Hunter Diaries (ReaderxKillua)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hunter X Hunter. Togashi-sama does. :D

A/N: (1) I, myself, read very few OC stories. Plus ReaderxChara stories aren’t allowed in FF. net so yeah… don’t expect too much. xD

(2) 1st person POV, because it’s more effective for me. So do try to read the paragraphs in your own voice.

(3) Please do not hesitate to leave me a comment! I would love to read them—whatever they are, be they positive, negative, or downright flames. Hearts are also appreciated. J

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The Hunter Exam…, or so I thought

…

[3645 C.E.]

The sky is bright, birds are chirping merrily and flying across the sky. The weather is perfect, really. Sure it is slightly warmer than I expect the weather will be at such a time in the morning, especially in a temperate country like this one, but I didn’t want to think too much into it.

In any case, I am currently walking around (in a rather lax pace) to my destination. I do not want to fret, knowing it won’t do me any good in the exam, especially since I slept no more than three hours last night due to an unusual combination of excitement, fear, and dread.

Plus I am kinda trying this out: my new diary. After all, mother taught me every day—no, every moment—is important. And hence I am keeping a very accurate diary that I update every time I get the chance to write.

However, now that I know I’ll be moving a lot, so I deviced a way to still record life events without having to bring a notebook with me all the time, which I had to write in several times a day. And I know time will probably be scarce, if I will have any extra left at all.

This baby of mine I shall call ‘Write-O’ Version 2.0. It means Write Obsessively. Ha-ha. And it writes down all internal dialogues and encodes it in my mini-laptop inside my handy-dandy backpack over here. That and Write-o sounds like Raito, which then sounds like ‘Light’, which could pretty much describe the feelings when I write my feelings, and also when I re-read what I write in my diaries several years later.

Genius, I know. And thank you.  

“It’s almost 11am! We should eat lunch now.”

That loud high-pitched dialogue caught my attention. My mind almost went blank. Don’t panic, self, the kid’s probably got the time wrong. I looked at clock. 8:35am, it said. The exam starts at 9 and I am pretty sure the next destination is already the last.

But in retrospect, it was 8am in what felt like an-hour-and-a-half ago…

.

Oh, crap.

.

.

Don’t worry, self. I look at the instructions written in my paper, then the map, and then whatever signage my poor eyes can catch. But then a random bell tower suddenly sounded, making me flinch—fuelling my already depressing amount of dread even more. 

How did this happen?

But surely, the Hunter Exam won’t start right that second? I was only an hour (or two, you’d rather not think about it) late. No biggie.

But then— THUMP!

After what seems like a minute later, I immediately feel a broad and mild pain in my bottom. My hand quickly ended up on the cold asphalt floor. And a classic ‘Ouch’ comes out of my mouth, and I finally realize that I have bumped into someone. Someone strong, I know, as he/she is strong enough to still be standing straight.

However, my brief utterance of pain was met with an un-empathic ‘Sorry’. I frown a bit, and gestured to stand up, when I realize the person has been holding out a hand to help me. I blink at the fact that, despite the apathetic tone of apology, he is at least trying to help me out.

I stare at his pale hands, and my eyes soon climbs up to where it connects. I quickly stifle a gasp, and try to control how my eyes are bulging.

Perhaps Write-O 3.0 would have a screenshot feature when I figure out how to do it. But in the meantime, descriptions will have to suffice. However, I can’t exactly explain it. It is just that… well, this kid is beyond beautiful. Heck, I think even that is an understatement.  

He frowns, and gesture to hold back his hand. “If you don’t want to—“ And I idiotically grab it (I realize they were soft) and he sighed before he pulled me up.

He is about the same age as I am, 12, but I am about two inches taller than he is, since I was a girl and girls tend to grow up earlier. I wonder how much taller he’ll be after the dreaded male growth spurt.

“Ah…, you can let go now.” He says, pulling me out of my reverie, and I soon realized why.

Classic

I blush involuntarily (as if it ever came out otherwise) and decided to do as I am told. “Sorry.” I say and looked around a little, humiliated. The boy seems to have taken it as a signal for him to leave when I find this inexplainable desire to further speak with him.

Partly, I blame the fact that beautiful people really do tend to do that, but I internally shake my head at the thought. I have a Hunter Exam to pass.

But before I can turn around, I realize he is playing around with something, before and after I bumped into him. It is a familiar looking card made of hard plastic. He is making it spin and effortlessly balancing it on his index figure.

I gape at his hand, and then to him. “I-Is that a Hunter card?”

“Uh-huh~ Just got it this morning.”

What?

“…pardon?”

“Pardon what?”

I gulped my nerves and prayed for coherency. “You passed the exam?”

“Yes.”

Crap. But I otherwise didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

“And what’s with that face?” “You don’t look very strong yourself.”

And then he let out a pompous smile. “I did you a favour. You would probably die.”

“But you didn’t.”

“That’s because I’m strong.”

Prove it. I say mentally and my body moves on its own. I adopted a battle pose, and he does the same.

We gestured to fight there—in the middle of the streets. Not a lot of people took notice. We were just children. But he sighs a few seconds after that, and shakes his head while looking at me. “I have no time for this.”

“…”

“JA. And try not to get lost next year.”

I blushed, “I was not lost!”

“Sure you weren’t.” He says, smirking, and turned around. I feel so embarrassed, and in many ways as well. But when I catch enough cool to face him again—he is already gone.

I straighten up my body and stare at wherever he was standing, before finally huffing a sigh. I feel uncomfortable, really, and I absent-mindedly try to wipe off some sweat with my palm. But then I quickly realized—My face was hot.

And I know it is not a fever.

I face-palmed in despair.

.

.

END OF CHAPTER 1

TBC

…

Thanks for reading!

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