~6,492 words
Ayanokouji Kiyotaka
The idea of a fulfilling life is subjective.
What does it mean to win in life?
It varies from person to person. What might be a pinnacle of achievement for one would probably hold little significance for another. Therefore, it's not a universal concept.
What one values in their childhood might differ greatly from what they cherish in their later years. Life experiences, changing circumstances, shifting priorities—all play a role in reshaping one's definition of success.
For some, it may be the attainment of wealth and a well-respected profession. They might find satisfaction in the recognition of their skills and the rewards that come with it. On the other hand, others might seek a more balanced life, where success is not measured by monetary gain or titles, but rather, by the quality of relationships and personal health.
Many like to associate success with creating a positive impact on the world through acts of kindness or working toward a cause they are passionate about. I'd imagine how fulfilling it would feel to know that your actions have made a difference.
And those who value self-discovery apply personal development to their everyday lives—things like exploring new ideas, understanding oneself better, and striving to become the best version of themselves.
Ultimately, this all comes down to two things: Emotional development, or constant self-improvement.
Some may argue that achieving both is possible.
I disagree.
For something you can do, there is something you sacrifice. More time spent on one subject means less time on another. Such a person who has mastered both traits is what one would normally say to describe a perfect human—a human that does not exist.
"If your HP drops to zero, your avatar will be deleted from the system forever... And the nervegear will simultaneously destroy your brain."
The entity's words rang like a bell that snapped me out of my thoughts, echoing throughout the blood-red plaza. The sea of players that surrounded me stood silent, as if unable to comprehend what they had just heard.
Glancing around, I observed the mix of confusion and fear that was present on everyone's faces. Some instinctively stepped back in fear, others genuinely confused.
"There is only one means of escape—to complete the game." The figure continued. "This means the defeat of the final boss on floor one hundred."
"Bullshit!"
"Y... You are just making stuff up!"
"All one-hundred floors? Even the beta testers never made it that high!"
Many players let out exasperated comments. After the evidence that was presented to us thus far, I began to doubt whether this was an elaborate ruse or not.
213 players were found dead in their homes after NerveGear was forcibly taken off by parents or relatives.
***
"Kiyotaka, subject 4-01. Ayanokouji-sensei wants to see you."
An instructor's words reached my ears. In response, I stopped writing on the test paper in front of me and looked up at him. His eyes dug into my skull, looking at me like I was some mere object.
"Is that an order?" I asked.
"Yes." He answered before immediately walking off.
I gently placed my pen down and stood up to follow him without a second thought. No matter how important the task at hand was, orders were absolute. His words took priority over any other.
However, what seemed strange was the sudden call during a written exam. I wondered why that man was interrupting such a crucial part of my curriculum.
Upon entering the room, I became aware of the two figures that were accompanied by other instructors. One of them was my father. However, I didn't recognize the other. He looked to be around his twenties, sporting short hair and a stoic look on his face.
"Kiyotaka, this is Akihiko Kayaba." My father introduced me to the man. "Now, if you all will excuse me, I'll need to prepare something. I'll be back." He informed us before leaving the room.
Normally, influential people that held connections to my father would be allowed to visit the White Room very rarely, at least from what I'd seen numerous times before. However, allowing direct interaction with the White Room's students was a different story unless they were a disposable subject.
After the door behind my father closed, he and I stood in silence for a few minutes. The instructors that were in the room earlier had gone off to do their own tasks, so we were left alone; at least for now.
"Do you believe in the merit of talentless people?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm sure you're well aware, Ayanokouji Kiyotaka," he began, looking around the room. "This institution... no, this facility has granted you and a handful of others a top-of-the-line education. Why is it that only you out of all your fallen comrades were able to survive?"
"My classmates simply reached their threshold before me."
If I failed to meet the curriculum's expectations, then that was simply all I amounted to. It didn't matter if I was the last student standing.
"Threshold? An interesting choice of words. Do you mean to imply that they were somehow inferior to you?"
"No. It doesn't make them inferior. Yes, there is the fact that we were all raised the same way and went through the same curriculum. But my will to live was simply stronger than everyone else's. That has nothing to do with innate superiority."
"I see..."
Morality was a luxury only given to those with the freedom to choose. In the White Room, such freedom was stripped away.
Those who ultimately crumbled in the face of the curriculum didn't value their life because they simply lacked purpose. The only reason I was standing here now was because I never thought of purpose. I only thought of my survival.
