Mire Eros had always felt that his luck was quite good.
Although he had been born in that hellhole called Meteor City, at least he still knew who his parents were.
Although after his parents died, he was packed up and thrown into the arena by people sent by his cheap elder brother, at least before that he had still enjoyed five carefree and happy years.
Although the experience of escaping from the arena was a near-death ordeal, in the end he still managed to leave that hellish place intact.
Although he was strictly watched by people sent by his elder brother, who feared that he might learn the power called "Nen" and take revenge, and was forced to pick garbage on the outer garbage mountains for eight years.
But it was also because of picking garbage that he was able to meet that guy.
"Mire Eros" was an anomaly.
Because compared with the "greedy" people of Meteor City, the things he wanted were pitifully few.
What he wanted was nothing more than a free identity and a simple paintbrush.
—Once "Mire Eros" picked up a paintbrush, he already possessed the entire world. A so-called seat among the Elders' Council meant nothing to him at all.
But no one would think that way.
"The so-called 'young master' who wandered out from the central district of Meteor City—how could he possibly be satisfied so easily?"
Everyone thought so.
"Mire Eros" found it difficult to explain, and there was no one to whom he could explain it.
He had seen the blazing red sun bleeding over the garbage mountains. He had seen severed limbs scattered everywhere after gang firefights. In order to escape the arena, he had almost paid with half his life.
Every day in Meteor City was spent struggling.
Struggling to seek a way to survive.
"Mire Eros" had once read an article in a book that had been thrown away as trash.
The article said that there were no people who lived miserably—only people who didn't work hard enough.
Later, that guy he met laughed, and then said:
"Anyone who believes this kind of thing is just asking for bad luck. It's about as reliable as experts telling a homeless man to rent out his idle spare house to make money."
At that time, "Mire Eros" was already called Amos.
Compared to the name "Mire Eros," Amos preferred being called "Amos."
Amos felt that what that guy said made sense.
After all, some people were already completely exhausted just trying to stay alive.
The former "Mire Eros" had been like that—he dragged his exhausted body through each day, and he believed that he would live the rest of his days the same way, dragging himself through every single day in exhaustion.
Every person in Meteor City struggled and resisted, but… how many could truly break free from the cage in the end?
And "Mire Eros" was merely one among the countless struggling masses.
No one believed that a so-called "little painter," whose shoulders couldn't carry burdens and whose hands couldn't do heavy work, a child born in the wrong era and the wrong place, could resist his adoptive elder brother.
Just trying to break out from the garbage mountains of the West District required facing difficulties that an ordinary twelve-year-old child simply could not overcome.
—Without something substantial in his hands, no matter how clever his brain was, he could never maneuver in a place like Meteor City, where everyone was cunning and no one would act without guaranteed benefit.
After countless failures, "Mire Eros" would also feel despair and exhaustion. But the difference was that even so, "Mire Eros" would never give up resisting.
The wind and sand dulled the once-clear eyes of the boy who should have become an artist. His originally pale hands became rough. The mind that once produced countless imaginative ideas every day, at some point, began thinking only about one thing—how to survive today.
But when a person lives only for the sake of living… then why should he live at all?
Seven-year-old Mire Eros could not figure out that question.
Eight-year-old him still couldn't understand it.
By the time he was nine or ten, he no longer had the energy to keep thinking about it.
How long had it been since he last held a paintbrush?
He didn't know.
Paintbrushes and paper were luxuries—and also trash—in Meteor City. No one would waste food to trade for such things, and no one would waste time on something useless like "painting."
Early in the morning, twelve-year-old "Mire Eros" climbed down from the garbage mountain and dragged a heavy sack as he walked back, thinking to himself:
He had already become dim, and he would remain dim forever.
A wave of scorching heat that was anything but gentle brushed past, bringing with it the foul stench of the garbage mountain.
Today was no different from yesterday, the day before yesterday, or the day before that.
The only difference was that while collecting garbage early in the morning, "Mire Eros" overheard some people talking.
It seemed that some minor leader of the White Eagle Association had been seriously injured by some kid.
Ah, the White Eagle Association—troublesome.
Ah, a kid—interesting.
"Mire Eros" had seen every kid picking garbage around here, and those guys had seen them too—but to say that any of those kids could seriously injure a minor leader… ha, that was simply ridiculous.
