"Are you okay?"
Diabel carefully helped Sheeta to her feet. The Floor Boss room, discovered only a few hours ago, was already crowded with a large number of players. After learning that the Guild squad had been ambushed, he had almost immediately gathered his companions and rushed over.
But it seemed they had arrived a little late.
The red-named player behind it all had already retreated.
"Leader... um, about the Vice Commander..." The shield swordsman, who had used a healing crystal, stammered as if trying to say something.
"..."
Diabel looked toward the tall, heavy double doors carved with reliefs, his expression complicated.
"Tell everyone to wait here. If the one who comes out is that red-named player, don't even give him the opening to use a teleport crystal."
"But... what if the one who comes out is the Vice Commander? What should we do then?" someone asked cautiously.
"He's our companion. Are you planning to arrest him too and throw him into the Black Iron Palace?" Diabel was rarely this irritated.
"But no matter how you look at it, at that time, the Vice Commander was also... red-named, wasn't he?"
The shield swordsman looked at the other members of the squad and fell silent for a while.
"And those people earlier also said that the Vice Commander had... done this sort of thing before. They even said he misappropriated Guild funds, and that he only came here for the Divine Dragon Alliance's interests."
"You believe those bastards who just kidnapped you?!" Diabel could not help raising his voice.
Seeing his attitude, the few who had only just recovered from paralysis shrank back. They opened their mouths, but said nothing more, turning and moving to the rear of the larger group.
"Sheeta...?"
Argo softly called to the silent girl. Ever since she had been defeated and then watched Satoru walk through the doors with that man, there had been no sign of life from her at all.
"Sheeta-san, don't worry. He'll be fine," Diabel also said gently.
"..."
"..."
"I'm... sorry."
It was an extremely faint whisper. The girl still kept her head lowered, curled up and trembling without any emotion.
Seeing this, Diabel clenched his hand slightly. When he looked again at the tightly shut door, the expression in his eyes became even more conflicted.
"Yurnero-kun..."
"I trust no one from your guild was injured, Leader."
The voice was rational and calm, and even the wording carried just the right amount of courtesy. The red-and-white squad parted the members of the Divine Dragon Alliance and slowly walked to Diabel's side.
"Heathcliff?" Diabel turned back, somewhat surprised. "What brings the Knights of the Blood here?"
"I believe that at a time like this, we should focus on the assault team as a whole, rather than divide ourselves by guild faction." The modest man nodded. "We also received word that your guild's squad had been ambushed. We were deeply concerned, so we came here. In the face of such a vicious incident, we hoped to do what little we could."
Sheeta, in Argo's arms, seemed to move slightly, but she still did not raise her head.
Heathcliff glanced at her, whether intentionally or not.
"It seems there were no casualties..." He paused there. "Though I suppose that is not quite true."
He walked to the door covered in relief carvings, extended his hand, and gently pressed his palm against its surface, rubbing over it.
The man's back was turned to the crowd.
The curve of his lips gradually widened.
"What we have sought all along is something we already possessed from the start. We keep looking everywhere, yet overlook the very thing we want. That is why we have found it so difficult to have our wishes granted."
His voice was quiet enough that only he could hear it.
"You travelers who worry over gain and loss in this endless hell. You ordinary people who remain neutral in the face of great right and wrong, standing in the perilous depths of purgatory."
...
The beating of the heart. Each tremor stirred the blood vessels and muscles with a sensation that felt as if he were truly there.
Real... too real. No, something beyond even that.
The sensation of spear and sword biting together, tearing apart in a rapid, unbroken rhythm. That impact flowed back from the burning blade and spear shaft through his entire body like electricity, stabbing into every limb and bone. Everything before his eyes grew more chaotic and frenzied. In that blurred vision, with halos seeming to burst everywhere, the enemy dancing in front of him looked even more savage and distorted.
What wavered in this fierce battle was not only the life of a virtual character.
It was also the self hidden inside this shell, a shell that could be broken free from so easily.
Satoru clenched his teeth. His entire body seemed to burn with pain, as if he were bathed in fire. Beneath his gradually crumbling vision, those memories he had once despised began surfacing uncontrollably at this moment, clinging to him without mercy. Some were nothing more than frozen photographs. Others were ridiculous scenes, like a puppet show.