Kayaba spoke again. "How about a man who can't read or write? He can't get a job, right? No one will hire him because companies look for skills. Are you saying someone like that can possibly contribute to society?"
"Well... To dismiss someone based on what they lack is, in my opinion, short-sighted. Mechanical skills like that are a lot less valuable than you think."
Skills and knowledge can be taught and acquired. Innate flaws can be remedied over time. Something like the ability to read or write is simply one aspect of a person's potential. Every person has a unique set of experiences that could be used to contribute to society in different ways.
"But that's all you need, no? What more could you ask for? With your capabilities, you can achieve a lot in life. So, why? Why not cherish them?"
"In my own way, I lack a lot compared to so-called 'everyday' people."
Kayaba's eyes lit up, seemingly catching onto my point. "Because you don't have skills built from real-world experiences?"
"Exactly. The White Room never taught us how to handle failure or fear. We were simply told to avoid it at any cost."
What truly shaped people, making them resilient, adaptable, and unpredictable, was experience. It took time for me to understand this. The more I read about society outside this facility, the more I saw the potential that the White Room could never produce.
They understood things that couldn't be taught in lessons or simulations. Due to countless experiences, they'd developed unique skills that couldn't be obtained through a predefined curriculum. Skills like that are more valuable than ones that can be taught with a textbook.
"So, you believe that everyone has inherent value, regardless of their skills and abilities?" Kayaba asked.
"Yes." I paused for a moment. "Cooperation and leadership are big factors, too. While someone may not be able to achieve much individually, in a group, each member can cover for the others' weaknesses, allowing them to achieve far more together."
Kayaba retorted. "I see your point, but your way of thinking is flawed."
"How so?"
"How do you reward cooperation when our world is designed to reward individual success? If society values individual achievement above collective well-being, your idea of merit will remain a distant ideal."
Those words rang in my head.
"...You may be right about that," I remarked. "Even so, I still want to find an answer. The true definition of merit, I mean."
Of course, an inclusive world didn't exist. Men and women are biologically capable of different things. No matter how much you avert your eyes away from the disabilities of a person, they are still disabled. No matter how much it's advocated for, inclusivity doesn't truly exist—or rather, should I say, equality. That was the point Kayaba was trying to make.
Suddenly, the door behind him opened, revealing my father.
"Everything has been set up. Follow me," he ordered before walking off.
I stepped through the door and immediately noticed a handful of medical staff frantically running around the room.
"Now, I will explain," my father began, before Kayaba picked up a helmet-looking accessory and handed it to me. He continued, "What you are holding is the NerveGear—a device invented by Kayaba-san. You will wear this during your test."
Kayaba began to explain. "The helmet intercepts the signals from your brain to your body and redirects them to the virtual world using a direct neural interface. In other words, it's like an upgraded VR headset."
The NerveGear felt surprisingly light in my hands despite its advanced capabilities. If I was going to be using such an advanced piece of technology to take a test, then this wasn't like any of the ordinary exams I'd grown used to.
My mind raced with possibilities. Could it be some simulation? A virtual reality scenario where I would have to solve problems in a fully immersive environment?
Putting on the helmet, I immediately noticed two indicators on the top left of my vision.
Battery: 100%
Time: 13:23
My father cleared his throat, then spoke again. "You will play an online video game, and your only goal is to complete it."
"A video game?" I asked.
"Yes, one developed by Kayaba," he replied, holding up a disc that had a distinct logo plastered to it. "From now on, every day at 1:30 PM, you will come to this room to continue your test. Each session, you have a time limit of 2 hours. You will still continue with your normal training outside of those hours."
"Understood."
After his brief explanation, I was gestured by one of the staff to move to an area where I'd "calibrate" my body, which involved touching myself in different spots upon instruction. Although I was never told the reason, I assumed it was a necessary set up procedure.
After that, I was told to lay on the bed. As I did so, an instructor holding a clipboard walked into my vision and looked down at me.
The details of the test were concerningly vague. Why was an entire staff team equipped with medical tools going to be supervising me if I was merely going to play a video game—something that was only supposed to bring you entertainment?
As my body sunk into the bed, an instructor holding a clipboard walked into my vision and looked down at me.
"Subject 4-01, Kiyotaka. I assume Ayanokouji-sensei has already explained the test?"
I nodded in response.
