In Eckres City, on Inscht Street, inside the test range of a gun shop.
Satoru loaded the six chambers of the revolver one round at a time. Then, out of habit, he spun the cylinder and listened to its clear, pleasant click. He raised his hand, snapped the cylinder back into place with a quick, elegant flick, and lowered his eyes to inspect the gun one last time.
Once everything was ready, he started the target system.
In front of the firing lane, the indicator light over his test area came on. Satoru did not hurry to raise the muzzle or take a shooting stance. The revolver in his right hand still rested on the counter. Only his eyes stayed level, fixed ahead.
He did not look as if he cared much about the test fire. Maybe he only wanted to check how the new gun felt. But his calm gaze was like that of an outlaw gunman in a western wasteland, waiting for the signal to draw.
Ding.
Ding.
Clank!
The signal light turned red. A target sprang up from the floor only ten meters ahead.
Satoru raised his hand in an instant. Blue muzzle flame burst from the revolver. The Peacekeeper's report was not violent. It had only a clean, sharp feeling, as if it were cutting through the air. Among the heavy, complicated fire of larger guns, a single-shot revolver decided life and death with one bullet.
To some people, revolvers and sniper rifles both carried a certain romance. They used a small number of bullets to settle fate. That thrill of lethal choice was like the life of a swordsman who sought only a brief, brilliant moment. They enjoyed the tension of one instant, the instant of crossing blades.
For Satoru, choosing the Peacekeeper revolver may have been a compromise forced by his AGI build.
But he had never thought that was a bad thing.
The sound of the target being hit overlapped almost perfectly with the gunshot. A bullet hole appeared cleanly in the head of the humanoid target. The target shattered at once into glittering fragments, and behind where it had vanished, a new one flashed into existence.
Satoru's expression did not change. The Peacekeeper, held level at his side, adjusted its aim by only a fraction. To an onlooker, there was almost no time spent aiming. He pulled the trigger again, and the new target's head was pierced again.
The crisp gunshots, matched by accuracy worthy of them, harvested the randomly appearing humanoid targets faster and faster.
With only six rounds, the Peacekeeper would run dry in four or five seconds at his rate of fire. The cylinder swung out. He flicked it back, dumping the spent casings behind him. Before they could hit the floor, they dissolved into star-like crystals. His left hand already held a simple six-round clip. He loaded it at once, turned his wrist, and the Peacekeeper resumed firing.
A revolver defined by high accuracy and long range was best used for precise single shots. Rushed aiming made its small capacity hurt even more.
But Satoru forced both speed and accuracy upward at the same time. In his hands, the palm-sized revolver became almost like an automatic weapon.
Every bullet left the barrel and ended at the target's forehead.
Fast, accurate, and ruthless.
Every pull of the trigger was like resting a hand on a sword hilt. Every shot was like a long blade humming out of its scabbard. A bullet that never returned was like an iai draw that killed without retreat.
Even though this was no longer a world of blades, each time he moved, some part of him still thought about how to drive steel into an enemy's body and pierce both virtual flesh and soul.
People said that, aside from the floating castle, every other FullDive world was truly virtual.
But for an orphan who had once crossed a death game, wagering his life in real battles beside other people, the impression left by combat could not simply be forgotten. No one wanted to lose. No one wanted to become the loser. Fighting to win was the basis of a game.
What made it fun was the excitement along the way.
For some people, though, that process was no longer fun.
Even while staring at harmless targets, Satoru's gaze grew serious without him noticing. He watched the red shooting reticle in his vision, controlled his breathing and heartbeat, and in the instant when both neared a flat, undisturbed zero, he caught the moment when the reticle tightened into a point and pulled the trigger against its faint recoil.
It was that simple.
The rest could be left to Samuro's high-AGI avatar. His accuracy was ninety-four percent, and his maximum range was one hundred meters. If he entered that state, his accuracy came infinitely close to ninety-nine percent, and his maximum range became the limit of the gun itself.
Unlike sword skills, which required moving the whole body, marksmanship was surprisingly easy to practice.
The target range's spawn speed climbed as quickly as he cleared it. As long as he did not call a stop, he could keep grinding against the system forever.
For ordinary people, aim and accuracy were difficult only because they were not used to it. And even if someone performed brilliantly at the range, once they were on a battlefield, their own heart would misbehave and pound from tension, badly disrupting the red shooting reticle. It would probably swell until it covered the enemy's entire body.
So for players here, improving marksmanship was not about firing drills or aim practice.
