Leaving the Island × Arrival × Reunion

This was a luxurious passenger ship sailing over the vast, tranquil sea. Unlike the fully modernized mechanical liners, this enormous vessel, though equipped with an advanced mechanical propulsion system, still retained much of its wooden structure in appearance, resembling a grand multi-masted ship from a bygone era.

At that moment, Kurama was in the VIP suite on the ship's uppermost deck.

Once again, he had chosen not to travel by the fast and convenient airship, but instead embarked on the long voyage by sea to his destination. But this time, it was not to give the tail following him a memorable lesson (far across the continent, the Phantom Troupe’s mastermind, seated at a computer, suddenly sneezed), but rather to simply enjoy a rare spell of leisure and relaxation on the open ocean.

The precious gift from Count D had earned Kurama recognition from the laws of this world, shattering the constraints that had prevented him from gaining new powers or augmenting his demon energy. At the same time, it restored his once slightly impatient state of mind to its rightful calm and leisure.

He no longer needed to race tirelessly through one world after another in search of treasures to reclaim his demon energy. As long as he persevered, he could recover what he had lost through diligent training. Nor did he need to anxiously hope the next world would bring him home—his journey would continue regardless, and one day he would find his way. Until that day came, no amount of rushing could change the course already set.

So rather than stretching himself taut as a bowstring ready to snap, he resolved to slow his pace, savoring this rare and wondrous journey, and truly opening his eyes to the marvels of each new world.

With his heart at ease, Kurama’s entire aura changed as well.

Thus, even though it was a cold December, and even here, sailing the subtropical seas, the ocean lacked the balmy warmth of his previous summer voyage, Kurama still chose the most leisurely mode of travel, guided by his own desires.

That day, having just weathered a moderate storm, the deck was ill-suited for strolling, so Kurama and Mokona snuggled into the suite’s plush sofas, fighting over delicious snacks and playing the latest video games.

Don’t be fooled by Mokona’s tiny hands and feet—his gaming skills were...

From the animated look on Kurama’s face, both hands gripping the controller and swaying in excitement with his on-screen character, it was clear their scores were neck and neck, the competition fierce!

Another draw ended their match. Both exhaled, exchanged a glance, and then burst into laughter together.

“Mokona, do you want some juice?” Kurama, barefoot, hopped off the sofa, heading toward the open kitchenette with a cheerful tone.

The white puffball eagerly raised a paw, “Yes, please!”

Kurama rummaged seriously in the fridge and selected a juice made from Chati fruit—a favorite of theirs—and other tropical fruits common in the Hunter world.

Cradling their chilled drinks, sipping contentedly, the two paused their game and curled up on the couch to chat.

Though Mokona had never left Yuuko’s side since being created, he and Black Mokona, Larg, had spent long stretches with the greatest magician of the age, Clow Reed, and the only Eastern witch he acknowledged, Yuuko Ichihara. The knowledge and experiences Mokona had gathered far surpassed the ordinary. Every conversation with Mokona left Kurama enriched.

This was not just about broadening horizons; Mokona’s insights into the fundamental rules of power allowed Kurama’s training to progress by leaps and bounds.

“By the way, Kurama, why not contact Yuuko now?” Mokona lay sprawled on Kurama’s chest, purring as he stroked the soft fur on his belly. Kurama, equally drowsy, didn’t rouse much at the question, only lazily turned over and cradled Mokona securely in his arms.

“Because it’s not worth it.”

“Not worth it?” Mokona repeated.

The fox demon nodded languidly. “The rare items in Greed Island are some of this world’s most precious treasures—or at least, that’s how I see it.”

To Kurama, the bizarre and wonderful items, each with strange uses that could make one laugh or cry, were veritable treasures whose endless applications could provide years of fascination.

“They might be able to exchange for a large amount of my demon energy from Yuuko, or perhaps not. But either way, it’s not worthwhile. In the first case, I’d have to part with too many precious artifacts—I want to keep some for myself. In the second... well, that’s just not worth it, plain and simple.”

“So, rather than trading them for my demon energy, I’ll just keep them as a private collection. As for treasures to exchange for my power... we’ll keep searching.”

Thanks to the “world’s gift,” Kurama no longer felt so urgent about regaining his demon energy. Slow though it was, training with Nen was gradually restoring his lost strength.

Already, after just two worlds, he had recovered forty percent of his peak power—no wonder Yuuko always said he was lucky.

Mokona listened to Kurama’s reasoning and nodded earnestly. “Mokona thinks you’re right too.”