"Good," he continued. "Now, to start the game you say the words 'Link Start.' Only do so when Ayanokouji-sensei says you can."
After his instruction, all the medical staff in the room began to connect various medical equipment to my body. This included an electrocardiogram to monitor my heart rate, a pulse oximeter to check my oxygen levels, and even an IV line to my arm. It all seemed overkill for a video game.
"Everything's ready," one of the staff said. "Ayanokouji-sensei?"
"Let the test begin," my father declared, his commanding voice causing a heavy silence to fall over the room.
That was my cue.
.
.
.
"Link, start."
The outside world faded away while a vibrant streak of colors enveloped my vision. The last image burned into my mind was the somber gazes of my father and Kayaba, both of their expressions being a mix of expectation and solemnity.
Then, everything went black.
***
Choose your avatar.
I was floating within a colorless void, its space seemingly expansive and endless. A life-like humanoid model stood in front of me beside an assortment of customization options. The menu held a large amount of flexibility—you were able to change anything from your hair color, all the way to the specific details of your body type.
"Let's see..."
I opted for a character sporting blonde hair and blue eyes. While it didn't exactly resemble me, looking at my own real appearance left a bitter taste in my mouth. I assumed this is what they meant when they described technology as a way to escape reality. It was like rewriting your story in the pretense that life itself was as malleable as a line of code.
However, I couldn't let myself get carried away. I was only going to be here for two hours a day, and a team of instructors were most likely monitoring me right now. Tucking away my desires, I focused on the game once again.
What will you name this character?
I had to think hard about this one since this was most likely the name that was going to be displayed to other players. Chances are, I wouldn't be able to change it again. The system would have said so otherwise.
After a few seconds, a name clicked in my mind, instinctively. I felt my parched lips part as I spoke:
"Kiyo."
Checking username... Success!
Welcome to Sword Art Online!
The menu closed with a distinct ping sound, before a sudden light enveloped me.
Ah... so bright.
Then, I suddenly felt solid ground beneath my feet—a strange but welcome feeling after what seemed like an eternity of floating. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness, the light faded, revealing an entirely different landscape before me.
I looked up, purely on an instinct. The environment, the overall ambience—it felt natural. Too natural. The sky was so blue it made my eyes flutter before they eventually adapted to it. The attention to detail from the stray bird flying to the slowly drifting clouds was...impressive. To say the least.
I looked down at my arms, resting on the sides. From the automatic blinking of eyes to the natural coordination between the brain and the limbs—everything was calibrated to maximum efficiency. There was not a second's delay as I flexed my hand and stretched them over my head.
The wind blew perfectly and a cold sensation washed over me. It brushed through my golden hair as it disheveled them all over my face before settling down.
I looked around, observing fellow players around me.
If I recall correctly, this was an online video game—a virtual space where players from all over Japan could interact. In other words, it was my first time observing people who weren't from the White Room. People who had led ordinary lives, possibly carrying a perspective that contrasted to mine.
There had to be a catch. Giving me full, unrestricted access to interact with other players wasn't something that man would approve of, no matter the circumstances. It simply went against the White Room's strict policies.
Then perhaps he was coerced into letting me dive into this exam? No, that was unlikely.
As I continued to scan my surroundings, I noticed the confusion and disorientation present on the majority of players around me. Some of them looked down, repeating a few motions with their hands in an attempt to assimilate sensory input.
However, a smaller percentage of players displayed atypical behavior. It was almost like they weren't surprised by the groundbreaking technology before them.
For example, the boy standing at the fountain looked around, smiling to himself as if he were already familiar with the terrain. His posture was relaxed—no overt excitement, or fear, or exhilaration. Less surprised than one might anticipate.
After a while of looking around, he ran away, seemingly with a sense of direction. And then in my periphery; another. While 98% of the players were teaming up and looking at their menus, a small contingent was dispersing already.
As they separated and walked in different directions, I took in their faces. The first one was long gone, but I could remember the distinct hairstyle. Although communication wasn't exactly a strong point of mine, I wanted to strike a conversation with at least one person today.
I took a step forward to follow one of them but stopped in my tracks.
In front of me, a notification appeared in metallic text: "Achievement Unlocked: Early Bird; You joined within the first 30 minutes of the game's launch!" The message lingered for precisely three seconds before fading. Efficient, methodical, like the system itself was aware of the need to get right to the point.
