The week leading up to the launch of Sword Art Online was the strangest of Tsurugi's life. It felt less like waiting and more like a countdown to his own disappearance.
He didn't go back to school after buying the NerveGear. He simply couldn't. The money he had spent was a massive. But the guilt was secondary now; the need for escape had become everything.
His room, usually a tomb of despair, transformed into a tense staging area.
The big white box holding the NerveGear helmet sat on his desk, dominating the space.
He had cleaned the room, not out of pride, but out of ritual—preparing the space for the final act.
He read every instruction manual twice, triple-checked the wires, and made sure the connection to the internet was flawless.
He even moved his bed closer to the power outlet, ensuring a comfortable, uninterrupted dive.
This focus—this sharp, obsessive attention to detail—was the first time in a year he had felt close to the disciplined kendo athlete he used to be.
But this discipline was aimed only at escaping, not fighting.
He avoided his parents entirely, skipping meals by claiming to be sick and working on school projects.
He knew they were worried, but he had mastered ignoring their quiet knocks and worried voices.
All the while, the timer on his computer screen ticked down: 6 days, 5 days, 4 days…
The only thing he allowed himself to touch was the yellow candy wrapper, which now lay next to the NerveGear box.
It was the only artifact from his friendship with Hayato, a bittersweet reminder of the life he was leaving behind.
The day of the launch arrived, cloudy and cold. Tsurugi had told his parents he was studying for exams all weekend, securing his isolation.
The official launch time was 1:00 PM.
He carefully placed the NerveGear helmet on the pillow beside him.
The device was sleek, white, and surprisingly light. It looked clean, sterile, and cold—a perfect escape from his own messy, broken life.
As noon approached, Tsurugi lay down on his bed, the heavy silence of his room pressing in on him.
He took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to calm the sudden, frantic fluttering in his stomach.
He wasn't nervous about the game; he was terrified of the silence he was leaving behind.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the candy wrapper one last time.
He smoothed out the creases, imagining the sound of Hayato's laugh as he offered it. We'll be the dual swordsmen, wiping out bosses!
He tucked the wrapper under his pillow, a small token of the past he couldn't completely abandon.
At 12:58 PM, he picked up the NerveGear.
It felt heavy and alien as he settled it over his head. The foam padding felt cold against his skin, and the world immediately became dark and muffled.
He was alone with the sound of his own shaky breath.
He felt the switch on the side of the helmet. He knew that once he pressed it, the final word would be his.
No going back, he thought. No more cane, no more whispers, no more guilt. Just code.
He flipped the power switch.
A gentle blue light pulsed behind the visor.
The world exploded into light. He wasn't in his room anymore.
He was floating in a pure white void. A calm, synthetic female voice spoke to him:
"Welcome. Please state your account details and choose your username."
He quickly entered the credentials he'd set up, his old identity melting away. Then came the username prompt.
He paused. He needed a name that meant something, a name that carried the weight of his internal struggle.
His mind went back to the dojo. To the final, quiet focus of a match.
He typed: Zanshin.
Zanshin—the kendo term for the continued state of awareness, physical and mental, that must be maintained after delivering a strike.
It means staying ready, staying alert, even after the action is done. It was the one thing he had completely failed to do the day of the accident.
He hadn't maintained Zanshin; he had simply lost control.
The name was a promise and a curse. A constant reminder of the vigilance he had lost and the vigilance he needed to maintain in this new world.
The void around him changed. He saw his avatar—a perfect digital copy of himself, only healthier, taller, and with clear, focused eyes.
He made a few small adjustments, making his hair shorter, cleaner—restoring the athlete he once was.
"Please select your starting weapon type," the voice instructed.
A menu materialized before him, listing dozens of digital weapon categories:
Dagger,
Mace,
Rapier,
Bow,
Staff,
and—right at the top—Long Sword.
The sight of the word "Sword" and the perfectly rendered, glittering image of the long, silver virtual blade caused Tsurugi's carefully constructed calm to shatter.
His breath hitched.
The white void seemed to tilt.
He saw the reflection of the virtual sword, and the image warped in his mind, turning into the familiar, dull sheen of his bamboo shinai.
The digital menu faded, replaced by the terrifying, crystal-clear flashback: the sound of the shinai thwacking against Hayato's unprotected headguard, the terrible silence that followed, the sickening thud as Hayato's body hit the floor.
Consequences. Pain. Blood. The words hammered against the walls of his digital mind.
If you touch a sword, you will hurt someone. You will lose control.
His virtual hands—his new, digital hands—began to tremble violently in the void. He felt cold sweat break out on his temples beneath the NerveGear.
He was hyperventilating, trapped between his real-world trauma and the digital escape he desperately needed.
He squeezed his eyes shut under the helmet, trying to anchor himself. It's not real. It's just code. No consequence.
He managed to open his eyes. The avatar menu was still there.
The Long Sword option was still mocking him. He realized that this was why he was here: to face the sword without fear.
But he couldn't. Not yet.
The fear of that devastating strike was too fresh, too strong.
He couldn't risk swinging something that looked and felt like the weapon of his crime.
He needed distance.
He needed control.
He needed a weapon that emphasized caution and reach over direct, intimate contact.
He frantically scrolled down the menu, past axes and short swords, until his eyes landed on an option that felt distant enough from his past: Polearm.
He selected it instantly.
The virtual weapon that materialized in his avatar's hand was not a sword, but a long, heavy Glaive—a smooth wooden shaft topped with a crescent-shaped blade.
It was a weapon designed for sweeping strikes, for keeping opponents far away, for controlling the battlefield from a safe distance.
It was the anti-kendo weapon, the complete opposite of the close-quarters, aggressive style Tsurugi had mastered.
It was safe.
His breath slowly evened out. The world stopped spinning.
He had retreated, but he had survived the choice.
His name was Zanshin, but his weapon was avoidance.
The calm female voice returned, signaling the end of the setup.
"Character creation complete. Preparing system launch. Welcome to Sword Art Online."
Tsurugi looked at his new digital hands, gripping the heavy, long polearm.
This world was a ghost of Hayato's dream, a world he had entered alone.
He had paid a heavy price in the real world—his stability, his money, his friendship—just for this moment.
There was no turning back now. His old life was crumbling beneath the weight of his guilt, and this virtual world could be the only refuge left.
He took a final, deep breath, a farewell to the air of his lonely room, and spoke the command that would seal his escape.
"Link Start."