So Mire Eros only remembered those words and left it at that.
Dragging his sack, he only wanted to hurry up and finish collecting garbage, hurry back to one of the outposts, and take off this damned protective suit.
But a kid…
"Mire Eros" stopped walking and suddenly raised his head.
The one standing before him—wasn't this the "kid" they had been talking about?
Gray-blue eyes. White hair. Lips so dry they were peeling. A face so pale it looked like he might faint the next second.
But… but—
This kid was already in such miserable condition, even worse than himself. So why couldn't he see despair in the boy's eyes?
More importantly, Mire Eros didn't see the protective suit—something every scavenging child wore—on this kid who had walked over from the direction of the garbage mountain.
Mire Eros trembled slightly.
Not from fear, but from excitement.
He had once seen people who could move freely on the garbage mountain without wearing protective suits, people who wouldn't die from the radiation of the trash. Although the memories those people gave him were not very pleasant, Mire Eros would never give up any chance to increase his own strength.
Soon after, he was warned by one of the people sent by his elder brother—someone who could also move freely without wearing a protective suit.
"Don't covet things you shouldn't touch, pitiful little young master."
The man called him "little young master," but his attitude was arrogant and domineering.
Ha?
He was Mire Eros—how could Mire Eros possibly listen obediently?
And so, the probing began.
The kid truly could climb the garbage mountain without wearing a protective suit.
The kid truly could use that miraculous power!
The kid—
"Tsk, why is this kid so fierce!"
"Pulling a knife on someone the moment he disagrees!"
However, the world's greatest painter, Mire Eros, selectively forgot that he had been the one to make the first move.
The moment Mire Eros had the blade taken away by the kid he had been looking down on, he felt his entire worldview shatter.
Just think about it—he, the little tyrant of the trash mountain, the cockroach that just wouldn't die, Eros who hadn't died in the arena and hadn't died during all those hunts… was he really going to die at the hands of some kid?
At that moment, Mire Eros even imagined what his own epitaph would look like.
——Twenty years later, the world's greatest painter Mire Eros lies buried here, aged twelve.
But something even more speechless than dying at the hands of a kid happened.
The kid was actually willing to trade food—something more precious than gold—for a piece of common knowledge that everyone in Meteor City knew.
Could it be that his brain was broken?
Later, Mire Eros truly came to believe that the kid's brain had problems.
Oh, it didn't mean the kid had any intellectual defects, but… tsk, how should he put it? None of the traits associated with Meteor City people seemed to stick to him at all.
Mire Eros had always thought he was already strange enough.
He never expected to meet someone even stranger than himself.
The kid even asked whether it was possible to leave Meteor City. Interesting.
To be honest, when Mire Eros heard the kid ask how to leave Meteor City, he was genuinely excited.
It had been a long time since he had met someone like that—or rather, it was the first time in his life he had met someone who didn't want to go deeper into the inner layers, but instead wanted to get out.
If their goals were the same, perhaps there was something he could take advantage of.
So Mire Eros had been thinking about how to lure the kid into a deal.
But unexpectedly, the kid himself proposed trading "water" for food.
He didn't bother asking where the kid—who had been searching for a water source just the day before—had gotten so much water from.
He simply agreed immediately.
Then the kid asked his name.
His name?
Mire Eros froze for a moment, then replied,
"Call me Amos."
The surname Eros would only make people keep their distance in this area.
And besides, he no longer wanted even half a Jenny's worth of connection with that family—so completely different from the one in his memories.
The moment he blurted out the name "Amos," Mire Eros thought of all sorts of things.
For example, the kid might recognize who he was and immediately draw a line between them.
Or the kid might use that strange ability to kill him and carry his head to his cheap older brother to claim a bounty.
Or…
However, the kid's reaction was something the former Mire Eros could never have imagined.
"Aw?"
The kid widened his eyes.
After mimicking a wolf's howl, Mire Eros finally realized he was calling his name.
Before he could say anything, the kid continued,
"Hahaha, your name is really cute!"
It was the first time Mire Eros had ever heard such laughter.
Laughter that wasn't worried about life or death.
Laughter that wasn't busy struggling to survive.
Laughter that had nothing to do with status or hierarchy.
Pure and clean.
He laughed simply because he was happy.
But in a place like Meteor City, how could anyone possibly be happy?
