Dragon Ball Roshi

Chapter 137: Hathaway's Diary (3)

Ghost Island?

Hathaway's heart skipped a beat. Sure, she loved adventure and was quite brave, but as a little genius in scientific research and invention, she was also rational. If it really was a dangerous place, then as a lone woman — no matter how much self-defense training she'd had — she would be better off avoiding it.

But she had already collected three pieces. Not completing the set would drive her mad.

"What is this Ghost Island? Explain yourself!" Hathaway demanded, her tone calm yet commanding.

The sleazy man scrambled up from the ground, answering cautiously — her palm was still pointed at his face, after all.

"Everyone who frequently sails around here knows about it. The legend of this island has been around for ages. Long ago, it was said that someone fishing in these waters saw a divine bird on the island. Afterward... many people wanted to explore it and search for the bird, but no one ever managed to reach the island. Every attempt ended the same way — no matter how far they sailed, they always stayed the same distance from it. Except for…" He trailed off nervously.

"Except for what?" Hathaway, engrossed, frowned deeply when he hesitated. Sparks of electricity leaped from her gloved palm, almost zapping his face.

Startled, the sleazy man quickly confessed, "Except for truly wicked people!"

As he spoke, he thought to himself, Why am I panicking? I'm not some heinous criminal. I just take advantage of opportunities when they arise. That doesn't make me wicked, right? Feeling reassured, he noticed the ordinary-looking woman in front of him growing impatient again. He hurriedly added, "Anyone truly wicked who approaches the island is never seen again. That's why it's called Ghost Island: 'an island only the damned can reach.'"

"…" Hathaway kept a stern expression. After a moment, she asked, "When was the last time someone disappeared near the island?"

The man frowned in thought before answering reluctantly, "It's been a long time since any fool tried getting near it…" Realizing his words might offend her, he quickly corrected himself, "I mean, about four years ago! Yeah, four years ago, there was a scoundrel who tried and was never seen again!"

Hathaway let out a cold huff and continued questioning him for a while. Finally, she waved him off. The sleazy man scurried away, stumbling as he went.

Exiting the alley, Hathaway adjusted the brim of her cap and frowned, pouting as she mulled over the situation. After a long inner struggle, she finally decided: "Whatever! Let's check it out. There's no way I qualify as 'truly wicked', right?"

Why would only the truly wicked be able to approach the island? This question piqued Hathaway's curiosity. Her mind raced through a series of hypotheses. Perhaps there was a special magnetic field around the island that interfered with the brain's sense of direction? That could explain why anyone trying to reach the island ended up going in circles.

"But what kind of magnetic field could differentiate between good and evil?" Hathaway murmured to herself. She glanced at the bustling street and the sparkling blue ocean in the distance. Adjusting the pack on her back, she picked a direction and started walking.

---

Using her private financial card, Hathaway rented a yacht and set out to sea.

"Thud." She tossed her pack onto the deck and headed to the cockpit.

While arranging the rental, she had spent half a day learning the yacht's operations and brushing up on essential maritime navigation tips.

For someone as brilliant as Miss Hathaway, piloting the yacht wasn't an issue. The real challenge was figuring out how to approach the island.

"132 kilometers... not too far," she muttered thoughtfully, her eyes alight with curiosity and excitement. Setting the marked chart aside, she flipped her cap backward, grabbed the helm, and gave it a firm spin.

"Let's go!"

Despite her usual composure, Hathaway was still a 20-year-old girl. She had never gone to sea before, and steering a yacht through open waters felt exhilarating.

At first, anyway.

Soon enough, the excitement gave way to boredom. Halfway through the journey, she was struggling to keep from nodding off. Just as she was about to succumb to drowsiness, the faint outline of an island appeared on the horizon.

"There it is!" Her eyes lit up with renewed energy and determination. "Alright, let's see what secrets you're hiding…"

The yacht surged forward, slicing through the ocean and leaving a trail of foamy white waves in its wake. It headed straight for the so-called Ghost Island.

But when the distance closed to around ten kilometers, the yacht's trajectory shifted. Instead of moving forward, it began circling aimlessly, refusing to draw any closer.

If the yacht were a person, it would look like a dazed fool, staring blankly at the destination just ahead while spinning in circles.

"Something's wrong!" Hathaway slammed her hand against the helm, frowning. She rubbed her smooth chin thoughtfully, her eyes locked on the island that stubbornly refused to grow nearer. "So, it's true… is something interfering with my perception? A magnetic field?"

She glanced at the array of instruments in the cockpit, then shook her head, her brows furrowed in deep thought.

Hathaway took a deep breath, calming her mind and clearing away distractions. Fixing her gaze on the peculiar island ahead, she muttered, "Let's try again."

Another failure. The yacht stubbornly refused to approach the island by even a single kilometer.

Her stubborn streak kicked in. Hathaway paced the cockpit, racking her brain. She rolled around on the floor in frustration, and as her head bumped against the cabin wall, an idea suddenly sparked. Her eyes gleamed as she rolled over to her pack, rummaging through it until she pulled out a square-shaped detector. With a sly grin, she whispered, "Let's see if my machine counts as a 'good guy' or a 'bad guy.'"

Without hesitation, she got to work. Pulling out tools and devices from her pack, she dismantled the console at the front of the cockpit. As night fell and waves began to rise, the yacht finally moved.

No longer spinning in circles like a fool, it sliced through the water with purpose, heading straight for the island shrouded in the night.

Inside the cabin, Hathaway was sound asleep, hugging her pack. On the console, the 30-centimeter square detector was wired to the yacht's systems with a complex web of cables. The detector's screen displayed a blinking red dot marking the island's location, glowing brighter with every flash.

---

At sunrise, the sound of waves lapping against the hull woke Hathaway. Lying on the cabin floor, she opened her eyes, their clarity sparkling like morning dew. A moment later, she recalled what had happened before she fell asleep.

The rhythmic sound of the tide filled her ears as she leapt up from the floor and dashed to the cockpit console. Pressing her face against the window, she peered outside. Sure enough, the yacht had reached the shallows of the island!

The scenery outside was breathtakin — azure skies, tranquil seas, and lush, vibrant greenery covering the island.

Suddenly, a streak of fiery red darted through the jungle.

"What was that?" Hathaway froze, her eyes widening. She stared for a while but saw nothing more, eventually shrugging it off.

"Not important," she murmured. Stretching lazily, her golden hair catching the sunlight, she smirked triumphantly. "Hah! Ghost Island? Nothing a genius like me can't handle."

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