As he looked at those incomplete, yellowed things, things he had thrown into the trash and never wanted to retrieve, the ultramarine flame in his heart burned fiercely, as though it meant to reduce him to ash from the inside.
Along with that invisible agony sweeping through his thoughts, his movements became even faster, even more vicious!
Rational combat, conserving skills, all of it was forgotten. All that remained was this reckless assault driven by the fire in his heart, an arrogant attack with no thought for what came after!
Faster.
More frenzied.
More like an abandoned ghoul roaring on its own!
Curved sword, one-handed sword, rapier, short sword, dagger... five different weapons each revealed a terrifying side in his hands. Through the miracle created by that accidental collision, through the unique skill he had obtained, he no longer needed to personally tap Quick Change when using different weapons. As long as he held one in his hand, he could break through the game's normal restrictions and use it immediately!
More sword skills. Zero-time switching. More than a dozen similar startup determinations.
When all those conditions were met.
The methods of linking and the variations in those links also reached their limit. In theory, it was even possible to complete a perfect offensive cycle.
That was... an infinite sword skill chain that overturned the system's balance!
The sound effect of the Relic Blade cutting through the air had already begun to produce a tangled noise like electrical static. Sword Art Online's sound simulation matched appropriate sounds to the speed of a slash, the dull thud of staff-type weapons, the hum of a blade. The greater the force and speed, the closer the sound would come to its peak.
But what happened if it surpassed the upper limit of the system's simulation?
The system could no longer keep up with the matching. In the end, the sounds that burst out were as tangled as a mess of threads.
If one could properly feel this moment, feel that divine speed that had broken through the system's assistance, feel the moment when one's own power crushed data itself, then even someone like him, someone who had never once had such a thought, would have no choice but to admit it.
To admit the one thing he believed in least.
Inside this vast, empty chamber, Yurnero had completely transformed into a genius.
A genius surpassing anyone he had ever seen before.
A genius.
A stance like that of a Sword Saint!
But there was no way he could feel it now.
The one dancing wildly was Yurnero. The one suffering in grief and rage was Satoru.
"Didos!!"
He roared.
"Facing your own meaningless life, facing the muddled emptiness accumulated from all the time you wasted until now, is painful after all."
Under the impact of those infinite, Sword Saint-like sword skills, the burly man still held firm. His spear had also crushed the system's restrictions and reached another realm. Yet Didos, whose eyes remained golden, stayed calm.
"But the reason you roar and the person you are roaring at do not match."
"Look carefully again. At that person's... face."
The system tried with all its might to keep up with the speed of their battle, but in the end, it could only continue simulating a tangled mess of shattered, wailing sounds. Yet Didos's words were clear and heavy, as if spoken right beside Satoru's ear.
"You are angry. You are struggling. Not because of anyone else, but because of yourself. Because of that self you hate."
They overlapped.
The opponent wielding the spear and blocking his attacks again and again.
His form was no longer Didos's burly body and silent face.
It was him.
Himself.
Satoru.
"It happens often. The one people hate most may not be someone else, but precisely the self they reflect on every day yet are powerless to fix. On that point, I am the same. It is only that, from the look of it, you hate yourself more than most people. That is why, in this world where it is easier to face yourself directly, those gloomy feelings wound you even more deeply."
Didos's spear had already been replaced.
Or perhaps, he had finally revealed the true form of his unique skill.
It was a classically Eastern, ancient weapon. Overbearing and brutal.
A halberd.
"Satoru Suzuki."
The golden pupils in Didos's eyes turned cold.
"Goodbye."
With this, they were protected.
Those hard-won.
Friends.
…
On the summer playground, the track baked under the blazing sun gave off a smell like melting plastic. The air was stifling, and there was not a single cloud in the sky. The vast heavens had been handed entirely to the scorching sun, letting it flaunt its generous light and heat without restraint.
Having outdoor PE in weather like this was really not a good idea.
But the sturdy PE teacher in a sun hat did not seem to think there was anything wrong with it. He rolled up the already short sleeves of his T-shirt, planted his hands on his hips, and, like the head of some delinquent gang rallying morale, announced the schedule to a class of listless students in a booming voice.
"Alright, alright! Once the hundred-meter test is done, we'll head into the gym!"
Maybe he had been infected by the collective resentment of these high schoolers, because the rough-looking teacher shook his head and sighed over the physical condition of students these days.
