For the next hour, Zanshin and Klein formed an incredibly clumsy, yet functional, pair.
They took on Wild Boars and tiny, green Frenzy Vipers, moving through the West Field with the focused intensity of players desperately trying to survive their first day.
Klein, wielding his Katana, struggled with the timing of his single-strike Skill Cues, often missing the necessary quick upward flourish.
Zanshin, meanwhile, was fighting a constant, internal battle with his Glaive.
He could execute the Sting Thrust now, thanks to Kirito's instruction, but he couldn't chain attacks, or transition smoothly between defensive posture and offensive sweep.
His ingrained physical speed was too quick for the Glaive's animation wind-up.
Every time he tried a wide, powerful move, his avatar's muscles felt slow and unresponsive, dragging the heavy weapon in an arc that felt sluggish.
He had to consciously suppress his natural, fast-twitch reactions, forcing his body to accommodate the slow, sweeping nature of the polearm.
It felt like walking through water—it worked, but it was exhausting and deeply unsatisfying.
"Man, you are so weird, Zanshin," Klein commented after Zanshin missed a Wild Boar with a wide, sweeping Glaive attack that should have connected.
"You move like a total pro—all that fancy footwork. But then your swing… it's like you're fighting the polearm, not the monster."
Zanshin merely grunted, already low on HP and frustrated.
"It's fine. I just need more practice."
He kept telling himself that. If he practiced enough, maybe he could force himself to stop using his innate speed.
Maybe he could completely become the cold, distant warrior the Glaive demanded.
It was late afternoon when Kirito, the former beta tester, reappeared.
He wasn't looking for them; he was simply passing through, moving deeper into the field with effortless grace, his sword skills flashing green and clean.
He stopped when he saw Zanshin struggling.
Zanshin was attempting a complex vertical strike, but he prematurely stopped his movement, anticipating the hit, which caused the Skill to fail entirely.
The Boar took advantage and nipped him hard.
Kirito sighed, walking over.
"You're still doing that," Kirito stated flatly.
Zanshin immediately tensed, feeling the familiar prickle of being judged—a feeling he hated more than the monsters.
"I'm trying to get the timing."
"It's not timing. It's compatibility," Kirito explained, leaning against a fake tree trunk. He pointed at Zanshin's avatar.
"Your base movements are too fast. Look at your arms, your stance. You naturally prefer quick, close strikes and sudden bursts of motion. You're built for high-speed, intimate combat."
Zanshin's heart beat faster.
That was exactly what he excelled at in the real world—the quick, disciplined burst of a clean strike, the intimate, focused moment of impact.
The thing that had destroyed his life.
"The Glaive is a weapon of power and range," Kirito continued, completely unaware of the mental turmoil he was causing.
"It relies on the momentum of the full swing, which has a long wind-up and finish. You're cutting the wind-up short because your reflexes are compensating for the speed. You're fighting your own Physical Skill data."
Kirito pointed his finger directly at the digital Long Sword icon hovering in Zanshin's Skill menu.
"Your body is crying out for a Short Sword or a Rapier, maybe even a single-handed sword. Something light, fast, and responsive. You chose the wrong weapon type, Zanshin. You'll be inefficient at best, and dead at worst."
Zanshin felt a wave of icy dread.
Even in the virtual world, his trauma-induced choice of the Polearm was betraying him.
He had chosen the weapon of distance and safety, only to find that his body was built for the weapon of intimacy and destruction.
The idea of switching to a sword—of picking up the very weapon that embodied his greatest failure—made him feel physically sick.
"I'll adapt," Zanshin said stiffly, gripping the Glaive tighter.
The lie tasted like ash.
Kirito merely shrugged.
"Your funeral. Just keep your healing crystals handy."
Pizza and Panic
Before the tension could escalate, Klein clapped his hands together, his helmeted avatar making a loud thwack sound.
"Okay, enough death talk! My stomach thinks my throat is cut! I'm starving," Klein declared, pulling up his main menu.
