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'…' Thought
"…" speech
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We didn't get far before Netero himself fished us out of our grand escape plan. You'd think after all that fighting, we'd earned the right to a little freedom. But no—turns out, leadership is all about telling you one thing and doing another.
So, there we were, stuck listening to the ever-important Hunter Rules™, courtesy of Bean, the ever-diligent secretary who looked like he had been waiting his entire life to lecture someone.
"To keep this brief—" Bean started.
"Please do," I muttered.
He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Upon becoming a Hunter, you receive a Hunter License. This card is invaluable. Nobody can legally take it from you, but if you lose it or it gets stolen—"
"That's it?" Ging interrupted. "No replacement?"
Bean nodded. "Correct."
"So… if I just take someone's card, then—"
"Then they are no longer a Hunter."
Ging turned to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
I sighed. "Yes, and no. Let's not rob people immediately after getting certified."
Bean cleared his throat, obviously trying to maintain his patience. "Ahem! Moving on. Every Hunter must be hunting something. This is what gives purpose to your license. Your title as a Hunter will be based on your chosen field."
At this, I tried to write 'World Peace Hunter'—which, I'll be honest, was mostly just to mess with them. But apparently, that wasn't valid.
Instead, I went with 'Jackpot Hunter', because if I could legally call myself a money hunter, then why not? As long as I made money or moved large amounts of resources, I could even become a Star Hunter one day.
Meanwhile, Ging chose 'Ruin Hunter'—which honestly made sense, considering his weird obsession with lost things. Maybe, deep down, he was still searching for the last brain cell he misplaced.
Bean went on, "Additionally, a Hunter cannot specifically target other Hunters."
I scoffed. "Okay, that's just straight-up false."
Bean twitched. "It is… a general rule."
"Sure. And I'm a 'Peace Hunter,' right?"
"I already told you, that's not a—"
But by then, we had completely zoned out.
The next thing I remember? Waking up in an alley.
Not in a fancy hotel. Not in a Hunter Headquarters. Nope. Just me and Ging, dumped like last night's garbage in some sketchy street.
I turned to him, groggy. "Uh… what happened?"
Ging stretched. "Dunno. One minute we were listening, next minute—bam! We're here."
"Did we black out?"
"Possible. Or maybe they threw us out for snoring."
I sighed. "Great. So, first day as official Hunters, and we're already street rats."
Ging, ever the optimist, dusted himself off and started walking. "Let's go back. Maybe we can make them add a new rule."
I raised a brow. "What rule?"
He grinned. "'Don't throw fellow Hunters into an alley' rule."
Honestly? Not a bad idea.
So, thanks to our shiny new Hunter Licenses™, we got a whole 70% off transportation and access to 90% of the world.
The problem?
We were still broke.
Like, so broke that even with the discount, we could barely afford a bus ride. And the worst part? Ging wouldn't shut up about it.
"We could be treasure hunters," he suggested.
"We don't have treasure maps."
"Professional bodyguards?"
"We don't have bodies worth guarding."
"Sell our organs?"
"Let's keep at least one kidney for now."
This went on for way too long until, finally, I remembered the Sky Arena.
I turned to Ging. "Wait. I got it. Sky Arena."
His eyes lit up. "Ooooh! That sounds fun! What is it?"
I sighed. "It's a giant battle tower where people beat each other up for money."
For a moment, Ging just stared. Then his grin stretched so wide I thought his face might split in half.
"You're telling me… there's a place… where I can fight people,make money, and live there for free if I win enough?"
"…Yes?"
Before I could say anything else, he was already running off in a random direction.
I had to grab him before he hopped onto the first train he saw.
"Ging, we need tickets."
"Oh, right. Hey, do we get 70% off on snacks too?"
I groaned. This was going to be a long trip.
The train ride started off peaceful enough. Ging was busy calculating how much food he could get with our 70% discount, while I was trying to nap. That was until I noticed something odd.
People were watching us.
At first, I thought I was just paranoid. But no—every time I looked up, I caught the same few guys glancing our way, whispering, and pretending to read newspapers.
That's when it clicked.
"Hey, Ging," I whispered. "I think we're being followed."
Ging, of course, immediately turned his whole body around to stare at them.
The guys in the back panicked, one of them shoving his newspaper into his mouth like that would somehow help.
"…Yeah, I think you're right," Ging said.
We had two options:
Ignore them and hope for the best.Confront them and make sure they regretted following us.
Naturally, we picked option two.
I got up first, stretching like I was just going for a casual stroll, and made my way toward the nearest guy. He looked nervous, but tried to act tough.
"You need something?" I asked, tilting my head.
He hesitated. "Uh… nice weather today?"
"…We're inside a train."
Before he could respond, Ging casually kicked the back of his seat, sending him flying into the table in front of him.
That's when all five of them jumped up.
"Alright," I sighed, cracking my knuckles. "Let's make this quick."
The first guy came swinging with a pocket knife. Bad move. I simply sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and twisted—causing him to drop the knife and yell in pain.
Before I could deal with him, another tried to tackle me. Instead, he tackled Ging.
Big mistake.
Ging barely budged. Instead, he just patted the guy's head like he was a dog.
"Aw, you tried."
Then, without warning, Ging threw him across the aisle like a sack of potatoes.
Meanwhile, I had to deal with the third guy, who thought it was a great idea to swing a metal chain at me. I grabbed the end, yanked it, and watched as he face-planted into the floor.
That left the last two.
One of them bolted for the exit.
The other raised his hands. "I surrender."
Ging looked disappointed. "Aw, come on. No round two?"
I shook my head and sighed. "Let's just dump them at the next station."
As we tossed them out of the train at the next stop, I turned to Ging.
"Think they were after our licenses?"