In the upper left corner of my vision, I spotted a green bar labelled HP. It was positioned just within my field of view, unobtrusive but always accessible. Quite standard for a heads-up display.
HP: full. For now.
Below it was my name, "Kiyo," followed by a small "Level 1." The system was assessing me as much as I was assessing it. Every increment of progress would be watched, tracked, and rewarded.
Making a mental note to test the quantified progression later, my mind wandered elsewhere. What was the reason behind this experiment? Simply to test my performance in the real world?
But doesn't being in a virtual reality defeat the purpose of that? From the customisation of characters' appearances to name changes and enhanced attributes as one levels up. If anything, every second inside this game—technically—pushes it further and further away from reality.
One could argue that reality was relevant. And if that's so, did that mean I wasn't Kiyotaka Ayanokouji anymore? Was I not confined by the white room's curriculum inside this 'virtual reality'?
I shook my head and shifted my focus back to the system, catching sight of a mini map in the top right, half-transparent. The detail was minimal—a few blurred shapes for nearby buildings, with a lone icon marking my position. My immediate surroundings were all that was revealed, the rest, a blank slate.
Naturally, of course.
An open world game setting pushed a 'player' to travel, trade and conquer. And the supposed exhilaration comes from the element of 'mystery.' I supposed that was what made people excited—in a controlled environment, that is. Their behavior would change drastically if the situation was much more...personal. Like if their lives were on the line—because people don't like uncertainty.
Hmm, I'm getting side-tracked again.
With a swipe of my finger, I opened what appeared to be the Main Menu.
It materialized instantly: Stats, Inventory, Skills, Quest Log, Settings. The structure was layered and well-organized, favoring a simple interface for navigation. Submenus opened and closed with pinpoint responsiveness, responding to each thought as soon as it was formed.
I began with Stats. Each of my attributes were quantified: Strength, Agility and Endurance. A low starting base across the board, which was expected, yet telling in its own way. There was no overemphasis on any single trait.
Switching to Inventory, I saw that the organization was almost clinical. There were also slots for Items, Equipment, Resources. A capacity limit sat at the bottom, with weight units attached to every item.
An additional stat-like value was revealed at the top of the interface, indicating how much Col I had. Considering how the icon beside it resembled gold and riches, I presumed it was a type of currency players used to buy armor and weapons among other things.
Then I moved to Skills, where the menu split into distinct categories: Combat and Non-Combat. Each skill was tied to its own progression path, with a note beside certain skills indicating potential bonuses or side effects. Sword skills, I noted, were governed by cooldowns—a simple yet effective balance mechanism to prevent abuse.
The final option, Settings, offered controls over the interface itself. Transparency sliders, HUD element toggles, even repositioning options. For now, I left everything untouched. I supposed there was always a time to tailor it later, after I'd understood the system's mechanics in full.
"Hmmm." My own voice felt foreign in my ears. The thoughts behind why I was sent here fell into a muted backdrop. After all, for now, all I had to do was follow orders.
I'll win, no matter what it takes.
***
There was a bright blur in the heart of saffron darkness before another direwolf plopped on the grass, disintegrating into experience points that drifted toward me. The experience bar cruised to the end and stopped right before I leveled up.
At the same time, a white panel appeared in my vision, notifying that I'd successfully killed the monster. In a neat and concise list, my rewards were displayed right underneath it: 24 Exp, 30 Col, and 2 items.
"Hmm. A few more, I suppose." I spoke to myself, though there was no logical reasoning behind it. But I'd observed people talking to themselves while preparing for something. I felt like it was highly impractical, but it served as a way to disillusion myself into inclusivity.
Another visual aspect I noticed about Sword Art Online was its lack of gore. Instead of blood that gushed out from an open wound, the direwolves I fought were met with a red streak that faded almost instantly as if it were simply a mark left by my blade. It felt like a stylistic choice that set a completely different tone for the game.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw the remaining 3 direwolves of the pack circling me. In the real world, the weaker ones would run away. However, if it's as closely simulated as the aspects of the games, it means these 3 are stronger than the ones I'd just killed.
Although direwolves retain the typical appearance of wolves you'd see in the wild, it is still distinct in its own way. Their eyes gleam a ruby red, and their coats are bi-colored: snowy white fur covers their legs, face, tail-tip, and the insides of their ears, while a deep, dark brown blankets their back and belly.
