As we all know, the timeline of Hunter × Hunter begins when the protagonist, Gon Freecss, embarks on the Hunter Exam, following in the footsteps of his father, Ging Freecss.
That year—1999—marks the start of the canonical story.
Now, it's 1983, sixteen years earlier.
"In other words…"
Mog sighed, rubbing his forehead. "The Great God of Dongba is thirty years old now… and that certain old lady who loves diamonds? She's not an 'old lady' yet—she's only forty-one."
The word "only" fit perfectly.
Meteor City outside was nothing like he remembered.
Fifteen hundred years ago, it had already become a dumping ground for the world's refuse. For centuries, it remained a forgotten wasteland—ignored, isolated, and lawless.
It wouldn't be until 1989, six years from now, that Meteor City truly entered the global consciousness.
That year, a country arrested a homeless man without identification, suspecting him of murder. When authorities tried to verify his identity, they found he had no nationality, no legal records, and no proof of existence.
He claimed to be from Meteor City.
Denied a fair hearing, the court convicted him without letting him speak in his defense.
Three years later, a drug-addicted criminal was apprehended—and his confession exposed a string of other crimes, proving the homeless man's innocence.
In retaliation, thirty-one people connected to the wrongful conviction—police officers, judges, prosecutors, eyewitnesses, jurors, and even defense lawyers—were assassinated.
The method? Witnesses reported that each victim shook hands with a smiling stranger, and moments later, a compact, switch-type bomb detonated—killing both parties instantly.
All thirty-one murders occurred simultaneously, across different locations.
From that day on, one phrase defined Meteor City's reputation:
"We don't reject anything… but don't try to take anything from us."
And right now, in 1983…
"Even the most infamous members of the Phantom Troupe are still just kids," Mog muttered, shaking his head. Whatever lay ahead, he needed to survive today first.
His stomach growled.
"I need someone desperate enough to issue a commission or a request—only then can I unlock the inventions related to food…"
Meteor City was full of starving people. But how many would trust a stranger enough to formally委托 a task? That might be harder than stealing food from their hands.
"This is… tricky." Mog frowned.
Just then—
A commotion erupted outside his door.
"What now?"
He cracked it open.
Before he could see anything, a booming voice cut through the air:
"You bastards! How dare you steal from my turf?! You've got some nerve!"
Atop a hill of rotting garbage stood a towering, muscular boy with an afro, clad in a torn vest and ragged shorts.
"I won't let you get away with this! You're all gonna die!!"
He crossed his arms, grinning savagely. "But if you hand over what you stole, I'll give you a quick death!!"
His voice dropped into a theatrical growl: "Run now… and I'll make you beg for that quick death. I'll kill you ten times over!!!"
Silent and still, crouched beside him on the trash heap, sat a small girl with pinkish-purple hair—wild-eyed, barefoot, gripping a broken stick like a sword.
Despite the absurdity, her calm face gave her an eerie composure.
Under their combined intimidation, the gang scattered instantly.
"Uvogin really is as stupid as ever!" one thief hissed as they fled.
"We're dead either way—why risk fighting him?!"
"Talking about 'turf' in Meteor City? Is he brain-dead?"
"He won't learn until he's killed at least once!"
Their sneers couldn't mask their panic. In a place like this, even a minor injury could mean death.
Fighting Uvogin—strong, reckless, and nearly indestructible—offered no reward. Only pain.
"Stop right there!!"
Uvogin charged down the slope, fists clenched, sleeves rolled up.
Behind him, the pink-haired girl—Machi—hopped after him like a curious shadow.
At thirteen, Uvogin already stood as tall as a grown man, his muscles dense and dark with power. His physical prowess was undeniable.
Yet against Meteor City's hardened survivors, brute force wasn't enough.
He caught only two stragglers before the rest vanished into the labyrinth of waste.
"Damn it!!" He collapsed onto the garbage pile, panting, yanking at his afro in frustration.
Then he spotted Mog watching from the doorway.
"What the hell are you staring at?!"
His glare was pure menace—but seeing a scrawny, unarmed kid, he scoffed.
"Tch… just some dumb brat who didn't run fast enough."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Get lost before I knock your head off!"
Mog's eyes flicked from Uvogin—radiating raw, untamed energy—to Machi, still clutching her stick like a sentinel.
After a beat, he asked simply:
"Are you hungry?"