"Ugh... we still have to run the hundred meters?"
The complaints immediately rose again from below.
"This is a proper test, okay? So pull yourselves together. Boys and girls will be tested separately. Boys first, come over here. Two at a time."
The muttering PE teacher led the crowd of students toward the track.
"Kaizuka, let's pair up. We can compare when we're lining up later," a friend who had come up from behind suggested with a grin.
"Sure." Makoto Kaizuka did not refuse.
After all, he had no confidence in his stamina. Fitness tests had never been his thing. It was not that he hated exercise, exactly. He was more worried about getting a terrible result and feeling the gap between himself and others. Even if no one said anything, falling behind still felt embarrassing. But if his opponent was a close friend, then it did not matter.
"I'm not competing with those guys from the sports clubs. That's just asking to embarrass myself," his friend added.
"Actually... it's not that big a deal, is it?" Kaizuka said hesitantly.
"That depends on who's watching. Look." His friend pointed toward the field. "The girls are over there, you know."
Kaizuka pretended not to care as he glanced that way.
"Oh my, Shinomiya-san is so quiet and cute." His friend's teasing voice popped up again.
Kaizuka shuddered and slapped the guy on the head.
"Don't talk nonsense."
"Come on, man. I can read the room." His friend shook his head with a solemn expression. "When we run later, I'll deliberately fall behind you."
"What if you fail the hundred-meter test?"
"Tch. How could a little thing like that compare to letting you win under a girl's gaze?"
"You... you said it." Kaizuka coughed once.
"Just cover my lunch."
As the two talked, they started lining up. When that unserious friend reached Group B, he deliberately checked Kaizuka's position, adjusted places with the student behind him, then gave Kaizuka a thumbs-up.
Bang.
The PE teacher held the starting pistol and sent off one group after another. The hundred-meter test went by quickly. In a minute or two, it was Kaizuka's turn. But when he stood behind the starting line and looked to his right, he fell silent.
His friend was behind him. Standing in front of him was a handsome guy full of confidence. Of course Kaizuka knew him. They were classmates. But as the class heartthrob and a member of a sports club, he had a balanced, dependable build. He was in the soccer club, and plenty of girls went to his matches to watch him instead of the game.
Which meant the problem now was this.
Kaizuka looked at his friend.
"Sorry, the big guy in front of you messed up my visual estimate of the order!"
Anyway, judging from all that winking and grimacing, that was what he was trying to say... right?
Sigh...
Kaizuka let out a breath.
"Get ready," the PE teacher called.
Kaizuka took a pre-run stance. Compared to him, Fujima-kun on his right lowered himself into a proper crouching start. The girls' side also began to grow excited. They had all looked too hot to move earlier, but now one by one, they were looking this way. No... they were probably only looking at Fujima-kun.
"Set," the PE teacher shouted again.
"..."
Kaizuka drew in a breath.
Shinomiya-san... is looking this way too.
He pressed his lips together.
"Go!"
The PE teacher's shout came together with the crack of the starting pistol.
Kaizuka and Fujima burst forward at almost the same time.
"Go! Go!"
The girls by the field suddenly started cheering happily. In the crowd of female voices, there might have been one male voice mixed in...? Oh, that was probably the guy who could not even line up properly trying to atone for his mistake. Though your cheering is not exactly motivating.
Shinomiya-san... is quietly cheering too?
Kaizuka ran with his whole body, glancing from the corner of his eye at Fujima in the next lane.
Side by side...?
That popular guy from the soccer club had not pulled ahead of him.
I... I can do this?
Kaizuka held his breath and kept speeding up. It had been a long time since he had sprinted like this, and the rapid swing of his legs felt unnatural. Even so, he could keep up with Fujima's speed.
I can do it!
A rare competitive spirit welled up in the boy's heart, driving his body forward.
But then.
He stumbled hard and fell with force. His legs could not keep up with his upper body, which had leaned too far forward in his desire to win. He lost his balance. That also meant he had no way to catch up anymore. Lying on the ground, he instinctively raised his head and saw only Fujima's back racing away until he crossed the finish line.
The girls' cheering blended into a burst of applause and celebration. Fujima nodded kindly toward them, patted his pants, glanced back at Kaizuka, then turned away and left the track.