Just keep fighting.
Keep living through battles that made the blood run cold.
Eventually, nothing would rattle you anymore. Your pulse would stay steady, and the shooting reticle in your vision would shrink to a single pinpoint.
The shooting stopped.
Fifty-six humanoid targets. Fifty-six hits. Fifty-six hits, fifty-three headshots, three chest shots.
He glanced over the summary.
After gnawing at those monsters and surviving, having his heart hammered into calm this far should not be too unreasonable.
So this VRMMO, supposedly the only one in all of Japan with professional players, did not seem like much after all.
If a real professional soldier returned from a battlefield and learned how the shooting system in this game worked, he would probably laugh for an entire day.
Satoru turned and left the range, returning to the gun shop. He paid for the Peacekeeper. His previous one had been lost in the wasteland after his defeat in the last escort commission. Once he went back, he would still need to make adjustments to the new gun.
With both hands in the pockets of his brown trench coat, he walked quietly down the lead-gray street. Iron, gunpowder, and reinforced steel were everywhere in the city's style, almost overflowing from it. Heavy jeeps roared arrogantly along the road. Though this was an abandoned age after a great war, true shadows of the real world could still be found here.
That was one of the reasons he had chosen this place.
Here, he could feel reality. Compared to fantasy worlds where people flew and cast magic, this place felt easier to accept.
Only shadows, of course. GGO was not a prison and not a death game. It was only a game, properly designed by its operator, guaranteed safe, and built to pull people in.
He envied those people.
The ones who could still linger in Fairy Dance, diving into the floating castle Aincrad.
In that respect, he could not compare to the SAO players. Agil, Klein, Kirito; all of them could keep diving into the reborn Aincrad and enjoy that beautiful world with a joy they had not possessed before.
Satoru could no longer do that.
When had it started?
He was no longer a player.
Without the cliff of danger and despair behind him, he could no longer feel that pressure on his nerves. In the past, even when others called him a useless player who only relied on data, he had still felt real joy and satisfaction from winning battle after battle. Now he had stronger tools, but the reason to fight was gone. So was the thrill.
In the past, he used reality to play games.
Now he searched for reality inside games.
After a Dragon Horse had faced the Dragon King and the King General and cut them both down, would it still feel even a hint of tension when matched against a pawn?
But what exactly am I unhappy about...?
If he truly had to go through that kind of thing again, winning would only be winning, and losing would only accelerate the death of this Fluctlight. Thinking like that now was no different from a fool who knew drugs would kill him and still laughed while taking them again and again.
I really have graduated from being a player.
The current Satoru was only one of the people trying to survive in the real world according to her wishes, walking forward with hope in his heart. If he did not feel that staying inside FullDive worlds was the only way he could still sense her, he would have thrown away all the equipment in his room long ago.
He would have gone to Kyoto and started building a real life with his uncle.
Satoru gave a small sighing laugh, lit a cigarette, and walked around a dirty, cluttered corner.
Besides, if the Fluctlight Eye's usable time was tied to his lifespan, and every use sped up the drain, wouldn't it be better to save it for the end? It was only a precaution, but who knew what kind of battlefield might be waiting when he finally came close to her?
Fighting with one's life was the work of a warrior.
Not a player.
From every angle, it seemed that the player Satoru had become a thing of the past.
The boy who stayed up all night reading data, testing skills over and over, and watching every useful tutorial video with bloodshot eyes.
That boy, too, would remain forever in the memories of the past.
Satoru would miss him.
He would never regret him.
The choice he had made now was one he and she had chosen together. He was not allowed to regret it.
With a cigarette between his lips, Satoru opened the door.
The hiring office was deep inside a filthy, chaotic alley. The broker dressed it up by calling it atmosphere and style. Anyone who came here and saw the carefully placed cans, cigarette butts, broken guns, and violent graffiti along the road would surely feel that the place was not ordinary.
Strong immersion.
Darkness was a man's romance.
Satoru had more than once suspected that the broker might have a case of chuunibyou. But he did know how to manage contacts, and so this non-system commission office had come into being under his hand.
Satoru stepped inside. It looked like an ordinary bar found anywhere, though the owner had deliberately made the interior dim. Since Satoru knew the layout well, he moved through it without trouble.
"The Isaro spaceship ruins, huh? Listen, that place is for high-level players. The monsters there are the highest level and difficulty currently in the game, and hunting groups are roaming all over. Besides dedicated PvE teams, there are plenty of PvP groups looking for a big score too."
