April 22, 2023 — Floor 37 — Edge of the Safe Zone11:45 a.m.
Roars rolled across the meadow like torn thunder, blending with the metallic crash of weapons and the violent cracking of the ground beneath massive paws. Two giant bears with dark fur were locked in combat, and six players surrounded them with coordination born not of elegance, but of habit—adjusting to every lunge like people who had learned to recognize violence one second before it exploded.
The team had split into two nearly identical formations: three against each beast. In each group, the tank kept the bear's attention with shield raised, feet planted in the earth while enduring blows that numbed his arms and jolted his shoulders as if they belonged to someone else. On the flanks, the attackers moved in and out with practical precision, striking when an opening appeared and retreating instantly before a claw ripped away half a life bar. It wasn't a perfect choreography, but it was solid; they had made enough mistakes to know what could never be repeated at this stage.
"Switch!" Klein shouted, never losing sight of the bear's movement. "Dalerd, now!"
The relay was immediate. One stepped back and the other advanced without hesitation, filling the exact space that had opened. Orders crossed between ragged breaths, quick footwork, and the dry sound of steel biting into flesh. Klein didn't raise his voice more than necessary, but every word carried the right intention—like his tone itself was the anchor keeping the group from unraveling.
After another brutal exchange, the bears roared in fury… and finally gave in.
They fell one after the other. Their colossal bodies dissolved into blue particles that drifted upward before vanishing, leaving behind a heavy silence—and six players bent over, hands on their knees, trying to catch their breath as the echo of the fight died out.
"Fwaa…" Klein dropped onto the grass. "I'm exhausted. Seriously."
He ran a hand over his beard clumsily, like the gesture could scrape the fatigue off his body. Even so, his eyes stayed sharp—the look of someone who never fully lowered his guard, even after the battle ended.
"This wouldn't have happened if someone hadn't decided to sneeze at the worst possible moment," Kunimittz said, arms crossed. He didn't have to say the name; the way he looked aside said it for him.
Klein raised an eyebrow, but Dynamm stepped in before he could.
"Hey, hey…" Dynamm shot back, turning to Kunimittz. "Excuse me very much, okay? I can't control when I feel like sneezing. And on top of that, you're not innocent either."
Kunimittz frowned, like his pride had been poked.
"Oh, yeah?"
"No." Dynamm pointed at him without mercy. "If it weren't for your brilliant idea to bunch them together instead of separating them, you almost got Harry One killed."
"Oh, come on!" Kunimittz rubbed the back of his neck, dodging his gaze. "It was just a small slip…"
He tried to sound firm, but the words came out weak. He knew it himself.
The rest of the group watched without intervening—some chuckled under their breath, others sighed with resignation. It was the same argument, repeated with different names and different missions; a post-battle ritual that reminded them of two things: they were still alive… and they were still themselves.
Klein let it go for a couple seconds, then clicked his tongue, cutting the discussion off with a quick gesture.
"Alright, alright, alright. I think we've fought enough for today," he said as he stood up. "The quest is complete, we got enough to eat and…" He paused—brief, deliberate. "Part of this money goes into savings."
Smiles appeared instantly, like fatigue had eased the moment the word "eat" was spoken.
"For what?" someone asked, confused by the last part.
"For our guild house," Klein answered with a lopsided grin. "Like the big leagues."
The enthusiasm lasted exactly two seconds.
"…Ah," several muttered at the same time, and their eyes dropped with almost comedic synchronicity.
Some were already imagining simple plates, cheap meals, small rations—the kind of menu you accept when the future weighs more than the present.
"Goodbye thirty-coin meats…" one lamented.
"Welcome five-coin… or ten, if we're lucky," another added, like it was a personal tragedy.
Klein looked at them with a mix of amusement and exhaustion.
"Hey, don't make those faces," he said, more brotherly than authoritative. "You'll see—it'll be worth it."
No one answered, but no one argued. In the end, despite the complaints, everyone knew Klein wasn't leading them down the wrong road… even if it meant eating worse for a while.
With the quest closed and loot distributed, they gathered their gear and adjusted straps, weapons, and bags. They started back with heavy bodies—but with that quiet satisfaction you only feel when you survive one more day in Aincrad.
April 22, 2023 — Floor 40 — Central City Kagaragui1:05 p.m.
The afternoon settled over Kagaragui's central city with an almost gentle calm. The sun, already high, bathed the buildings in clear, even light—without the sharp edge it sometimes had on other floors; here, it felt like even time moved carefully. Its rays slid over broad avenues and the buildings lining the grand central canal, giving the facades a serene, almost solemn glow.
The canal ran through Kagaragui like a living vein. The water flowed straight and calm, reflecting the blue sky and the silhouettes of the structures. Pale stone bridges crossed it at regular intervals, connecting districts and routes, while the soft sound of water against the walls kept a steady rhythm. The streets had movement, but not chaos. Players walked along the sidewalks—some relaxed, others chatting as they headed toward their destinations; voices, footsteps, and scattered laughter blended with the murmur of commerce into an urban melody that felt… alive.
Buildings rose tall and well-kept, with light facades, wide balconies, and windows that returned the daylight. Some displayed decorative cloths or small plants, as if someone had decided that detail was still worth it—even inside Aincrad. Beyond that, the city stretched into gentle hills; towers, domes, and tiered structures cut its profile against the clear sky. Seagulls crossed the air in calm arcs, their calls audible while the wind moved flags and awnings.
Kagaragui didn't broadcast urgency or scream danger. It was wide and bright… almost too peaceful for a world built on death.
"Wow… that's an amazing view."
Issin's voice broke through the group. His eyes swept across the city with sincere awe, as if he were seeing it for the first time—even after all this time.
"You always get like that when you look at it," Dalerd replied, arms crossed. "Same as the first time, Issin."
"Look who's talking," Issin shot back, turning to him with an embarrassed smile. "You don't get to say that, knowing you screamed like a girl when you saw all this. Or did you forget your trip to Italy?"
Dalerd frowned instantly.
"That doesn't count!"
They stared at each other like they were about to argue for real… but the tension didn't last. It was the kind of clash that only exists between friends—petty rivalry that evaporates for no reason. The rest of the group watched with resigned smiles and a few soft jabs, used to that constant exchange.
A little ahead, Klein walked in silence. He paused briefly and turned his head to look at them. His expression was calm, almost warm—but in his eyes there was something else… something he didn't share with anyone.
(We're almost at a year and a half since we entered SAO…)
His gaze moved over the group, and the contrast hit him hard.
(At first they were trembling with fear. They didn't even know how to hold a weapon… and look at them now.)