Suddenly, the one in my hindsight moved first.
At the same time, I lowered, gripping the sword's handle with both hands and brought it down to my shoulder level. The other two jumped as well, each from a different direction.
Increasing the distance between my hands and shifting the grip to a much more expansive target, the sword suddenly shifted colors and was engulfed in a bright aura. My limbs moved on their own and before I knew it, the sword arced in the air in the shape of a rhombus, cleaving through each of them with no difficulty.
Their HP bars dropped and once again, my level bar crossed its boundary and I leveled up.
[Horizontal Square - Cool down]
The sword skill I had just used went in a cooldown period.
Swords skills are a part of the fighting mechanics in this reality. One's personal strength doesn't play much role if you have a high enough level and know specific sequences.
Sword skills are activated when a player performs a specific motion right before it's activated. For example, if I perched my sword on top of my shoulder, the system would recognize it and begin the process of completing the skill.
Immediately after a player attempts to use a skill, their weapon begins to glow, its color dependent on what was used. After that, the system acts on the player's behalf, automatically completing the motion at a speed that is normally near impossible for a human to achieve, whilst dealing much more damage than a regular sword swing.
I noticed that, after a skill is completed, the user is temporarily rendered rigid. I assumed this was a state where the user was made vulnerable to any counter attacks.
Currently, I have two skills---Horizontal Square and Vertical Arc. As the latter was capable of dealing much more damage than the former, it had a longer vulnerable state.
From an efficiency standpoint, while facing multiple high level enemies, I first thought it was better to rely on your own talent in using a weapon of choice and use a sword skill only when it is necessary.
However, even if a skill is in its «Cooling» state, any other learned skills can still be used as long as they are available.
It was a handy feature. It allows one to not be vulnerable after using a weapon. Though, this makes me wonder; would replicating martial arts bestow me some kind of martial skills? Because after analyzing the pattern with which I'd gained these sword skills, martial skills didn't feel that much of an improbability.
"Oh?"
Blue hexagons in front of me began to congregate together. Piece by piece, they eventually assembled into a silhouette of a wolf, letting its holographic outline take form. Gradually, the glow that surrounded it died down, and a living dire wolf emerged—or spawned—into this world.
How interesting. I suppose it was another mechanic of the game that ensured its longevity. Respawning enemies provides an endless resource for experience points, which allows players to explore a cycle of combat and progression rather than a linear path with diminishing encounters.
This structure is especially impactful in open-world games like this one, where the player is encouraged to spend hours in the same regions. If enemies never returned, these landscapes would become empty and static over time.
"Rrrrr..."
The newly spawned direwolf before me growled, taking on a stance with its eyes locked onto me.
Swiping my index finger downward, I stashed away the sword I was holding. It lit up in a blue glow, shimmering for a moment before disappearing. Its name then reappeared in an inventory slot, along with its durability and weight.
I closed my inventory and focused on the threat in front of me.
As the direwolf lunged forward, I dropped low and twisted my body just enough to evade its jaw, letting it sail right past me. The second its paws hit the ground, I spun my leg around in a wide arc, connecting solidly with the side of the wolf's collarbone. My foot struck its fur, causing it to tumble over and roll across the ground.
However, it pushed itself upright, seemingly unbothered. The red mark from the impact was still plastered onto the area where I hit, but I noticed something strange—its HP was still full. I had dealt zero damage.
Fwip, shing! Just as I was about to make another move, a dash of light obstructed my view. A faint figure moved, slicing through the wolf with his glowing sword. Another red mark appeared on the direwolf on top of mine, however, this time, it had robbed it of all of its health.
The wolf staggered as it began to glow. Its movement came to a halt before it dissipated into a million blue pieces.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but you can only deal damage through weapons," the boy remarked, sliding his sword into the sheath on his back. "You see, physical attacks with your fist won't work."
His black hair waved with the wind as he smiled triumphantly. He had black eyes coupled with neatly chiseled features on his face, almost like he'd walked right out of a fantasy novel. A flicker of recognition flashed through my mind when I realized this was the boy back at the fountain.
"Mhm, that seems to be the case," I replied, looking down at my fist. "I was just killing the dire wolves in this area and decided to try something out. Nothing too special."
"Fair enough, I guess," he chuckled, scratching his cheek. "Well, I was just headed to the boar hunting spot just up ahead before I happened to run into you. My friend over here needs to level up," he continued, gesturing with his hand to his so-called "friend."