Though created by Yuuko and close to her, Mokona clearly always considered things from Kurama’s perspective.

This, too, was part of why Kurama had so quickly accepted him, cherishing and doting on him more than anything.

Their conversation ended, and gently swaying with the barely perceptible rocking of the ship, lulled by the rhythm of the waves, the two curled up together and drifted off to sleep on the sofa.

Little did they know that, because Kurama had not bothered to hide his whereabouts, his ticket record had been traced. On the distant continent, a golden-haired youth who had searched for Kurama’s trace for more than a year was now staring at the computer’s booking log, a strange and sinister smile spreading across his face...

***

After more than ten days at sea, Kurama and Mokona’s ship finally docked at the port on a sun-drenched afternoon.

Waving farewell to the kindly captain and the dashing first mate who had looked after him during the journey, Kurama—with Mokona in his arms, and Mokona clutching a huge bag of special candies the sailors had gifted him—set off toward Saba City.

Kurama had not reached his destination through any qualifying exam, but by acquiring the exact location directly. So, after boarding the bus to Saba City, there were no mishaps or wrong turns.

Chatting and sightseeing along the way, the two soon arrived.

It was just two days after the New Year, and nearly a week remained before the Hunter Exam officially began.

Kurama had no intention of idling.

Checking into the luxurious hotel adjacent to the exam site—a place so grand it was often mistaken for the venue itself—Kurama and Mokona launched their ambitious plan to eat their way through all of Saba City.

On the first day, they started with the local gourmet street, recommended by a hotel staff member.

Not yet seven in the morning, Kurama donned casual, comfortable clothes, cradled an excited Mokona, and stepped out the hotel’s main entrance.

Gourmet Street was a bit of a distance from the hotel, so the two hopped on a sightseeing bus, riding for over twenty minutes before arriving.

Though still early, the street was already bustling. Locals, tourists sent by recommendation, and seasoned solo travelers packed the small alley; everything looked just as Kurama remembered from food streets in any world.

Marveling at how such scenes seemed universal, Kurama joined the throng with Mokona in his arms, diving into the army of eager food hunters.

***

From morning until noon, the two had eaten themselves so full they could barely move.

Next, they explored the adjacent souvenir shops, hoping to find some treasures—a bit like what Gon and Killua once did to raise money for Greed Island, though Kurama had a distinct advantage: Mokona, the ultimate cheat code!

The little creature was extremely sensitive to the aura of treasures.

Their afternoon of treasure hunting yielded a few decent finds—not bad, but nothing that would fetch more than a modest amount of Jennies, and certainly not enough to satisfy Yuuko’s lofty standards.

Kurama wasn’t disappointed—he had known from the start what Yuuko expected.

By then, the food they’d eaten was nearly digested, and Kurama, holding Mokona, was about to return to Gourmet Street for round two when the little one tugged his sleeve.

“Kurama, Kurama—!”

“What is it?” Kurama’s patience and gentleness toward Mokona were infinite.

The indulgence in his tone made several girls who had been covertly watching them blush and their hearts flutter.

Unfazed, the white puffball stretched out his chubby paw and pointed to a shop on the corner.

“There! There’s a delicious cake smell!”

Kurama didn’t hesitate for a moment, immediately changing course toward the shop Mokona had indicated.

Mokona was a dedicated sweet tooth, and Kurama himself didn’t dislike sweets. Moreover, anything Mokona fancied was guaranteed to be good. Ever since Count D had given him that generous gift, and knowing the Count possessed some ability to traverse worlds, Kurama had started stockpiling sweets in his space—some as Mokona’s rations, others as a future token of gratitude for the Count.

So, whenever Mokona craved sweets, Kurama indulged him.

They entered the cake shop, filled with such tempting aromas that Mokona was nearly overwhelmed by the choices.

His adorable enthusiasm and genuine love for cake charmed the all-female staff, from the manager to the clerks, who were utterly smitten. In the end, Kurama not only bought a great haul of cakes, pastries, and house specialties, but the manager even gifted them several servings of her homemade pudding, originally reserved for her own enjoyment.

Even Kurama, well accustomed to Mokona’s magical appeal, could not help but shake his head in admiration.

Loaded with two large bags of sweets, Mokona perched on his shoulder, smiling blissfully, Kurama stepped out of the shop.

And no sooner had he done so than he felt a gaze lock onto him with unwavering intensity.

He looked up to see, not far across the street, a punkish figure with a head full of menacing nails—staring at him with what could only be described as longing...