tugs at the back of his mind. Not Nen. Memory.
A black coat, whipping like it has a will of its own. Shadow that isn't quite shadow, stretching, biting, cutting stone and steel. Akutagawa's Rashōmon. His favorite kind of unreasonable.
He's always liked that ability. The violence, the precision, the way it wraps its user like a loyal monster.
He doesn't make some declaration about copying it. That would be arrogant when he can barely stay upright. He just notices the pull. Files it under possible future shapes. Nen responds to obsession. If he survives to reach Hatsu, that taste will matter.
"Why are you staring at that old thing?" someone asks behind him.
He turns.
The shaved-head boy from before stands there, arms tucked into his too-big shirt, a deep frown etched into his face like it's standard.
"Trying to figure out if the wall or the poster is more depressing," Ryu says.
The boy snorts. "You talk weird."
"So I've been told."
The boy glances at the street beyond the fence, where people are walking past in coats that don't have holes and shoes that actually fit. "Sister says we're not allowed outside without her," he says. "Kids who sneak out get smacked."
"Good to know," Ryu says. Useful information, that.
The boy jerks his chin upward. "Town's bigger uphill. Shops, train station, offices, all that. Sister goes there sometimes. Says there's even a Hunter office somewhere." He says it like that last part is myth, not infrastructure.
Ryu files away uphill = center and train station = useful.
"You sound like you've memorized the brochure," Ryu says.
The boy shrugs. "I listen. Nothing else to do." He pauses. "Name's Daro."
"Ryu," he answers.
Daro's eyes flick to the poster again. "You like Hunters?" he asks, curious in the wary way of someone who knows liking things too much is dangerous.
Ryu thinks of exam halls full of predators, men who can rip hearts out with a smile, families of assassins, ants that eat people and learn. Then he thinks of travel, access, information, the license that opens doors.
"I like options," he says. "Hunters get more of those than most."
Daro clearly doesn't know what to do with that answer, which is fine. He grunts and wanders off.
The nun's voice calls across the yard. "Ryu! You're on your feet, you can work. Come here."
He steps away from the wall and goes to her.
She hands him a broom. "Hallways, then help in the kitchen. Slowly. If you fall over, I'll make you mop from the floor."
"Motivating," he says.
She gives him a look that says she's not sure if he's being polite or annoying. Fair. He's not sure either yet.
Sweeping the hallways is boring. Which makes it ideal.
He moves the broom up and down the long corridor, eyes on the floor when anyone is near, eyes on everything else when they're not.
Old posters on corkboards. Notices about charity, job offers for "light work," a faded flyer with the Association emblem and the words "Hunter lecture – postponed" scribbled over with a date from months ago. So the Association occasionally bothers with PR here. Interesting.
He memorizes street names on notes, the name of the city on a faded donation certificate, the symbol used for the national government logo in the corner.
Bits and pieces. Nothing big. But a map is just bits and pieces in the right order.
By the time he's scrubbed some dishes and picked bits of something unidentifiable out of a pot, his arms ache and his head feels thick, but he has more than he woke up with.
That night, he lies in his narrow bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling again.
So. Recap:
New body, age probably around seven. New name: Ryu. Location: city on a slope with a train station uphill, a small Association liaison somewhere in town, an orphanage at the cheap end.
World: Hunter x Hunter. Nen exists. He knows the broad theory better than he ever knew math.
But application: zero.
No idea what year it is. No idea where the main cast is. No idea if any of the big events he remembers are decades away or already history.
He exhales slowly.
He didn't ask for this. But he did, at some point, wish for something like it. Think "it'd be cool to see that world up close." Well. Wish granted. Side effects not included in the advertisement.
All right, he thinks. Then I treat it like what it is: a real place that can kill me, not a stage for someone else's story.
Nen can wait. Hunter Exams can wait. Rashōmon fantasies can wait.
Tomorrow there will be porridge that tastes like sadness, and a broom, and maybe a glimpse of the upper streets if the nun needs errands run. None of that is impressive.
But he's not in a rush to die impressive.
He closes his eyes.