By the time I was nearly three, the settlement no longer felt unfamiliar.
The forest paths, the cabins, the quiet rhythm of daily life—everything had settled into a pattern I understood. Mornings began with work. Hunters left early, craftsmen started their tasks, and smoke rose from every hearth as breakfast was prepared.
Children ran between the cabins, shouting and playing without much concern for anything else.
And I watched.
Observation had become second nature to me. In my previous life I had spent years trying to understand systems—how people worked, how organizations worked, how the world moved beneath its surface.
Now I applied the same habit here.
The more I watched the clan, the more I noticed small details.
Shared features among many of the people.
The way outsiders were almost never mentioned.
And most importantly—
The eyes.
I had seen it several times now.
Whenever emotions rose too high—anger, excitement, pride—the same transformation occurred.
Eyes turned crimson.
Bright.
Sharp.
And then they faded again as quickly as they appeared.
The first time I saw it clearly was during an argument between two hunters near the center of the settlement.
Their voices rose slightly.
Not shouting.
But tense.
For a brief moment, one of them glared at the other—
And his eyes flashed red.
Deep scarlet.
Then the argument ended and the color disappeared as if it had never been there.
No one reacted.
No one seemed surprised.
Which meant this was normal.
But the moment I saw it, something stirred in my memory.
A name.
Kurta.
The realization struck me like lightning.
Kurta clan.
Scarlet Eyes.
My breath slowed as the pieces locked together.
In my previous life there had been a story I followed—one of the few that had managed to hold my interest for a long time.
Hunter × Hunter.
And inside that world there had been a clan famous for one thing.
Their eyes turned scarlet when their emotions rose.
A secluded people living deep within forests.
Avoiding outsiders.
Protecting their traditions.
The Kurta clan.
I stared across the clearing at the hunters as they walked away.
If that memory was correct…
Then this settlement was not just a random village.
It was the Kurta.
Which meant—
My stomach tightened slightly.
The Phantom Troupe.
The name surfaced immediately.
In the original story, the Kurta clan didn't survive.
They were massacred.
An entire clan wiped out in a single night.
The killers were a group of criminals known as the Phantom Troupe.
The memory came back vividly.
Their symbol.
Their reputation.
Their brutality.
And the aftermath.
Only one survivor.
Kurapika.
For several seconds I sat there silently, letting the information settle.
Fear would have been a reasonable reaction.
But instead, another thought rose first.
Nen.
The power system of that world.
The ability to control life energy.
Enhance the body.
Create supernatural abilities.
The foundation of everything important in Hunter × Hunter.
In my previous life it had been fiction.
But if this truly was that world…
Then Nen existed.
And that meant something incredible.
Opportunity.
A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Most people in this world spent their entire lives without even knowing Nen existed.
I already knew.
That knowledge alone was an enormous advantage.
But excitement wasn't enough.
I needed confirmation.
And more importantly—
I needed the timeline.
If I could figure out roughly what year it was, I could estimate how long remained before the Phantom Troupe appeared.
Years?
A decade?
More?
I stood up from the fallen log where I had been sitting and headed toward our cabin.
The door was open.
Inside, Mom was stirring something in the pot over the hearth while Dad sat nearby carving wood.
The familiar smell of cooking herbs filled the room.
Dad looked up when I entered.
("Back already?")
I nodded and climbed onto the bench beside the table.
("Dad.")
He raised an eyebrow.
("Hm?")
I kept my tone casual.
("Have you ever been outside the forest?")
His knife paused slightly.
("A few times.")
("Where?")
He shrugged.
("Nearby towns. Trade posts.")
Mom glanced over her shoulder.
("Why are you asking?")
("Just curious.")
That wasn't entirely a lie.
Curiosity had always been my strongest trait.
Dad leaned back slightly.
("The outside world is big.") he said. ("Bigger than this forest.")
Good.
So there was a larger world beyond the clan.
I continued carefully.
("Are there cities?")
Dad chuckled.
("Of course.")
("Big ones?")
("Very big.")
Mom smiled slightly.
("You'll see them one day.")
Maybe.
But I intended to see them much sooner.
My mind searched through memories of the story.
Hunters.
Licenses.
Heaven's Arena.
Famous fighters.
I needed a question that wouldn't sound strange coming from a child.
So I tried something simple.
("Are there strong fighters outside?")
Dad thought about that for a moment.
Then he nodded.
("Many.")
Mom added quietly,
("Some make their lives fighting in arenas.")
Arena.
The word immediately caught my attention.
Heaven's Arena.
Another piece of the puzzle.
My suspicion was becoming stronger.
The world outside the forest matched the setting I remembered.
Which meant the timeline question was now even more important.
If Kurapika hadn't been born yet…
Then the massacre was still years away.
And if that was true—
Then I had time.
Time to grow stronger.
Time to learn Nen.
Time to change the future.
I glanced at Dad as he returned to carving the piece of wood in his hands.
Then at Mom humming softly near the hearth.
In the original story, these people would eventually die.
But that story wasn't written for this life.
This time I wasn't a reader.
I was part of the world itself.
And if the Phantom Troupe truly intended to wipe out the Kurta clan one day—
Then they were going to face something the original timeline never had.
Someone who already knew they were coming.