"I need to log out and order a pizza. I was thinking half pepperoni, half teriyaki chicken. You guys want anything? I can call in an order for you too, Kirito-san."
Kirito looked amused. "Nah, I think I'll keep grinding. We only have seven days until this officially launches for real."
"Seven days? It is real!" Klein chuckled. He navigated his menu, looking for the system options.
"I just want a proper meal. No way I'm surviving seven days on these cheap digital rations."
Zanshin watched Klein's screen, his own appetite long since dead.
He was still reeling from Kirito's diagnosis of his weapon incompatibility.
"Okay, where is it?" Klein mumbled. He scrolled up and down his menu several times.
"Wait a minute. This is weird."
"What's weird?" Kirito asked.
"The log out button," Klein said, his voice losing its playful edge.
"I can't find it. It should be right here under 'Options' or 'Help,' but it's just… missing."
Kirito frowned and immediately pulled up his own menu.
Zanshin did the same, his fingers quickly navigating the glowing windows.
Sure enough, where the Log Out button should have been, there was only empty space..
A collective murmur began to ripple through the fields as other players noticed the same absence.
The friendly chatter of grinding was replaced by nervous shouts.
"It's a glitch," Klein insisted, forcing a laugh.
"It has to be. A major bug. Let's report it."
"I can't log out either," Kirito said, his voice completely devoid of its former arrogance, replaced by an unsettling cold focus.
"There's no escape command in the system menu, no manual trigger. It's been removed entirely."
As the realization hit Zanshin, the ground felt like it was dissolving beneath him.
He had paid every last yen and entered this world with the single, desperate belief that it was an escape hatch—a place without real consequences.
The disappearance of the log-out button didn't just mean inconvenience; it meant the entire foundation of his refuge was a lie.
The mountain of guilt he had carried for a year suddenly felt like the roof of a collapsing prison cell.
Trapped. I'm trapped here.
A loud, clear gong sound echoed across the entire world of Aincrad.
The noise was deep and resonant, impossible to ignore.
A system window, enormous and bright red, flashed in the sky above the Town of Beginnings.
— Mandatory Tutorial Teleport —
"What's a mandatory tutorial?" Klein exclaimed, eyes wide, the panic now fully audible in his voice.
Before anyone could answer, a force Zanshin couldn't resist seized his avatar.
He felt himself lift, soaring through the sky with a dizzying rush.
He felt the digital sensation of his body being pulled, twisted, and then slammed down onto the cobblestone of the Town of Beginnings square.
Zanshin stumbled, regaining his balance using the Glaive like a makeshift cane, his whole body trembling.
He looked around.
The square was packed.
Every single player who had logged into SAO was standing there, silent and confused, their faces all looking up at the sky.
His fear wasn't the collective panic about being hungry or missing class.
His fear was deeper: He had chosen this prison over his own guilt.
If he couldn't leave, he couldn't face his responsibilities, and worse, he might never know if Hayato was truly okay.
The virtual world was now a permanent confinement, punishing him for trying to abandon his consequences.
A massive system warning appeared above them, dominating the artificial clouds.
It was red text on a black background, spelling out a horrifying message, but before anyone could fully read it, a dark, red fluid began to pour from the sky, coating the world in a veil of digital blood.
Zanshin squeezed his eyes shut. His heart felt like a drum slamming against his ribs. I should have known, the dark voice of self-hatred whispered.
Nothing good can ever come from your actions.
You break everything you touch, even your own escape.
Through the red haze, a towering figure materialized. It was the game's creator, Akihiko Kayaba, dressed in the ominous, flowing robes of a Game Master. His face was obscured by the hood, but his voice, deep and calm, reached every single player in Aincrad.
Kayaba's calm tone was worse than any shout.
It sounded like an indifferent judge delivering a final, unappealable sentence.
Zanshin stood shoulder to shoulder with Klein, the fear cold and sharp, no longer about low HP or bad weapon choices.
This was real danger, and the only path back to the real world was about to be sealed forever—and Zanshin felt a chilling certainty that this was the punishment he deserved.