They'd all changed.
(They went from cowards… to players respected even by big guilds.)
A faint smile tugged at his face, but it never fully formed. Deep down, the inevitable thought surfaced—like a wound that never quite closed.
(It was all thanks to your support… Where are you now, Aomine…?)
Klein lowered his gaze slightly. There was no anger, no accusation—only that persistent melancholy for someone who hadn't disappeared from the game… but from everything they once shared: the assault group, the higher floors, that "us" that wasn't the same anymore.
(I wish you could see them… I wish you could see what we've become.)
The city noise continued around him, indifferent to those thoughts. Kagaragui kept shining under the sun—beautiful and alive—and yet… for Klein, there was a void impossible to ignore.
They followed the main streets until the smell of food reached them before they even saw the place. It was large, with a flashy facade, taking up a busy corner; shameless signs advertised impossible promotions and ridiculous challenges in big, loud letters—promising free meals, col prizes, and for the most ambitious, fame as brief as it was stupid. From inside came laughter, exaggerated shouts, and the constant clatter of plates.
Klein stopped dead in front of it. His eyes lit up like he'd found treasure.
"Hey," he said, turning to his group with a smile none of them wanted to see. "How about we go in?"
The answer was immediate and unanimous:
"No.""Not a chance.""Pass.""That's humiliating."
The refusals piled up. Some crossed their arms in offended dignity, others looked away like even considering it was a sin. It wasn't fear—it was pride. Competing for food in front of strangers was a line they refused to cross.
"Come on, don't exaggerate," Klein insisted, amused. "It's just food."
"It's not just food," one replied. "It's losing honor over a plate of ribs."
"Exactly," another added. "Eating is something you enjoy. Not something you turn into a show."
Klein watched them for another second—and as if that amused him even more, he grinned shamelessly.
"Too late."
Before they could react, he was already pushing them toward the entrance. The complaints continued, but one by one they died out when they ended up crossing the door—more out of inertia than choice.
The inside was packed. Long tables, plates, laughter, conversation. The atmosphere was loud, but not chaotic; the heavy aroma of grilled meat and fries filled the air and made even the most stubborn swallow without noticing. Still, something broke the normality: in one corner, a crowd had formed. People surrounded a large table, laughing, pointing, reacting as if they were watching a show.
"What's going on over there?" someone murmured.
Curiosity beat pride. They moved closer… and then they saw it.
Five girls were sitting at the challenge table. In front of them rose a monstrosity—a mountain of pork ribs drenched in glossy sauce and an absurd amount of fries. Above the table, a glowing counter displayed the remaining time, ticking down with calm cruelty. Four were eating; the fifth was impossible to ignore.
Asuna was there. Seated among them, clearly part of the group, though her posture contrasted with the table's chaos. She wore a white outfit with red details, immaculate even in that noisy environment; the long coat draped with elegance, and the red cross symbols on the fabric gave it an almost ceremonial air. Her back was straight, her silhouette disciplined—like even sitting she was ready for a fight. Light brown hair fell over her shoulders, and though she tried to keep her composure, the blush on her cheeks gave her away.
Around her, Xenovia, Akeno, Asia, and Rumiko ate in their own styles—but one symbol tied them together: the red cross each carried in some form. It wasn't coincidence. It was identity.
Xenovia devoured ribs with the seriousness of someone completing a mission; every movement was efficient, wasting no time. Akeno kept pace with silent determination, though nervousness still showed in her shoulders. Asia had abandoned any attempt at elegance and ate like the food itself was a personal victory. Rumiko, on the other hand, enjoyed every bite like the challenge was a game… and the worst part was, she looked like she was winning.
Asuna, despite everything, went slower. She lowered her eyes slightly whenever she felt the weight of people staring. It wasn't shame of her teammates. It was the way they stood out together—five women marked by the same symbol, taking on without hesitation a challenge many avoided. And yet Asuna didn't step away or deny her place; even amid noise and discomfort, she understood with absolute clarity: that absurd chaos was also a way of being together.
"Hey… Dynamm," Harry One murmured, leaning slightly without looking away. "I'm not seeing things, right?"
Dynamm followed his gaze and narrowed his eyes for a heartbeat.
"No. You're not imagining it."
Harry One swallowed.
"Isn't that… the Berserk Valkyries group?"
"It is," Dynamm confirmed calmly. "One of the groups growing the fastest within the Knights of the Blood Oath."
Harry One whistled under his breath.
"And the embarrassed girl in the middle…"
"Asuna," Dynamm said. "The berserker. And the others are her squad."
"And apparently…" Harry One added, incredulous, "they can eat like monsters too."
The ribs vanished at an absurd pace. The counter kept ticking down, and for a moment it gave the ridiculous impression the plate would never end.
"Better not make noise," Dynamm warned, arms crossed. "We don't want to draw attention."
Too late.
Klein had already pushed his way through the crowd. And the moment he stepped forward, the atmosphere changed—conversations fading, laughter cutting off mid-breath, stares tightening as if someone had broken an unwritten rule.
Whispers gathered, low but clear enough.
"Isn't that Klein…?""Leader of Fuurinkazan.""Why is he going over there?""Aren't they from the Blood Oath…?""That's weird… lately the big guilds don't even cross paths.""Since the Liberation Army fell, everyone's cautious."
Eyes flicked between Klein and the challenge table—two different guilds, two growing forces, the same place. The girls looked up, confused by his approach… all of them, except one.
Asuna kept eating. Her fork moved with almost mechanical precision; embarrassment kept her focused on her plate, deliberately ignoring stares, whispers… and Klein.
"Asuna-san," Klein greeted with a broad smile.
Her name rang out too clearly.
The knife slipped from her left hand and struck the plate with a dry clink. The fork froze in her right; her lips parted slightly and the blush flared across her face. Their eyes met for a heartbeat—and immediately Asuna turned her face back to her food, like she could hide inside it.
"I don't know who you're looking for," she said tensely, "but I think you're mistaken. I'm Ami. Asuna should be in the dungeons, grinding levels."
It was an obvious lie. Everyone knew it.
Klein blinked once… and smiled even wider.
"Wow," he replied, unfazed. "What a coincidence. Because you look exactly like someone I know."
Asuna pressed her lips together and forced herself to keep eating. Around her, Xenovia, Akeno, Asia, and Rumiko sped up like they wanted to finish and escape. The counter hit zero, the plate was empty, and a final murmur rolled through the place before customers began to leave—as if they could finally breathe again.
Little by little, the restaurant emptied. Only Klein's group… and Asuna's group remained.
The silence left behind was awkward.