But there was nothing there.
"Huh? What?" He began frantically looking around. "Where the hell did this guy go—"
"KIRITOOOOOOOOO!" A loud and obnoxious voice boomed from a distance. "Help me, man! This thing won't stop chasing me!"
Peering into the distance behind me, a player sporting magenta hair and a red bandana that ran across his forehead frantically ran from a dire wolf that was chasing him. From here, I could hear him cursing at himself as he continued to scream.
I heard a loud facepalm beside me. "Klein, I swear..."
As the magenta-haired player stumbled closer, still yelling, the dire wolf closed the distance in powerful leaps, snarling as its red eyes gleamed with hunger. The health bar that hovered beside the player was about three quarters full, a more lime-like color compared to the shade of green that indicated full HP.
The concept of health points was easy enough to understand—any damage a player took would lower it, and once it reached zero, they would die. But what happens if they do? Do they simply lose their items? Col? Levels?
My thoughts were interrupted when the raven-haired boy stepped forward, making quick work of the wolf by swinging his blade in a clean arc. The wolf yelped as it dissolved into a million pieces.
The magenta-haired player staggered to a halt beside us, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "Whew! Thanks again, Kirito!" he panted, glancing back at where the dire wolf had been.
"I told you to just stay behind me, didn't I?" Kirito asked, looking quite exasperated.
"Okay, okay, that's my fault." The magenta-haired player gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his head. "I just couldn't help it, alright?" He said, patting Kirito on the shoulder before turning to me. "Also, who's this? A friend of yours?"
"Oh yeah, I never got your name," Kirito remarked, turning to me before holding his hand out. "You probably know this already, but I'm Kirito, and the idiot beside me is Klein."
Klein scowled. "Hey! I'm not—"
I returned his friendly gesture—a handshake. "I'm Kiyo. You said you were headed to a boar hunting spot?"
"Oh yeah, we are," Kirito answered. "You can join us if you want, but they're low leveled ones compared to the wolves here. If you want more EXP, I suggest you head there. You'll encounter stronger monsters." He held out his index finger, pointing at a nearby forest.
"Hm... Do you happen to know where all the hunting spots are?" I asked.
"Ah, yeah, ha ha..." Kirito smiled sheepishly as he scratched his cheek. "I explored a lot as soon as the game launched."
Looking at the time stationed on the top-right of my peripheral view, I realized Kirito's reasoning simply didn't add up. It had only been just over an hour and a half into the game since launch, and he claimed to know where the hunting spots were already. It was essentially impossible for players to cover so much ground in little time.
It was possible that not every player had entered this world truly blind like I have. Perhaps some players had access to the game's information before its official release. But how?
"Hey, Kiyo, right?" Klein called out, wearing a grin. "So are you gonna join us or not? I've got some other friends playing this game, so we can all form a huge party together."
"No thanks, I'm fine," I replied. "I need to log off soon anyway. Both of you can go ahead without me."
My time limit of two hours was almost up. As per the White Room's orders, I was to return to reality and continue my training. While I wanted to continue playing a little longer, I had no choice but to go back to my monotonous life.
A disappointed sigh escaped Klein's lips. "Alright, man. If you say so. See ya, Kiyo."
Kirito did the same and waved goodbye to me. After I watched both of their figures fade into the distance, I opened the menu. Floating holographic panels moved around my vision as I navigated through the sleek interface for a button to log out.
Yet, for some reason, I couldn't find it.
***
As the sun dipped further into the horizon, the sky melted into a deeper-violet color. Its orange rays streamed through the air which caused my shadow to elongate along the ground.
I spent another half-an-hour trying to find the log-out button to no avail. Was there some sort of fault in the system? Or perhaps it was an intentional design choice, though I couldn't imagine why.
The White Room staff was going to intervene soon enough. They were observant and didn't tolerate even the slightest deviations in protocol. It wouldn't be long before someone noticed and forcibly removed the Nerve Gear from my head. When that happened, I'd be able to explain the situation—and maybe they'd even fix the problem.
Giving up on the matter for now, I decided to make the most of my time here. An hour of killing monsters at their spawn points had earned me a decent amount of Col, and I was curious to see what the marketplace in the starting town had to offer.