The broker's usual sales pitch had started up again. He was probably dealing with a client.
"You said you wanted a PvP party, right...? The problem is, the regular parties I know are all full. Or how about a ruins area one level lower? There is a party in the Gathas Ruins looking for a backline damage dealer. What do you think?"
"If it is not the most dangerous place, there is no point."
The client's answer was cold.
Satoru raised an eyebrow.
The client's voice was cute and clear. A girl. That was not just rare; he had never seen it before. The broker's office was known only to people inside the circle. Most of the players here were reliable veterans. Whether hired to kill someone or to act as guards, they could be trusted. Their prices were high too.
"A smaller party is fine. As long as they are trustworthy comrades, I do not need anyone who fears death," the client added.
"You do not look like you have a grudge against anyone in that area, and you do not seem to be after any rare materials. But if you only want to train your skills, there is no need to go that far..." the broker said, troubled. "If you insist, I do know someone. He has been hanging around Isaro since last month, but he goes for materials. I cannot say he will be eager to go fight and kill with you."
"That is fine. Once we go there, there will be no shortage of things to do."
"True enough. But I have no idea whether he will agree. He likes farming alone."
"I will offer a fair price."
"You really are strange..."
Satoru scratched his head and walked straight in.
"Stop messaging him. I am here."
He interrupted the broker's operation.
The broker, dressed like a special forces soldier, spotted him and put on a look that said this saved him trouble. He immediately turned to the client.
"Here. The man himself. Whatever you need, talk to him."
Satoru had no interest in commenting on the broker's professional ethics as a boss. Instead, he looked at the petite client.
Even in the dim shop, he could see the calm, tough blue in the female player's eyes. Her outfit was practical and neat. Women's clothing usually carried at least some kind of feminine beauty, and she looked like a delicate doll, but the way she stood with her arms crossed made the contrast funny enough to draw a smile.
An avatar this cute must have cost a lot, Satoru thought.
And I feel like I have seen her somewhere.
Still, if she had found her way here, she must be a capable player. Maybe they had crossed paths in battle before.
Those thoughts flickered through his mind before he spoke.
"Hello. My nickname is Samuro. I am indeed heading near the Isaro spaceship. I originally needed a precise damage dealer for this job, so I came here to look for one. It seems our needs line up, so we could form a party. If I may ask, what is your maximum range?"
Exchange the valuable information first.
"..."
But the girl, who had been so businesslike with the broker a moment earlier, suddenly froze. Her lynx-like gaze swept over Satoru with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.
"...Is something wrong? Do I have a problem?"
Satoru scratched his head, confused.
The broker spoke up then.
"You do not need to worry about his skills. I can guarantee them. Though he does not look strong, and he definitely does not have the pressure of those two-meter-tall brutes."
"No, that is not what I was thinking."
The girl hesitated for a moment.
"Hello. My nickname is Sinon. I am a sniper. My maximum range is 1,700 meters."
"Not bad," Satoru said, a little surprised.
"If there are no questions, let us form a party. When are we heading to the ruins?" the girl asked at once.
"That fast? You do not even know how strong I am. You only heard the owner's introduction. Are you sure that is all right?"
Satoru laughed.
"...You are doing the same thing. You are taking my claim of 1,700 meters at face value. That distance is not impossible, but hardly anyone reaches it. Are you not afraid I am lying?" the girl shot back, a little stubbornly.
"It is fine. I do not mind."
"You do not mind...? What kind of answer is that?"
The girl folded her arms, somewhat annoyed.
"You will understand once we get there. Um... so are we forming a party now?"
The girl nodded.
"Deal done? Then the brokerage fee...?"
He rubbed his hands together.
"This kid and I hit it off right away. What brokerage fee?"
Satoru turned back with a shameless grin.
"Whoa, you're really pulling that on me?!"
"Let's get out of here. Come on, kid, let's go prepare our equipment first."
Satoru grabbed the girl's hand and headed for the door, leaving the broker behind clutching his chest in frustration.
"Is this really okay?"
For Sinon, who had come to this office for the first time after someone introduced it to her, the whole thing felt a little questionable. Starting off like this might make things awkward later.
"Relax. He squeezes plenty out of people already. I'm just balancing things out a little. So, kid, should we head to the supply store first?"
"Could you stop calling me that? It feels weird..."
Sinon looked at the man with the cigarette hanging from his mouth.
No matter how she looked at it, she still couldn't connect him with the Samuro she had fought in the wasteland.