"I've gotta say, that was kind of rough," Klein commented, scratching his cheek. "You basically reserved the whole place. Everyone else left without finishing their meals."
Asuna exhaled without looking up.
"I apologized on behalf of my guild," she replied. "I'd rather they leave than keep staring. It's better that way."
There was regret in her voice, yes—but also firmness. Klein watched her quietly. The noise was gone and so were the stares; only two groups remained facing each other… with the clear feeling that in Aincrad, guilds were no longer casual allies, but forces starting to keep their distance.
"Anyway…" Asuna said after a few seconds. "Could you tell me why you were looking for me?"
She rested both forearms on the table and laced her fingers calmly. Her posture had shifted completely—no longer embarrassed, no longer avoiding eyes; now she looked at him with an analytic focus, brows slightly raised, making it clear she was giving him her full attention.
Klein blinked once. Then again.
"Huh?"
That was all that came out. He turned to his group for help—a hint, anything—but his companions avoided his gaze with cruel synchronization, pretending to be fascinated by the ceiling, the walls, anything that wasn't him.
Klein felt a tic in his eye.
"What is it?" Asuna pressed, now with a hint of irritation. "Is something wrong? You know it's rude not to answer a question, Klein-san."
Behind her, Xenovia and the others whispered among themselves. You didn't need to hear the words; the quick glances at Klein and barely suppressed smiles made it obvious they were teasing him. Klein noticed… and took a slow breath.
"It's not that," he said at last, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just… I didn't understand your question. I don't remember saying I came to look for you or anything. I just saw you and said hi."
Asuna narrowed her eyes.
"Oh, yeah?" she shot back. "You spoke to me while I was resting with my teammates, in a restaurant full of people. I don't think that was 'just a hello.'"
Her tone turned more serious.
"You know perfectly well what the current state of things is. Everything is held together with pins. One misinterpreted move can start unnecessary rumors… even conflicts between guilds. And then I'm the one who has to fill out reports, give explanations, and justify meetings that never happened."
Klein fell silent for a moment. For the first time since approaching, he felt genuinely guilty.
"Well…" he tried to smile. "We're friends, right? We've shared battles. I thought it was normal to greet you."
Asuna held his gaze a few seconds longer, then let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Yes. It's fine to greet each other," she admitted. "But you should message me first. I had them reserve the place so it would look like a formal meeting and avoid awkward stares… and I don't have enough money to do that often."
That last sentence carried a different weight. Klein lowered his gaze, embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I really did just want to say hi. I guess I got used to it. Before… when you were with Kiri—" He stopped. "I mean, when you weren't in the Knights of the Blood Oath yet."
He laughed nervously, like that could save him.
"Oh, and I heard you're ranking up fast. Almost sub-commander, right?"
Asuna's expression tightened slightly at that name. It was subtle—but enough for her teammates to notice. Akeno, timidly, placed a careful hand on her shoulder, and Asuna gave her a small, calm, silent smile: I'm fine.
"Yes," Asuna replied. "Being in a big guild is exhausting… and floor boss raids even more. Our leader is way too demanding with physical training. Especially with me."
"Seriously?" Klein's eyes widened. "Why with you?"
Asuna opened her mouth… and went quiet. The blush returned to her face. Before she could answer, Rumiko stepped forward with a dangerously happy smile.
"It's because every raid Asuna-chan ends up with her legs wrecked," Rumiko said casually. "She pushes herself more than her body can handle."
Klein blinked.
"Huh?"
"When we use the Cardinal System Manual, the physical strain is real," Rumiko continued, excited. "And Asuna-chan moves constantly: runs, dodges, attacks, runs again… her legs need to heal and train nonstop. Sometimes she can't even join every raid because of it, which embarra—"
"SHUT UP, RUMIKO!" Asuna shouted, bright red. "That's internal guild information!"
The two started wrestling, trading complaints and soft shoves. Xenovia put a hand to her face, genuinely mortified.
"I'm so sorry for her behavior," she said, bowing formally to Klein's group.
"No, no, no!" Klein waved his hands frantically. "No need to be that serious!"
He watched the scene—Asuna arguing with Rumiko, nervous laughter, chaotic energy… but alive. And for an instant, something tightened in his chest. The image shifted: himself younger, in front of a bowl of ramen; a small girl with black hair and brown eyes fighting him over the last bite… laughing.
A warm memory.
"Is something wrong, Klein-san?" Asia asked, noticing his expression.
Klein blinked and returned to the present.
"No…" he answered with a melancholic smile. "Nothing. I just… remembered something."
Klein clapped once to draw everyone's attention. Several pairs of eyes turned to him as he kept that relaxed, almost careless smile he used when he didn't want to be taken too seriously.
"Let's keep it a secret, Asuna-san," he said. "But tell me… do you know anything about those new Sword Skills some players have started using?"
His tone had shifted. No longer joking or casual—more focused, firm, like he'd finally reached the real reason he came.
Asuna stopped struggling with Rumiko and, after shooting her a warning look, sat back down. She placed her hands on the table and nodded calmly.
"Honestly, yes. We've gathered information about them," she replied. "Apparently, unlike programmed Sword Skills, these new abilities don't follow a fixed pattern. They originate from a different system… one that appeared after clearing Floor 26. You could describe it as a forced update, if you remember."
She spoke with confidence, not raising her voice, and no one interrupted. Even Rumiko stayed quiet, aware the subject mattered.
"When multiple players crossed Floor 26," Asuna continued, "they started receiving an automatic notification. The message said: 'Adaptive update operational.' No one understood why it appeared, but it wasn't something we could ignore. Everyone had to accept it."
Asuna paused briefly before continuing.
"That caused a lot of anger. Many players and some guilds believed Akihiko Kayaba had managed to update the system from inside the game… without the authorities in the real world being able to do anything about it."
Klein frowned slightly and nodded.
"Yeah…" he added. "I heard that too. And I won't lie—I don't like the idea of Kayaba making changes and no one being able to stop him. If he's really modifying the game however he wants, that's worrying."
It was his personal opinion, and he didn't try to hide the discomfort.
Asuna spoke again.
"That's why, during the Floor 35 meetings," she explained, "when groups started forming who didn't want to cooperate out of fear of new updates, we told a small lie. We made them believe the system had been programmed from the start, and that it wasn't something Kayaba could freely manipulate."
She laced her fingers serenely.
"With all the controversy about players dying in the real world, it seemed unlikely he could push an update without the government detecting it. We told them any change had to pass through the Cardinal System, which synchronizes modifications directly with the NerveGear through micro-intervals of neural synchronization."