When I reached the marketplace, rows of stalls and vendors stretched out in front of me, displaying basic weapons and armor, while others showcased consumables, like health potions and strange herbs. The whole scene reminded me of the marketplaces depicted in the old historical texts I'd studied, though this was rendered in vivid detail, with NPCs so lifelike that it was almost easy to forget they were just lines of code.
Eventually, I reached a section where the more expensive weapons were being sold. My eyes scanned over rows of swords, spears, and armor pieces crafted with far more care than the beginner gear I'd started with.
"Hmm."
I hummed to myself, weighing my options on armor. Mobility was key for quick attacks and evasive maneuvers, so I needed something that offered protection without weighing me down. After some thought, I settled on a leather coat reinforced with a small breastplate.
Next, I turned my attention to the weapons. One in particular caught my eye: «Iron's Edge». It was a one-handed sword with a sharp, practical design, clearly crafted to deliver more power than the basic «Small Sword» I'd been using. It weighed a bit more, but the boost in damage potential made the trade-off worthwhile.
With my newfound gear, I continued to sift through the marketplace. While my ears were filled with shouts from NPC vendors and lively voices, snippets of conversation caught my attention.
A nearby player shook his head, muttering to his friend, "It's got to be a bug, right? There's no way they'd launch a game like this without a way to log out."
"I don't think there's even a way to forcefully log yourself out apart from that button," another player spoke.
I quickly picked up on a recurring theme: the missing logout button. It wasn't just me, then—others had noticed it too. Looking around, a few players looked visibly anxious, shifting uncomfortably as they scanned their menus.
If the missing logout button was a mistake, the game publisher's IT department was probably being swamped with calls from frantic players. With so many people affected, it wouldn't take long for the news to spread—and for the situation to escalate.
A glitch of this scale could easily land the company in legal trouble, especially if players couldn't log out for an extended period of time. Even if most people were only stuck here for a few hours, the confinement could create serious issues—both for the players' physical health and the company's reputation.
Ring!
Ring!
A sudden, blaring ringing sound reached my ears, resembling the sound of a bell on a clock tower. I instinctively squinted as a pillar of light enveloped me, washing away the scenery around me. Other players seemed to be experiencing the same phenomena, given the startled and confused remarks that reached my ears.
My mind raced, but before I could make sense of anything, the light around me pulsed brighter, swallowing my vision entirely.
***
The blue light faded, and my vision returned. But, it was no longer the bustling marketplace in which I had been standing. I was greeted by wide paving stones, trees lining the street, and a cleanly elegant medieval town.
I recognized it instantly as the central square of the Town of Beginnings—the place where I'd first spawned. A sea of SAO players, each with their pieces of equipment and vibrant hair colors, pressed in around me. It seemed likely that every single player in the game had been forcibly teleported to this square.
For a few seconds, there was a heavy silence as everyone took in their surroundings. Mutters and murmurs broke out everywhere with players issuing their complaints.
"What's going on?"
"My pizza has already gone cold! Let me log out now!"
Players were angry and frustrated—understandably so. Every second they spent stuck in this game was another second wasted in real life.
The chatter continued until an abrupt yell cut through the air.
"Hey... Look up!"
With his words, all of our eyes wandered to the sky. A single neon red octagon hung high in the sky, blinking ominously. Peering closer, I could make out the English words "WARNING" written on it.
Ping!
Ping!
Suddenly, the sunset sky above started to fracture with the same red warnings streaming across, echoing with an ominous beeping sound. Soon enough, the entire plaza was covered in crimson.
"What the hell? What's that?!" A nearby player yelled, pointing at the center.
A dark red liquid seeped through like blood. It gathered on the top of the arena buildings that towered the players, morphing into a figure donning a red cloak. He stood at least sixty feet tall, his figure looming over the expansive crowd of players.
I was staring up at it from an angle that should have given me a glimpse underneath the hood—but there was nothing. The empty void that should have been a face gave off a sinister feeling.
"Is that a Game Master?"
The chatter around me died down as voices grew more relaxed. I assumed 'Game Master' referred to a developer—someone who managed the game. This meant we were finally going to be given an explanation.
Before speaking, the cloaked figure raised out his hands like a priest before a gospel reading.
"Welcome to my world, dear players. My name is Akihiko Kayaba. As of this moment...I am the only person able to control this world."
From that point on, my reality in this world had been set in stone.
*************
Update schedule; Every Sunday starting next week.
Big thanks to @Jinzooru for this chapter. We are writing this fic together.