Under a noisy downpour, a lone figure wandered the streets.
His gaze was empty, his steps unsteady. He swayed like a drunkard, no umbrella in hand, letting the rain soak him to the bone.
Then, as one might expect, the figure stumbled, falling headfirst into a muddy puddle. No sign of life came from him; he simply lay there, motionless.
A child passing by with his mother pointed at the figure, but she quickly scolded him, frightened by the morbid aura emanating from the stranger.
Time passed, yet the figure hadn't moved an inch from his puddle.
Then, a strange light shone down on him. Strangely, no one else seemed to notice, as the passersby continued on, unbothered.
But while the world ignored the scene, one person did not.
An old man, scruffy in appearance and just as drenched—he too had no umbrella—approached the figure with a face full of sadness and compassion.
He crouched down beside him.
"Young one, why are you already brushing shoulders with death at such a tender age?" the old man asked, his voice heavy. "Tell me you want to live, and I will help you."
He stayed by the boy's side, gently stroking his soaked blond hair, waiting for a response.
One minute. Two minutes. Three. Five.
Still, no reaction.
The old man sighed in sorrow.
"So, you choose death. Poor boy."
He stood up and shook his head, about to turn away, when the figure suddenly began to cough violently, like someone who had narrowly escaped drowning.
He rolled onto his back, coughing his lungs out.
Seeing this, the old man quickly crouched beside him again.
"My child, you've chosen life. Here, drink this—you'll feel better."
He pulled out a strange-looking potion, lifted the boy's torso, and held the bottle to his lips. Disoriented and in pain, the figure didn't resist and drank it.
Like a miracle, the coughing ceased and his condition stabilized.
"Can you walk, child?" the old man asked.
The figure, whose gaze was no longer empty, looked around before turning back to the man.
"How did I end up here?" he finally asked, his voice confused.
"I know as little as you do, dear child," the old man replied. "I found you lying there in the puddle, looking half-dead."
After putting away the potion, the old man stood up.
"Let's not stay out in this dreadful rain. Come home with me—we can warm up by the fire."
The figure stared at the man for a moment, then, with no better option, nodded in agreement.
He stood up slowly and followed the old man.
They weaved through the streets and out of the city, eventually reaching a wooden cabin in the woods.
The whole way, the figure remained silent, feeling like his body wasn't quite his own and wondering how he had ended up here.
Inside, the small cabin opened into a single room with a low stool in the center and a mat in one corner.
At the old man's request, the figure sat on the stool while he got to work lighting the fireplace. After some effort, warmth slowly spread through the room.
The old man brought out another stool from a back room and sat opposite the figure, handing him a cup of warm milk while sipping from his own mug of herbal tea.
Just as the figure reached for the cup, a sharp headache struck.
"Young one, are you alright?" the old man asked, concerned.
The figure didn't answer, cradling his head in his hands.
"A fever, perhaps… Take heart, my child. I believe I still have some potions for that. I'll go—"
He stood up, but the figure stopped him, taking the cup.
"No need, old man. Just a passing wave… nothing serious."
His face was still tight with discomfort.
The old man watched him for a moment, then let it go, quietly sipping his tea alongside him.
Minutes passed in silence. The old man wanted to ask what had brought the boy to such a state but held back, fearing it would stir painful memories.
The figure, however, was caught in total chaos.
What the hell is going on?! he thought.
He had been celebrating a promotion with friends… and now he was here, in the middle of nowhere.
At first, he thought he had drunk too much and gotten lost. But after that sharp headache, everything became clearer.
No way… how could this happen?
Yet instead of comfort, the memories brought fear and confusion.
If what he remembered was true, then he had transmigrated into another world. Ridiculous, right?
And not just any world—he was no longer in his original body, but in someone else's.
And not just any someone.
What shocked him most was that he knew this body.
He knew who it belonged to.
A character from a Japanese manga.
Kurapika Kurta.
One of the main characters from Hunter x Hunter (A/N: it's pronounced "Hunter Hunter," not "Hunter x Hunter").
Cool-headed, intelligent, and driven by revenge. Kurapika had also been his favorite character when he read the manga.
And now… he was Kurapika.
According to the memories, this body had already gone through the massacre of the Kurta Clan—the event that triggered Kurapika's quest for revenge. If the figure hadn't taken over, that would've been his turning point.
Maybe this is just a dream?
The thought was almost comforting.
But nothing about this felt like a dream.
"Ouch!" the figure suddenly exclaimed, burning his tongue by accident.
"Careful, my child," the old man warned.
The figure tried to cool his tongue with some saliva.
"Thanks, old man," he said afterward. "If it weren't for you, I'd probably have frozen to death by now."
"It's nothing," the old man replied with a faint smile. "I'm used to wandering the streets. Seeing you on death's door reminded me of my own youth, after I lost my family. I'm glad you chose to live."
The figure was touched by his words.
So this is the man who helped the original Kurapika?
He still didn't know if he was in an alternate world or truly inside the manga.
This old man had never appeared in the manga… but considering it was on hiatus before he landed here, maybe it was something that would've been revealed later—especially since the story was now focusing on Kurapika.
"Tell me, my child… What will you do now?" the old man asked suddenly.
He didn't know the boy's past. But if he had a wish or a goal now that he'd chosen life, the old man would do his best to support it.
What will I do now?
That question echoed in the figure's mind.
It was a good one.
Whether this was real or not, dream or otherworldly twist of fate—he had one clear desire: to return home, to his family and loved ones.
And to achieve that, his future actions would have to align with that goal.
It'll be risky and hard… but it's the most effective path if I want to find a way back.
"My child?"
The old man called out, noticing the figure deep in thought.
Snapping back to reality, the figure looked at him with newfound determination.
"Yes, I know what I'll do next, old man," he said boldly.
For now… I'll become Kurapika Kurta.
He had made up his mind.
He would become a Hunter.
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