Ging shrugged. "Probably. Or maybe they just wanted train snacks."
Either way, we were back to peace and quiet. Well, until Ging bought an entire cart of discounted snacks and spent the rest of the trip throwing peanuts at me.
So, we had a little trouble on the way to Sky Arena. Nothing major—just the occasional gang of thugs thinking rookie Hunters make easy targets.
Spoiler: We don't.
Instead of just fending them off, we got creative. Every time someone tried to mug us, we mugged them back.
By the time we reached the next city, we had:
Four stolen wallets (three had actual money, one was just a picture of a cat).A gold watch (Ging thought it was fake—it wasn't).Two knives (both previously used against us).One pair of sunglasses (they looked expensive, so I kept them).
We were actually making more money getting robbed than we would have if we had taken a normal job. Mugger tax.
Somewhere along the way, we got hungry.
"Ging," I said. "We need food."
"Yeah, yeah, let me just—"
Enter: The Magical Compass.
This thing? Absolute gold. Not only did it point to important landmarks and treasure, but for some reason, it also had a sixth sense for good food.
"Guide me to the best meal nearby," I said.
The compass spun for a second, then snapped east.
Five minutes later, we were sitting in a hidden, hole-in-the-wall ramen shop that had no reviews, no menu, and only three seats. The old man running it just nodded at us and started cooking.
With full stomachs and fuller wallets (thanks, pickpockets), I figured it was time for some new clothes.
"Alright, compass," I said. "Guide me to clothes that would make me look good."
It spun. Hard.
And then launched forward like it was desperate.
We followed it straight into a boutique so fancy that the guy at the door almost kicked us out on sight.
And then, when I actually tried on an outfit? Perfection.
I wasn't sure if the compass was magic or just really judgmental, but I was not complaining.
Ging, meanwhile, tried on an entire white suit, looked at himself in the mirror, and said, "Too responsible-looking."
So he bought a Hawaiian shirt and a leather jacket instead.
Between beating up criminals, scamming our way into great food, and finding the perfect wardrobe, I was starting to think I'd make a fantastic gift-giver in the future.
All in all, 10/10 adventure.
Now? Sky Arena, here we come.
As we stepped off the train, the first thing that hit us was the sheer size of the Sky Arena.
It wasn't just a building—it was a freaking mountain disguised as a colosseum. The thing pierced the clouds, a massive cylindrical tower that looked like someone decided to stack fifty stadiums on top of each other just to flex.
From the base, you could barely see the top. There were giant holographic billboards displaying upcoming fights, stats of top-ranked fighters, and, for some reason, an ad for a limited-time "Spicy Dragon Ramen Challenge" (Ging immediately took note of that).
The entire area around the Sky Arena was alive—street performers, food stalls, merchants selling all sorts of battle gear and souvenirs. There were even guys offering "exclusive training techniques" for an unreasonable amount of money.
The entrance alone was a war zone. Fighters of all shapes and sizes—**from bulky martial artists to shady-looking guys in cloaks—**were lined up, arguing, placing bets, or showing off. One guy was literally breathing fire for no reason.
We walked toward the massive golden doors, which had the words "Sky Arena – Where the Strong Rise" engraved into them.
Ging whistled. "Not gonna lie, this place is kinda awesome."
I nodded. Time to make some money.
The moment we stepped through the massive golden doors of Sky Arena, we were hit with a wall of noise.
Hundreds—maybe even thousands—of fighters were packed into a massive registration hall. The ceiling was way too high, banners of famous fighters hung from above, and giant monitors displayed the rules of the arena in big, bold letters.
In the center of it all was a single long-ass line leading to an inscription counter.
"Alright, let's get this over with," I sighed, stepping into line.
It didn't take long to realize this was going to be hell.
There was one counter.There were way too many people.The guy at the front was taking forever.
Ging, being Ging, immediately started causing trouble.
"Hey, do you guys think the line would go faster if we just started punching people?" he casually asked the guy in front of us.
The dude turned, glaring. "What did you just—"
WHACK.
Before he could finish, Ging lightly chopped his neck, and the dude dropped like a sack of potatoes. The people behind him immediately moved forward, stepping over him like it was nothing.
"...See? Faster," Ging said, smugly crossing his arms.
Unfortunately, that was not how things worked, and we still had to wait.
We spent the next hour stuck behind the slowest people on Earth.
One guy didn't know how to spell his own name.Another tried to bribe the receptionist with a half-eaten sandwich.Some dude argued that his pet snake should be registered as a fighter.
Ging nearly lost it when someone forgot why they were even there.
"Wait, I thought this was the bathroom line," a confused old man muttered.
"...SIR, THIS IS A FIGHTING TOURNAMENT," I yelled.
After what felt like a lifetime, we finally reached the counter.
A bored-looking receptionist named Tim (his name tag said so) barely looked up.
"Name?"
"Ging Freecss."
"Fighting style?"
"Being awesome."
Tim gave him the flattest look. "...Hand-to-hand combat, then."
He turned to me. "And you?"
I told him my name and gave him a vague answer because, honestly, I wasn't about to reveal my strategies to some random clerk.
Tim just stamped our forms and handed us our fighter badges.
"Alright, you're in," he yawned. "Next."
And just like that, we were officially in the Sky Arena.
Of course, the torture wasn't over.
Now, we had to wait in a secondary holding area until our match assignments were given.
Ging groaned, slumping into a chair. "Waiting again? Man, I should've just punched my way in."
I sighed, pulling out my MAGICAL COMPASS™.
"At least we have time to find some good food," I said.
Ging immediately perked up. "Alright, waiting's not so bad after all."
And just like that, we killed time by hunting for snacks… and maybe hustling some poor suckers out of their lunch money.