She looked at Klein frankly.
"It's not a completely false explanation," she admitted, "but we also can't guarantee there isn't another possibility. Even so… I think we're drifting a bit from the main point."
Asuna drew in a sharp breath before continuing, as if she needed to arrange her own thoughts first.
"The new system is called the Adaptive Sword System," she explained. "Unlike the traditional Sword Skills system—which has fixed programming inside Sword Art Online—this one works differently. It analyzes the player's real strengths: strength, agility, precision, weapon mastery… even the way you fight and move."
She rested one hand on the table as she spoke.
"The system adapts to those traits and amplifies them. It doesn't just improve what you already have—it adjusts abilities to match your combat style. That's why it benefits players who naturally excel in those areas."
She paused briefly before continuing.
"The problem is that it has created an obvious gap. On the official rankings, many players who used to be at the bottom shot up almost astronomically thanks to the Adaptive Sword System. And, as you'd expect, that caused frustration among those who still use only traditional Sword Skills."
Asuna closed her eyes for a moment.
"That's all the information we have for now. But there's something I can say with certainty: this world is starting to resemble the real world more and more. The differences between those with talent and those without… can't be hidden anymore."
She finished speaking calmly. At that moment, an NPC from the restaurant approached silently and placed a glass of tea in front of her before leaving. Asuna held it between her hands and took a sip while Klein processed what he had just heard.
"A system that favors the most outstanding players…" Klein murmured. "Sounds unfair. But at the same time… pretty interesting."
Asuna raised an eyebrow, not fully understanding what he meant. Klein noticed immediately, and feeling the stares from both his teammates and the girls in Asuna's group, he decided to explain himself.
"What I mean is…" he began, scratching his cheek, "if this system exists, is it really limited only to 'talented' players? You say it adapts to skills, but… what if we create those skills ourselves?"
Several gazes sharpened.
"I mean…" he continued, a bit more nervous, "in anime there are always weird techniques, impossible sword styles—moves no one's ever seen before. What if normal players tried something like that? Physical training, practice… and a bit of imagination."
He let out a short, awkward laugh.
"After all, Sword Skills weren't something just anyone could pull off at the start… and we still learned. Maybe this isn't so different. Only now it's not enough to follow a pattern—you have to invent it."
Klein finished, aware of how it sounded. A little naïve. A little childish. Like a kid dreaming big without knowing what he was actually good at yet.
And yet… no one laughed.
Klein looked like he was mentally punching himself for what he'd just said. The silence afterward didn't help; the looks around him weren't accusing, but they were attentive—like everyone was weighing his words from different angles.
He was about to say something—anything—when he noticed Asuna was about to speak.
Her lips barely started to move… and then she stopped.
A message appeared on her HUD. At the same time, identical ones unfolded in front of Xenovia, Akeno, Asia, and Rumiko. The five of them opened it almost in unison. Asuna finished reading first; she raised two fingers and gently pressed them to her forehead—an automatic, focused gesture, like she needed to sort her thoughts properly before deciding.
"Did something happen…?" Klein asked, uncertain.
The atmosphere had shifted. Not into tension—into a different kind of stillness. Denser.
"No," Asuna replied after a second. "Just… something unexpected. It put me in a bit of a bind."
She hesitated. Just for an instant.
Then a hand rested firmly on her shoulder.
Asuna turned her head and found Xenovia smiling with confidence as she pointed to herself with her thumb.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'll handle this mission with Akeno and Asia. After all… you still haven't fully recovered yet, right?"
Her voice left no room for objections. Akeno, though timid, nodded softly; Asia did the same—calm, but decided. Akeno seemed to hesitate a little more, like she wanted to say something… but in the end, she stayed firm too.
Asuna lowered her gaze, sliding her eyes beneath the table.
There—over her legs—floated the recovery timer:
24 hours — 3 minutes remaining
She sighed.
Then she looked up and nodded.
"Alright," she said. "Go. I'll send a message to the guild leader informing him of my absence and who is going, to avoid problems like last time. I trust you."
She returned them a confident smile.
Xenovia, Asia, and Akeno started to leave, exiting the restaurant. Rumiko remained beside Asuna. Klein watched, not fully understanding—only that it was clearly another important mission.
"Where are they going…?" he asked at last. "I don't want to be nosy, but… this whole 'so secretive' vibe is kind of uncomfortable."
His voice carried a trace of embarrassment. Klein still felt like he'd said something out of place earlier.
Asuna looked at him for a few seconds.
"I'm not sure I should say…" she admitted. "But honestly, I trust you. You've supported many of my guild's decisions during boss raids, so I think I can explain the basics."
She rested her forearms on the table.
"We were called to continue the search expedition for this floor's boss. Most of the map has been covered, and it looks like there's only one viable route left. They wanted my full squad as support."
She paused briefly.
"But as you can see, I can't go in my current condition. The healing positions assigned to me involve a long process. Tomorrow, almost at this same time… exactly at 2:49 p.m., I'll be able to use my legs at one hundred percent with no risk."
Klein nodded slowly, understanding.
"I see…" he murmured. "Your guild has been finding bosses way too often lately. I'm not surprised you're in demand. I guess it won't be long before another big fight."
He stopped.
"But I have a question… why is she… Ru…?"
"Rumiko," Dynamm cut in beside him, dry.
"That," Klein nodded, slightly embarrassed. "Why isn't Rumiko going?"
Rumiko pointed at herself with a playful grin.
"Well, well… so you're curious about me, Klein-onii-san."
The flirty tone was immediate and extremely effective. Klein stiffened on the spot; the age gap—plus Asuna's disappointed stare—made him flail his hands in panic.
"N-no! No! That's not it! I'm sorry!"
Laughter came quickly. Rumiko and Asuna chuckled softly; even Klein's group allowed themselves to tease him a little for his clumsy reaction to female attention.
"Relax, Klein-san," Asuna said. "And about Rumiko… she hasn't participated in boss-search expeditions since the Floor 30 incident. It's an internal matter."
Klein nodded… until Rumiko added proudly:
"I forgot to bring healing potions several times. And sometimes I fell asleep during the expeditions. So they banned me from that role."
Klein's group stared at her, speechless.
Then everyone turned their heads at the exact same time toward Asuna.
She nodded, embarrassed.
(Well… that is pretty pathetic. But I'm not saying anything. The same thing happened to me my first time in a boss raid…)
Klein went quiet, lost in that thought.
A few minutes passed. Klein ordered something to eat. Asuna stayed distracted, occasionally glancing at the timer floating over her legs.
"'Oñe, Asuña-sañ…" Klein said with his mouth full.