Mire Eros was still stunned when the kid extended his hand.
"Happy cooperation?"
That's right.
He reached out his hand.
There were no poisoned needles hidden in his palm.
His other hand wasn't tucked behind his back hiding a knife either.
Just like that, Mire Eros responded in a daze,
"Happy cooperation."
Happy cooperation.
It really was quite pleasant.
Except for the fact that his partner's brain clearly had problems.
Mire Eros—
No, now he preferred the name "Amos."
The focus of "Mire Eros" was Eros.
But the focus of "Amos" was himself.
More than once, Amos had thought that this kid named Kisho had something wrong with his head.
From the very first trade for water—when he voluntarily increased the offer—Amos already had a vague feeling that something wasn't right.
The second time, the kid apologized because he didn't know how to teach him "Nen ability."
What a joke. What did that have to do with him?
The third time, after provoking someone and preparing to run away, the kid still told him to choose between protecting his life or leaking information—and he should choose leaking the information.
What a joke. He had originally thought the kid would beg for help or shift the disaster onto someone else.
The fourth time, the kid came back alive.
Judging from his appearance, he had clearly gone through quite a lot.
Yet he could still joke around with him with a carefree grin.
Did this guy simply not have the strings for negative emotions attached?
The fifth time was when the kid had been deliberately guided by him to kill the chairman of the White Eagle Association, but ended up accidentally poisoned.
Amos had already prepared himself for the kid to break their agreement and refuse to teach him Nen ability.
More than that, it wouldn't have been strange if the kid blamed him, came looking for trouble, or even killed him.
Even though he wasn't at fault.
But he wasn't as strong as the kid.
And that alone was his fault.
When Amos stood in front of the kid with his lips pressed together, he still saw the calm and indifferent expression on the kid's face.
The kid even had the mood to joke with him.
As promised, the kid taught him what Nen ability was.
Only then did Amos finally become willing to call him by name.
Kisho.
Such an awkward and difficult name.
For a long time Amos had thought the kid had just made it up to fool him.
But it turned out he had been overthinking things.
If the kid actually had the cunning to lie with a fake name, he would never have boarded his pirate ship in the first place.
Well, although boarding Amos's pirate ship didn't bring any benefits.
Still, it wasn't something just anyone could do.
He had seen many different versions of Kisho.
An injured Kisho.
A Kisho who endured the effects of poison.
A Kisho after finishing training.
A Kisho after winning a fight.
…
And the Kisho who pulled him out from the hands of that disgusting pervert.
Amos had never imagined that someone would risk their own life to save another person.
Especially while suffering from a poison attack.
And in a place like Meteor City—practically hell.
What's more, he had been afraid that this brain-damaged guy would foolishly rush over to deliver himself.
So when the pervert was on the phone, he had deliberately shouted,
"Don't."
Someone whose brain had problems.
Really, his brain had problems.
No matter how painful it was.
No matter how much he suffered.
He could still pretend nothing was wrong and cheerfully greet him,
"Good morning, Amos."
And he never forgot to mimic a few dog howls afterward.
Aw, aw.
So what else could Amos do?
He could only look after him a bit more.
Later, much later, with the help of that brain-damaged kid, Amos returned to being "Mire Eros."
By that time, he had already lost all expectations for the name "Eros."
The only advantage of that identity was that it allowed him to send that brain-damaged guy into Bankro more quickly and safely.
He knew that as long as he accomplished this one thing, that brain-damaged kid would definitely be fine.
Because he was someone who could always smile and say,
"Aw aw, good morning."
Later still, Amos met him again at the Hunter Exam venue.
And his brain, as always, still had problems.
For example, he couldn't recognize his own boss.
He kept wanting to save people at the drop of a hat.
He would casually pull flowers and grass from the ground.
And then imitate dog barks again.
But Amos had already gotten used to it.
And he would continue to get used to it.
...
"Aw, aw! What are you doing? Hurry up, the exam's starting!"
Tsk. There he goes again. The aw aw barking is making my head hurt.
Amos rolled his eyes, closed his comic book, and snapped his fingers.
The paintbrush disappeared from between his fingers.
"Tsk, I'm coming. Stop shouting."
He stood up and ran toward Kisho.
On the title page of the comic book that had disappeared, the name of the comic was written:
"Mist Sea Cloud Boat."
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Amos Side Story, hehe
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