"Hey, Kaizuka, you okay?"
The PE teacher behind him shouted at the top of his lungs.
"I'm fine."
He quietly climbed to his feet.
"Then we'll test you again later. Next group."
To clear the lane for the others, he stood up and walked toward the edge of the field.
Only then did the stinging pain in his knee slowly spread. The fabric over his knee had been scraped open, and a patch of skin had been rubbed off his kneecap. It burned fiercely.
He quietly walked to the other side, sat down hugging his legs, looked at the group of girls across the field, and bit his lip.
When he fell just now.
Someone over there had laughed.
He knew it was not malicious or mocking or anything like that. Everyone in the class was a good person.
It was just.
Just...
If only Shinomiya-san had held back that laugh.
That would have been nice.
He lowered his head slightly.
In the distance, the man holding a curved sword and a one-handed sword simply watched Kaizuka, without joy or sorrow.
…
A monk hired at considerable expense from a well-known temple was performing the final rites in that room. Satoru sat silently on the steps, his empty eyes staring at the bare, narrow courtyard ahead.
Behind him, relatives he had barely ever met were gathered together, quietly discussing something. Now and then, they cast one or two glances at the young boy, looks that were faintly sympathetic yet utterly helpless.
He was wearing that old short-sleeved shirt. His face was dirty, streaked from crying.
This was not his home either. It was the home of some uncle. Their own house was too small to fit so many people.
This was a strange place, filled with strange people. Yet here, in this unfamiliar place, in that bitter, heavy room filled with a monk's chanting, lay the two people he knew best.
It hurt again.
He looked at the scars on his arm, the ones that had finally begun to scab over these past few days, and unconsciously rubbed his eyes.
"This all happened so suddenly, didn't it? Is there no one left on the main family's side?" the uncle's wife, that stiff and particular woman, said in a low voice.
"Didn't I tell you before... His mother ran away with that man back then. She even ruined another family's wedding, angering her family so badly that they said long ago they'd never meet again." His uncle bit down on his cigarette, sounding troubled.
"Even so, with something this serious, her parents should at least come over," another relative said with a frown.
"How are they supposed to come over? Crawl out of their graves?" His uncle glared at him. "Her parents died years ago."
"Then what do we do now? Of all things, they left behind a little one." Someone from another family sighed.
"Don't think about it too much. His mother has a younger brother. He's already working. I've notified him, so that should be fine."
"That guy? I think he has enough trouble taking care of himself. Besides..." an aunt said with a frown. "He's still young. Having to take in a child like this, when he'll have to start a family of his own someday, can he really afford it?"
She hesitated for a while.
"Why don't we..."
"What are you thinking? We already have a pile of loans." Before she could finish, her husband cut her off. His voice was a little too loud. They glanced worriedly at Satoru for a few seconds before continuing their discussion. During that time, the husband quietly scolded the woman.
Satoru could actually hear them.
It was just that, for him, understanding what their words meant was the harder part.
He raised his head and looked at the sky.
The air was full of the thick smell of his uncles' and aunts' cigarettes. The faint, almost distant chanting of the monk seemed to settle onto his small body as well.
It seemed he could not go home anymore.
Then could he still go to school?
Maybe it was better if he did not. He hated being trapped in that small classroom anyway. Only... he had promised someone that he would bring back a souvenir. That souvenir had been crushed flat in the crash, so he probably could not give it to them anymore.
Then.
Tomorrow.
What was he supposed to do?
He opened his mouth, but his limited knowledge could not find the right words to express how he felt. His heart was twitching. It hurt terribly.
What interrupted the adults' discussion behind him was a young man who pushed the door open and came in without knocking.
His eyes were still bloodshot, his clothes a little disheveled, and his brow was deeply furrowed. He seemed to have shaved, but stubble had started growing back over the past few days, making him look even more drained. He took the half-burned cigarette from the corner of his mouth. The butt had been bitten flat.
"Oh, Ken, you're here. Coming from so far away must have been hard on you." His uncle was the first to greet him.
"No... I'm the one who has caused you trouble." The man slowly shook his head and bowed to him.
"Then, um, hurry and go see the child," the woman said hesitantly.
"Okay..."
He moved past the relatives and walked straight to Satoru's side. Satoru turned his head and looked up at him blankly.