She looked up, visibly uncomfortable.
"Klein-san… could you please finish chewing first?"
He blushed immediately.
"S-sorry!"
He finished chewing and swallowed quickly.
"Okay… what I wanted to ask is whether your guild will participate in the Floor 35 event. The one that showed up late… the one that was supposed to be Christmas, but now appears on a snowy floor."
Asuna thought for a moment.
"You mean the event with its own boss? 'Nicholas the Renegade'?" she asked. "If I'm not misinformed, his location will be under a fir tree."
Klein nodded while she continued.
"I heard about that event this morning. I could join with another group, but I still haven't replied. I have until 7:30 p.m. to decide. Honestly… in my current condition, I think I'll pass this time."
She looked at him.
"And you, Klein-san? Are you going?"
Klein nodded with his mouth full again. He swallowed with the help of a sip of orange soda.
"Yes. A resurrection item is too valuable," he said. "Every guild will want it. This game is dangerous… I don't want my friends to die. Even if it sounds greedy, it's personal. That's why we level up. That's why we improve our gear."
Asuna smiled. A small, sincere smile.
"I think you're right."
She stood and gave a slight bow.
"Then I should be leaving. I need to report who was sent and take care of some matters at guild headquarters."
Rumiko followed her. Klein raised a hand in farewell, his group doing the same.
Asuna and Rumiko stepped out into the street.
The sky was beginning to tint a soft orange, signaling the afternoon was already giving way to dusk.
Asuna walked beside Rumiko while finishing a message on her HUD. Her fingers moved quickly and precisely; after sending it, she closed the interface and took barely two more steps.
Then another message appeared.
A reply.
She stopped.
Opened it… and her expression changed instantly.
Her brows knit. Her lips tightened. There was disbelief—yes—but also restrained irritation she didn't bother to hide.
"What is it, Asuna-chan?" Rumiko asked, tilting her head. "You've got a weird face… like you just read something you didn't want to read."
Asuna exhaled through her nose—a short, irritated sound.
"Tsk…" she clicked her tongue. "Apparently, the guild leader says I have to attend. That it's mandatory that I obtain the special resurrection item."
Rumiko's eyes widened.
"Mandatory…?"
"He says it's important," Asuna continued. "That he'll personally pay for an S-class healing position if I come out more injured."
She finished and slowly lowered the HUD.
Rumiko stared at her for a few seconds.
Her expression wasn't curiosity anymore. It was worry.
"Then… we'll have to go," she said at last. "But the others just left. I don't think it's a good idea for only the two of us to go."
It was a completely valid point.
Asuna knew it.
"I know," she replied, not arguing. "But remember—we're in debt to the guild. For everything they've done for us."
She looked ahead, not really focusing on anything.
"And not only that… also because of the house. That nice house they bought for the five of us."
Rumiko pressed her lips lightly.
"We don't have a choice," Asuna continued. "Heathcliff-san supports us because he sees potential in us, but the others won't see it the same way. They won't like it if we're given such obvious preference."
She paused.
"If we refuse now, it'll be too noticeable."
Rumiko lowered her gaze, understanding the real weight of those words.
"So…" Asuna raised the HUD again. "I'll inform the others. If they finish in time, maybe they can catch up and support us."
Her fingers hovered for an instant in front of the interface, as if answering alone meant accepting consequences. She exhaled slowly and typed the message without looking back. When she closed the HUD, the decision had been made.
Rumiko watched her in silence. Doubt was there, yes—but also acceptance. She knew Asuna didn't make that kind of decision lightly.
"You don't always have to decide right away," Rumiko murmured. "It's okay to take a moment to doubt."
Asuna didn't answer.
She simply started walking again—this time with firmer steps, as if she'd already accepted the risk she'd just chosen.
April 22, 2023 — Floor 34 — Elienord Forest, West Zone3:55 p.m.
Among the trees, the wind dragged damp leaves along the ground while a metallic sound shattered the forest's quiet. Dry impacts—one after another, faster and faster—met and canceled each other with unsettling precision. It wasn't a chaotic clash.
It was a duel.
As they went deeper between the trunks, two figures became clearly visible.
Both held their swords forward, but their states couldn't have been more different. The first held his weapon one-handed—his posture firm, restrained, almost indifferent. There was no unnecessary tension in his body. The second, on the other hand, gripped his sword with both hands, breathing with difficulty. His chest rose and fell with every forced exhale, and his feet shifted only slightly to keep balance.
An elderly man facing a young one.
The young man stepped forward and attacked immediately, unleashing left-to-right cuts, trying to break the guard with a diagonal slash. None of them worked. The old man blocked every strike without visible effort, as if he anticipated each motion before it existed.
Their swords clashed and locked for a brief instant. The young man pushed with all his strength—muscles tight, teeth clenched—trying to win the contest of force.
"Are you done with this?" the old man asked, his voice deep and steady.
The young man grunted, pushing harder… but he was the one forced back a step.
"I still want to keep training," he answered through strained breath—frustration and determination mixed in his voice.
The old man exhaled—barely.
"Training? Seems you're mistaken about something."
He increased the pressure and broke the bind with a sharp movement. The young man lost balance for a second, raising his weapon above his head to avoid dropping it.
"I'm not training you," the old man continued. "I just want you to stop following me. So give up."
The young man barely had time to reset. In an instant, the old man sheathed his sword and advanced. He struck using only the scabbard, without stopping. At first, the young man managed to cover—but each impact was more precise than the last. His defenses began to fail.
The old man took one more step and lowered the scabbard slowly, aligning it with his gaze. It wasn't an aggressive stance or a defensive one.
It was worse.
His feet were firm, spaced just right. His body leaned forward and transmitted invisible pressure—like a wave about to break. His shoulders were relaxed, but every muscle was ready to explode at the exact moment.
His fingers tightened around the grip.
The strike landed clean.
The scabbard slammed into the young man's stomach. Air left his body instantly. His mouth opened on reflex, saliva spilling as violent nausea folded him inward. He fell onto his back, the world spinning for a moment.
The old man stepped back and returned to a straight, calm posture.
The duel was over.
"Looks like we're done. Withdraw, young man. I don't plan to train anyone."
The old man spoke without harshness—yet with no room for argument. His posture was upright, tranquil, as if the fight had ended before it even began.
Aomine pressed a hand to his stomach and took a slow breath. The pain was still there—deep—but it didn't force him flat. He remained seated on the dirt, teeth clenched, until he recovered some air.
"I already told you…" he said at last, voice low but firm. "My name is Aomine. And I'm not giving up until I become strong."
