The colossal, spectral form of Akihiko Kayaba dissolved, leaving behind a silence more terrifying than the screams that had preceded it.
The town square remained coated in the sickly digital red, a permanent stain that marked the end of the game and the beginning of the death-match.
Chaos was instantaneous.
Players, stripped of their anonymity and forced to see their real, vulnerable faces, began to panic in earnest.
Some screamed, clawing at their own virtual heads as if trying to rip off the invisible NerveGear.
Others ran aimlessly, colliding into structures and each other, trying to escape the cobblestone trap.
Zanshin, his white hair and golden eyes exposed by the system's cruel mandate, was a statue carved from terror.
His whole body was racked by a violent, unstoppable tremble that originated deep in his core, manifesting as a severe, constant shake that made his Glaive rattle uselessly against the ground.
Death.
A permanent mistake.
You are trapped here with the consequence.
The sheer panic was overwhelming.
He was paralyzed, staring straight ahead at the space where Kayaba had stood, the calm, judicial tone of the Game Master still echoing in his ears.
The thousands of faces around him were no longer just random players; they were potential victims, and Zanshin, the one who broke things, was trapped among them.
A sudden, forceful pull on his arm jolted him back to physical reality.
"Hey! Snap out of it!" It was Kirito, his expression tight with urgency.
"We need to move. Now. Stay close, Zanshin, Klein. We have to get out of the main square before the riot starts."
Kirito, moving with surprising efficiency, grabbed both Zanshin's arm and Klein's shoulder, dragging them away from the epicenter of the panic.
He didn't speak again until he had pulled them into a narrow, shadowed alleyway between two vendor stalls, a small pocket of relative quiet far from the main road leading to the West Field.
Zanshin collapsed against the damp, stone wall, his lungs burning.
He slid down until he was squatting, his forehead pressed against the cool stone.
His hands were shaking so hard he had to drop the Glaive, letting it clatter onto the cobblestones.
Klein, breathing heavily, looked from Kirito to Zanshin, his face pale with shock.
"What… what did he mean, 213 people? Dead? Just because they tried to take the helmet off?"
Kirito nodded, his gaze scanning the alley entrance.
"He meant it. This isn't a game. It's a closed system. We have to treat every HP bar like it's the only one we have." Kirito crouched down, his focus unwavering.
"I know things about this world. I was a beta tester. The mobs, the spawn points, the paths up the first five levels—I know them."
He looked directly at Zanshin and Klein.
"I'm leaving the Town of Beginnings. Right now. The players here are going to panic, they're going to stay in the city, or they're going to rush the fields without knowing the skill system. They'll die, and they'll slow everyone else down. The best chance to survive is to get ahead of the curve, reach the next town, and start leveling immediately. I'm going solo. You two should come with me."
Klein looked back towards the main square, where the panicked shouts still echoed, his real-world face showing every ounce of his internal conflict.
"You want us to just… abandon them?" Klein asked, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
"Man, I get it. Leveling up is smart. But I came here with a crew. A group of guys I know in the real world. They're somewhere in that plaza right now, probably freaking out even more than we are. I can't just leave them to die, Kirito."
Klein looked at the simple katana on his belt.
"I might not be a beta tester, and I might suck at this game, but I've got to find my friends. I have to make sure they know about the Skill Cues, at least. I'd never be able to look myself in the mirror if I just ran off and left them behind."
He gave a small, resolute nod. "Thanks for the offer, Kirito. But I'm staying here. I'm going back into the square."
Kirito looked at Klein, a spark of disappointment, but also respect, in his eyes.
He didn't argue. "Alright. Good luck, Klein. Don't be a hero."
The focus shifted entirely to Zanshin.
He hadn't moved.
He was still pressed against the stone, his eyes fixed on the empty space where his Glaive lay.
Kirito reached out a hand. "Zanshin, you have good reflexes, even if the Polearm is wrong for you. You learned the Skill Cue faster than anyone I've seen. You need to come with me. We can get you a new weapon in the next town."
Zanshin tried to speak, but the words felt trapped in his throat, suffocated by the knot of panic and self-recrimination.
He finally managed a weak, strangled whisper.
"No."
"No? Why not?" Kirito frowned, impatience creeping into his voice.
"You just saw what happens if you stay here and rely on sheer luck. We need to go."
Zanshin lifted his head, revealing his golden eyes, which were wet with unshed tears.
The combination of intense focus and utter terror in his gaze was disturbing.
He swallowed hard, forcing the words out, his voice hoarse and barely audible.
"I… I can't."
He was a hurricane of conflicting, destructive emotions.
The fear was paralyzing: fear of death, fear of failure, fear of the consequence.
The timidness told him to hide, to vanish back into the shadows and never be seen again, especially now that his face was exposed.
The sadness was for Hayato, trapped in a coma, a constant reminder of his destructive nature.
The frustration was aimed at his own body, which had betrayed him first in the real world and now again with the wrong weapon choice.
And the anger, cold and cutting, was directed solely at himself, for being such a monumental failure that his escape plan had turned into a permanent, fatal test.
His trembling intensified, making his limbs jump involuntarily. He was literally shaking himself apart.
"I would be a burden," Zanshin finally choked out, avoiding Kirito's gaze and staring at the dropped Glaive.
"I am… inefficient. I can't even stand straight right now. If I slow you down, Kirito, if I make a mistake because I'm shaking like this, you will die. I can't risk that. I can't… I can't be responsible for another life."
The last sentence was the most painful, a broken confession of his core trauma.
He had come here to stop being responsible, to stop being capable of harm.
Now, armed with the knowledge that death was real, his instinct was to self-isolate and neutralize his ability to hurt others.
To travel with a powerhouse like Kirito would make him a liability with ultimate consequences.
Klein, seeing the raw, exposed terror on Zanshin's real face, stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, man, it's not like that. We're all useless right now. We need each other."
"No," Zanshin whispered, pulling away from Klein's touch as if it burned him.
He clutched his own arms, trying to suppress the shaking, but failing.
"You need people who can help you survive. I break things. I make mistakes that kill people. I can't be responsible for your death. Or Kirito's."
Kirito looked at Zanshin's intense, golden eyes, seeing not fear of death, but fear of causing death.
He saw the cold, self-loathing conviction of a deeply broken person.
Kirito knew time was precious, and this level of psychological damage wasn't fixable in a minute.
He stood up straight, his dark coat shifting.
"Fine," Kirito said, his voice hard and decisive. He looked at both of them, his eyes sharp.
"Stay here, then. Good luck to both of you."
He didn't wait for a response.
Kirito turned, swiftly exiting the alley and vanishing into the chaos of the Town of Beginnings, moving with the cold, self-sufficient speed of a man who had already chosen to leave humanity behind.
Klein knelt down next to the trembling Zanshin.
"He's gone. It's just us. What do we do now, Zanshin? We have to move. You can't stay here."
Zanshin didn't answer.
He was still staring at the Glaive, convinced that any movement he made, any choice, any swing of a weapon, would only lead to destruction.
He had reached the perfect prison: a place where his guilt was absolute, and his escape was impossible.