The young man's expression loosened for a moment, but he immediately restrained himself.
"Are you hurt?" he asked bluntly.
Satoru paused, then shook his head.
The young man wiped his face with one hand and took a deep breath. He turned around and looked at the relatives.
"I'll take him."
At that, the relatives looked at one another.
"Alright. That's good too... But if things get difficult later, come to us. Maybe we can help."
"Thank you."
After saying that, the young man crouched down, took hold of Satoru, and pulled him along as if he meant to leave right then.
"Ken." His uncle called out to him. "Aren't you going to look over there?"
He meant the room where the rites were being performed.
"I'll take him to get something to eat first," the young man said without looking back. His voice was tightly suppressed. "Leave the rest to me. The money for the rites... thank you for paying it in advance. I'll pay you back later."
"There's no need for that," his uncle quickly said, waving his hand.
The young man said nothing more. He pulled the silent Satoru away.
In the courtyard, a man holding a long halberd silently watched them.
...
"It's amyotrophic lateral sclerosis."
The doctor in a white coat stood in the spotless hospital room, holding the glaringly white report, and gave the diagnosis with a complicated expression.
Makoto Kaizuka lay on the hospital bed, silently waiting for him to continue.
"It is a progressive neurodegenerative disease. It affects the nerve cells related to movement in the brain and spinal cord, causing motor neurons to die. As a result, the muscles can no longer be controlled, and without movement, they begin to atrophy. In the later stages, the patient completely loses the ability to move. Unfortunately... even now, the cause remains uncertain, and there is currently no cure."
The doctor frowned, but continued.
"It also comes with difficulty swallowing. After diagnosis, life expectancy is three to five years. However, twenty percent of patients survive for more than five years, and five percent survive for more than twenty years... The famous scientist, Mr. Hawking, was one of those lucky five percent."
Ah, Hawking. He had heard that name before. He seemed to be a very famous scientist.
Kaizuka did not understand the specialized things the doctor was saying at all. That was the only part that left any impression on him.
But beside him, his mother could no longer control her emotions, while his father pressed his lips together hard.
"But it's only difficulty swallowing, only trouble eating, that causes death, right?" his father said, forcing himself to grasp at something. "In that case, it's okay. We'll take very good care of him."
"..."
The doctor put down the report and sighed.
"No... Death can also result from respiratory and circulatory failure."
This time, his father said nothing. He only lowered his head weakly.
Kaizuka still kept his eyes open.
Even though it was as if he had been sentenced to death with a reprieve, he could not truly feel it.
Only.
He had heard that Shinomiya-san and Fujima-kun were dating.
Satoru sat by his bedside with his back to him, silently looking out the window.
...
"No, no, Suzuki, you've got absolutely no sense for this. And here I thought you were called Satoru." The boss looked utterly hopeless. "Think about it. You're too honest. You don't know how to talk around anything. Whatever people tell you, you believe it. If I let you handle things, I'd lose money all the way to the Pacific. I ask you to help with labor, but you can't lift much. I take you out to eat, and great, I wanted you to help me block a couple of drinks, but you threw up before we even made one round."
He covered his head in distress.
"No education to speak of, and you're not smooth either. I'm suffering here too."
"Have that kid Ken come over tomorrow."
He was pushed out.
Even if I had studied for three more years, what I learned still might not have been acting.
He laughed at himself, leaned against the nearest wall, pulled out a pack of cheap cigarettes bought from a convenience store, took one out, and held it between his lips. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, watching the smoke scatter into a cloud beneath the streetlight.
"I can't get Suzuki Ken to come for you. I barely have anything to say to him."
He muttered that toward the shop door, then lifted his feet and started walking.
If possible.
I wish I were useful too.
Then I could be a little more proactive, instead of always passively going along with you people, trying to adapt to an environment I can't adapt to at all.
Even buying a slightly better pack of cigarettes takes gritting my teeth.
Actually, if I tried hard enough, I should still be able to fit in, right?
But it is annoying.
I'm tired of it.
I resent all of this.
I still can't accept how everything has changed.
With these thin arms and legs, I can't even do anything shady like stealing.
So what else can I do?
On the small street in the early morning, he let out a bitter laugh.
Far, far behind him, beside that dim streetlight.
Makoto Kaizuka watched his slow, drifting back.