The old man didn't respond. He didn't even change his expression.
With effort, Aomine pushed himself up a little, one hand still against his stomach. His breathing came heavy and uneven, but his eyes stayed fixed on the old man.
Sixteen days had passed since he began following him, and he still hadn't gained anything. No explanation. No sign that it was worth it. He didn't know exactly why he kept insisting—but he did know what would happen if he stopped now: going back to a rented room, shutting himself in, staying still while others advanced.
That terrified him most.
He wanted to move forward like they did. Not fall behind again. And to do that, he needed to be stronger—even if he didn't yet know how, or whether the old man would ever accept him.
(I lost again… damn it. That makes fifty losses, and he still won't even bother calling me by my name. Guess I'm not important enough to remember.)
Frustration weighed on his chest. He lowered his gaze and pressed a hand into the ground, scraping at the wet earth until he gathered dust into his palm. Then he loosened his grip and rose, as if that thought alone wasn't enough to knock him down anymore.
The old man watched in silence. His apathetic lips curved—barely—a minimal gesture easy to miss. Without saying a word, he turned and began walking south.
Aomine followed behind in silence so as not to bother him.
6:45 a.m.
(Damn… he made me walk all the way to a city… well, it's not the central one, but it's pretty close.)
Aomine arrived with a heavy body, breathing through his mouth. His chest burned and his legs felt like stone. Even so, he kept following the old man, who walked with the same steady pace as always—never looking back, never slowing.
When they crossed the entrance, the city unfolded like an orderly cluster of red roofs and pale walls, compressed within a white rampart that seemed to embrace it tightly. From there, houses overlapped one another in a compact sea, aligned with almost obsessive precision.
At regular intervals, watchtowers rose above the wall, watching both the interior and the green fields stretching toward distant hills. Inside, streets wound between wooden and stone buildings, leading to more imposing structures: churches with thick walls, silent bell towers, and noble residences that dominated the scenery with unquestionable presence.
They walked streets busy enough to feel alive, but not loud. Aomine stayed a few steps behind, watching as the old man stopped at a shop and entered without hesitation. Looking up, Aomine read the sign above the door: "Dragon Honey." The name caught his attention. He hesitated a few seconds before following… then finally went in.
Warm, quiet calm welcomed him. Old wood creaked softly underfoot and candlelight flickered on the walls without haste. The worn plank floor reflected years of footsteps, conversations, and muted laughter. Round tables—sturdy and plain—were scattered without a clear order, accompanied by ceramic jugs and metal cups still holding the scent of drink. Behind the brick-and-dark-wood counter, shelves were lined with bottles and bowls, and further back, huge barrels rested in silence like witnesses to countless stories. A wooden staircase led upward, casting long shadows that made the place feel larger than it really was.
Most tables were occupied.
Aomine spotted the old man seated at a secluded table in a corner far from the rest. He didn't approach. Instead he went to the counter and sat with a tired sigh. He raised a finger to order; the NPC understood without words and began preparing the drink, watching him from the corner of her eye.
(I've gotten addicted to drinking this… At first I made my own drinks—non-alcoholic—but they were mine. Now I'm even afraid to cook. So I always end up in places like this. And since they don't have much variety, I had to resign myself to alcohol.)
The moment the glass was set before him, he downed it in one go. He thumped the bottom against the counter and frowned. The taste was strong—slightly bitter… but he liked it.
Two players sat down beside him. Their gear was decent for solo players or a mid-tier guild. They talked without lowering their voices, like the place belonged to them.
"Damn it, they didn't pick us for the mission."
"And what are you complaining about? It's a rare-category item. They wouldn't trust that to just anyone. They're sending the highest-level guys."
"But we're part of the Divine Dragon Alliance too. We want that pay as well."
"Idiot… money's the least of it. It's a resurrection item. That saves your life. How are you gonna trade something like that for col?"
"Maybe… but the event starts at 7:45 on Floor 35, everything covered in snow. Monsters everywhere, ten different fir trees… finding the entrance is basically luck. And if they find out our guild, they'll kick us out. Unless you're solo."
"You think the Beater will show up?"
"Hope not. Players like that just steal the last hit… though, thinking about it, it doesn't sound like such a bad idea."
They laughed and kept drinking.
Aomine stayed still, head turned the other way, cheek resting against the cold wood of the counter. His eyes were open, fixed on nothing.
(A resurrection item… I could… No. Maybe… at least I'd have another chance to survive.)
The thought twisted before he noticed. He wasn't thinking about others anymore—nor old promises, nor shared solutions.
Only himself.
He lifted his gaze and searched for the old man. Still there—eating calmly, as if nothing existed beyond his plate.
"If you won't teach me…" Aomine murmured to himself, "then at least I want a life insurance policy."
He paid for the drink and stood immediately. He almost ran out.
The old man lifted his eyes for just an instant, watching Aomine leave. Then he returned to his food without hurry.
"It's time for you to show me what kind of human being you are," he said calmly.
And kept eating.
Outside, Aomine ran without looking back—until he stopped short, as if something had struck him in the head.
(Right now I'm gone. If I show up like nothing happened… will they say something? Accuse me of something?)
The doubt squeezed his chest. He didn't know if what he was about to do was right—but he didn't want to stop. His steps carried him to a street stall. Clothes hung messily, and among them a blue hood caught his eye. He stared at it a few seconds, swallowed, stepped closer, and bought it without thinking further.
He put it on immediately and ran again.
He crossed the city until he reached the central plaza. In the middle stood the teleport platform—a pale stone base reached by a few wide, worn steps. Four massive pillars rose at its corners, tall and straight, with angular tips pointing toward the sky, as if they marked an invisible boundary between worlds. Between them stretched a polished slab covered in ancient inscriptions, barely visible, engraved with near-ceremonial care.
Aomine climbed the steps and stood at the center.
"To Floor 35, Labyrinth City," he said under his breath.
Light swallowed him whole.
An instant later, he vanished.
When he materialized, the scenery had changed. Everything was covered in snow. The air was colder, heavier. He stepped off the platform and started running—but stopped beside a nearby bench. He opened his menu and began adjusting his gear, swapping pieces here and there, optimizing what little he had…
…except his sword.
(I don't have much… but I know how to get the most out of what I have to last longer in a fight.)
He closed the HUD. He was ready.
Without looking back, he ran into the forest.
April 22, 2023 — Floor 35 — Labyrinth Forest7:25 p.m.
The sound of footsteps sinking into snow repeated again and again between the trees. A figure advanced at a steady pace, though with no clear direction—Aomine. Vapor escaped his mouth with each breath, and his eyes scanned the forest with a mixture of tension and fatigue.
(I've checked five fir trees already… and nothing. Where the hell is the entrance?)
Frustration was starting to weigh on him when a different sound forced him to stop dead. It wasn't solitary footsteps—the metallic clink of armor mixed with muted voices. Without thinking, he slid between trees and hid behind piled snow.
A group of thirteen players moved along the path. Silver armor. Ordered formation.
(Divine Dragon Alliance… so they're searching for the entrance too.)
He watched a few seconds more, judging distance and pace. They didn't seem to suspect anything. Quietly, he began following from behind, always outside their line of sight. The forest tightened around them as they moved—until one of the players stopped in front of a fir tree…
…and walked through it.
Aomine's eyes widened.
He didn't hesitate.
He sprinted.
He threw himself toward the trunk just before the entrance closed, feeling the world warp for an instant.
"Bingo…" he murmured, barely audible.
On the other side, the group had already stopped, taking defensive positions. Aomine circled carefully—and then he saw it: another group facing them, seven players ready to fight.
He recognized two faces instantly.
(Klein… and Kirito… what are they doing here…?)
His pulse spiked. For a second he hesitated—then his eyes drifted toward the path Kirito was about to take. Farther ahead, a tree blazed with intense lights, and from there came the clear sounds of battle—steel clashing, shouts, magic triggering.
He clenched his teeth.
He pushed off.
He ran.
Eyes locked onto him instantly. They saw him pass, saw him close the distance—and it was enough. The Divine Dragon Alliance reacted first, drawing weapons and charging.
Aomine didn't look back.
(Sorry, guys… but I need that item.)
He knew his move would trigger a clash between both groups. He knew he was being selfish.
Even so, he kept running toward the huge illuminated tree where the fight was already underway. Christmas lights flickered through the branches while the sound of swords slicing air wrapped around him completely.
When he arrived, the scene that opened before Aomine was a battle barely holding together. The players were struggling against the event boss, and there was no visible HP bar showing how close it was to defeat. As he ran—keeping his distance—Aomine searched for a position where he could strike without exposing himself.
He didn't have time to analyze further.
A massive polar bear, covered in thick armor, lunged at him with a furious roar.
"GROOOOOAARRR—"
No choice.
Aomine reacted instantly. While the rest of the players were also being attacked by charging reindeer and other armored bears swinging claws that sent bodies flying, he focused on his target. He measured the enemy's rhythm, waited for the right moment—and cut one of the bear's legs, forcing it to lose balance.
The monster tried to bite him.
Aomine slid to the side and, taking the opening, decapitated the beast in a single slash. The body collapsed heavily into the snow before disintegrating.
Without stopping, he lifted his eyes to the real problem.
(So this is the event boss… Nicholas the Renegade.)
The figure was enormous—nearly as tall as the tree behind him. His broad, heavy body was wrapped in a thick red coat trimmed with white fur at the collar, cuffs, and hem. A dense, whitish beard covered his chest, and beneath a fur-trimmed hat, his rough face barely showed a brutal expression. In his hand he held a colossal axe, built to crush more than cut.
He looked like a warped parody of Santa Claus… turned into a monster.
But something didn't fit.
Nicholas was striking his own arm with the axe, as if trying to crush something moving on it.
Aomine sharpened his gaze.
A figure was sprinting along the boss's arm, dodging attacks with a speed impossible to ignore. Copper hair gave her away even from that distance.
Asuna.
She shifted her trajectory every time Nicholas tried to catch her—like a relentless bee stinging at a vital point.
(What…?)
The answer came from Asuna's own mind as she analyzed while dodging.
(Damn it… he won't let me reach the eyes. I said I'd open a path, but we've already lost three of the fifteen players assigned to this mission.)
As she moved, the axe swings that missed her slammed into the ground below, shaking the group fighting on the snow. Rumiko dodged and issued commands with surprising precision for someone who usually treated everything lightly, keeping alive whoever still held on.
Asuna kept evaluating.
(The HP bar isn't on him… it's tied to the tree.)
Looking closer, she confirmed it—every hit that reached the tree made its color shift slowly.
(If the tree turns yellow… that's like a mid-life bar. When it reaches red, that'll be the final phase.)
The problem was the price.
From the sky, ice spikes began to fall, stabbing into the snow before vanishing. They weren't aimed at her alone anymore.
Now everyone was in danger.
Asuna frowned.
The battle had just become much worse.
Rumiko stayed with the eleven players still holding out. Only two tanks remained standing now, making it harder every second to cover the nonstop attacks falling from above.
"Damn… there's too many," one of them snarled.
"How much longer until she gives us space to hit from below?" another panted.
"Lady Asuna said it wouldn't take long," someone answered, trying to sound steady.
An ice spike suddenly fell just a few meters away. Some players managed to dodge—but four weren't as lucky. They vanished right in front of Rumiko.
Rumiko stared for a second too long.
She didn't see the blue particle burst.
What appeared to her was different—pieces of a puzzle tearing away from the air and flying off, drifting from her like someone had ripped them out of an incomplete painting.
Meanwhile, Asuna ran along Nicholas's body while watching four more names disappear from the party status. She clicked her tongue in frustration.
(Damn it… faster.)
She forced her pace even as pain already burned in her legs. The excessive strain triggered a warning in front of her.
"System Alert: Your recovery is being interrupted."
She ignored it.
She leapt to Nicholas the Renegade's other arm, noticing how he tracked her with his eyes while laughing nonstop. That laughter irritated her more than the attacks. One axe swing passed dangerously close—she barely dodged.
When she looked up, she saw the route.
From the arm… to the beard… and from there, the face.
A possibility.
But she knew programmed Sword Skills had limits.
And then she remembered.
Klein's words rang clearly in her mind.
<<"What if normal players tried something like that? Physical training, practice… and a bit of imagination.">>
(Create a Sword Skill based on your own potential.)
As she dodged and ran, her HUD shifted. It showed Sword Skill: Cardinal, but when she tapped it, another option appeared.
Adaptive Sword System.
She hesitated.
Only for a second.
Her teammates' screams snapped her out of it. She pressed the option—despite her body's condition.
Everything changed.
The cold stopped being merely uncomfortable.
The snow burned.
Her body felt heavy—real. Every muscle answered with pain.
But she kept going.
She ran, jumped, visualized the movement.
Nicholas tried to intercept her, but Asuna tightened her grip on the rapier, shifted it aside, and struck. It wasn't a single attack—her body spun in midair, a succession of rotations that tore through the boss's hand as if it were paper.
She climbed along the beard, made one final leap, and attacked.
Her eyes—cold, resolute—locked onto Nicholas's as she cut.
The tree behind him changed color.
Orange… almost red.
The damage was real.
Then she lost her footing.
A message appeared in her vision.
"Warning. Legs broken."
She fell.
The system automatically reverted to Sword Skill: Cardinal as consciousness slipped away. She closed her eyes, bracing for impact.
It never came.
When she opened them, she felt arms holding her.
"Rumi…"
Rumiko looked at her with effort—but she was smiling.
"Looks like the princess fell from her throne," she joked, carefully setting her down.
"I'm sorry…" Asuna murmured. "I don't think I can move anymore."
Before she could say more, a potion appeared in front of her face. She thought it was Rumiko's—but Rumiko looked just as confused.
Asuna looked up.
A hooded player stood before her. The blue cloth covering him down to his ankles gave her a strange sense of calm.
"Uh… who are you?" she asked cautiously.
The player didn't answer right away. He kept the potion in place.
"Relax. I just saw that you needed help," he said in a deep, formal voice. "You opened the path. Now the others can attack. That's why I'm helping you."
Asuna didn't feel completely at ease, but Rumiko stepped forward and, without asking, gave her the potion.
"Wow… so much fuss just to accept help, Asuna-chan," she teased. "We need you. And letting you rest sitting in the snow isn't doing much good."
The system reacted immediately.
Recovery time: 10 minutes.
Asuna's eyes widened in shock.
(An S-class item…? Where did he get something like this?)
She looked up just in time to see the hooded player running off—straight toward Nicholas the Renegade.
The battle didn't stop.
It simply changed shape.
The last supports summoned by Nicholas shattered into fragments of ice that faded into the air, leaving the colossus alone against the players still standing. The field was covered in footprints, cracks, and sprays of churned snow from countless impacts. Amid that chaos, five figures moved alongside the hooded player, relentlessly attacking the boss's legs.
They weren't seeking glory or elegant precision.
They wanted to bring him down.
Every strike aimed at the joints forced Nicholas's massive body to tilt, to shift its weight with hoarse roars that vibrated through the frozen air. The tree behind him—once a steady red—began to darken, pulsing as if responding to the accumulated damage.
From the rear, Rumiko watched alongside Asuna.
"It looks easier to fight now," she said without taking her eyes off the front. "Your attack really opened the way."
Asuna didn't reply right away. Her gaze was fixed on the floating timer before her, the numbers descending with cruel slowness while her body lay motionless on the snow.
08:26
Rumiko tilted her head, noticing the silence.
"Don't punish yourself like that," she added more softly. "I know you're thinking about the ones who are gone… but if you get stuck there, you won't be able to keep moving forward."
Asuna let out the breath she'd been holding.
"Later… I'll think about it later," she murmured.
Rumiko frowned for a second, then—without warning—flicked her forehead lightly.
"Seriously, you're unbelievably stubborn," she smiled. "Guess I'll have to go too."
She stood and turned toward the battlefield, adjusting her grip on her weapon.
"You're in a good spot. And with the boss blinded, he shouldn't get too close. You'll be fine."
Without waiting for a response, she jumped back into the fight.
Asuna followed her with her eyes until she disappeared into the constant motion of bodies, steel, and flying snow. Then she let herself fall completely onto the icy ground, staring up at the gray sky while the sounds of battle continued around her—distant and close at the same time.
For a few seconds, it felt like the balance was tipping.
Nicholas attacked erratically, turning clumsily, swinging wide blows that no longer found their targets as easily. Everything suggested the end was near.
Then—a heavy step shook the ground.
The impact was different.
Deeper.
Everyone felt it.
For an instant, some thought the colossus was finally about to fall. The tree was completely dyed red.
But Nicholas straightened.
He roared with raw, animal fury…
And then he laughed.
A broken laugh, thick with contempt, echoing through the trees like a direct mockery of those who still dared face him. The axe slammed into the ground—not to attack, but to destroy the space itself. Ice spikes erupted from the snow without pattern, piercing the field like sudden traps.
"Move!" someone shouted.
The formation collapsed.
Players dodged however they could—jumping, rolling, colliding with one another as the terrain turned unpredictable. In the chaos, one figure was struck…
…and vanished into particles of light before touching the ground.
Asuna clenched her teeth.
The timer kept dropping.
01:05
She tried to stand on pure reflex—but her body didn't respond.
"Warning. Healing incomplete. Critical state."
She slammed her fist into the snow in frustration as another bar disappeared from the party status.
Rumiko. Five others. And the hooded player.
And still—none of them retreated.
Fear began to spread among the few still standing. The air was thick with screams, the crash of ice shattering against the ground, and the metallic clamor of weapons clashing in desperation. Aomine stood frozen, his legs trembling uncontrollably as he struggled to steady his breathing.
He looked to the side—
—and because he had stayed still, he didn't notice the massive ice spike descending straight toward him.
"Dodge it, hooded sir!"
Rumiko's shout came late—but not too late. Aomine looked up and saw the tip of the attack inches away. His body reacted before his mind—he threw himself backward with everything he had left. Even so, the explosion of ice and energy flung him several meters across the snow.
He rolled, feeling the ground cave in where he'd been seconds earlier.
If he hadn't moved…
The image struck him all at once—himself, frozen, buried beneath the attack. His chest tightened and his breathing sped up—too fast, too erratic. He clumsily got up and staggered back.
(I… I want to live a little longer.)
The thought came with a twisted, forced smile—one with no joy in it. A smile born of fear, of someone who didn't want to die there. Around him, the others kept dodging however they could. Rumiko watched from a short distance, trying to impose order on the chaos, while Asuna…
Asuna was running out of time.
Fifteen seconds.
The seconds ticked by one after another. Asuna felt a strange pressure and looked up. One of the ice spikes was falling straight toward her.
Six seconds.
She tried to move. Nothing. Her legs didn't respond. She forced her body, clenched her teeth, and barely managed to stand. The world felt slower.
She closed her eyes.
Then she felt two hands grab her around the waist.
The ground vanished. The sky spun. She didn't understand what was happening. When she felt contact again, she realized something strange—
There was no pain.
She opened her eyes.
The attack slammed into the snow right in front of her, dissolving as if it had never existed.
That strike…
It would have killed her.
Asuna reacted late—but she reacted. She ran. And as she did, she saw something that stopped her cold.
On the ground, lying in the snow, was Rumiko.
Only the upper half of her body remained. Her eyes stared at the sky, calm—as if the battle no longer existed.
"Rumiko! Rumiko!"
To be continued in part 2