Nozomi Kitamura dreads going to work.
There are many reasons for this, but the walk to her office is chief among them. It requires her to walk past the rows of cubicles and noticing every set of eyes taking pains not to look in her direction. They don't struggle to find work; The Ministry of Internal Affair's Telecommunications Bureau has never been so lively. Phones ring with family members desperate for an update or reporters hoping for a scoop.
Those not on the phones try to tease apart lines of code or try to sort through a labyrinthine tangle of VPNs and spoofed IP addresses. Still, more work at tables stretched across the back of the room, covered in NerveGear helmets in various states of disassembly, along with a variety of other full dive devices. They're all looking for answers, but it's more than that. They're desperate for a flicker of hope.
As a newly minted coordinator, it's Nozomi's job to take every shred of information the team gathers and try to piece it together into a comprehensive strategy. It's exhausting work, and Nozomi tells herself anyone else would crack under the pressure. Some days, she worries that fate will befall her one day.
It isn't pressure that averts the gaze of her coworkers, however. Nor is it a lack of respect or a reflection on her character. She's respected and well-liked, her work impeccable. Instead, their reaction is rooted in deep shame, every member of the team wishing they'd made different choices.
Because Nozomi Kitamura had been right.
No one listened.
There had been other offers when she graduated. Strauss-Porteau Integrated Anthroponics offered a post, as did the Applied Nanite Research Lab (working in a castle made it very tempting). But she stayed close to home and joined the Bureau. She started in the Electromagnetic Environment Division where she put her degree to work researching any adverse effects of Japan's growing wireless broadband networks.
She'd been amid another mind-numbing medical survey when her supervisor knocked on the door and dropped a seemingly innocuous project in her lap.
She remembered how sat the strange looking helmet on her desk without a word. She'd never seen anything like it before.
"You never struck me as the cosplaying type, sir."
"Hardly. Have you ever played video games before?"
"A little."
Though she tried to tamp down her enthusiasm, she couldn't fight the smile. Had she played? She'd kept herself sane in college by diving into Granblue Fantasy and Tales Online. She'd even helped to lead a guild in the latter. Postgraduate work, a new career, and adult responsibilities pulled her away, but she'd never forgotten how magical slipping into those words felt.
"This is a new system. It's called the NerveGear. I want you to try it out and dig into the specs on it. It's going to market soon, and even though the Ministry of Health has cleared it, you're the most detail-oriented person I have in the office. Make sure they didn't miss anything."
"So what does it do?"
From the smile that crossed his face, he'd been waiting for that question.
"It's a direct neural link that puts you into the game. It's full immersion. It's going to change everything."
He hadn't been wrong, had he? It didn't take her long to understand his enthusiasm. The tech demo blew her away when she first tried it. She read about the games it could play, including its killer app: The MMORPG Sword Art Online. Nozomi decided on that first day she needed to buy one for herself.
And then she dove into the specs.
Two weeks and a hundred page report later, she no longer intended to play Sword Art Online and cautioned that perhaps the rest of the world shouldn't either.
The device's firmware and encryption were solid, but there were a few weak points. They were difficult to find (well hidden, Nozomi later realized) but dangerous. That risk was magnified by the powerful microwaves that directly interfaced with the human brain. The more she dug, the more troubled she became. Even now, as she sits down at her desk, she recalls several of the specific concerns.
...the landmark "Lost in the Mail" study by Loftus and Pickrell has shown false memories can be implanted by mere suggestion. The possibility of similar memory implantation via NerveGear cannot be discounted...
...there is a non-zero chance the NerveGear could be used to alter memories or possibly even a target's personality...
...fail-safes to prevent long-term dives that could lead to health problems are absent. This could easily be exploited in several ways...
And then there was her greatest concern, the one that everyone laughed off.
The maximum output of the microwave generators is needlessly high. This presents a significant risk, as a quick burst at full power could be hazardous, perhaps even lethal. If an outside party hacked into a player's NerveGear, they could weaponize the system.
The only thing Nozomi hadn't anticipated was Akihiko Kayaba himself using those exploits to hold thousands of players hostage without so much as a single demand.
She's been reassigned to the Advanced Network Division now. Her understanding of the NerveGear has made her a key cog in the newly assembled Sword Art Online Task Force. She analyzes every new piece of evidence the team produces, coordinates new avenues of attack, and interfaces with other branches of government and with the five other countries whose citizens are also trapped in the game.
She leans back in her chair and takes in a deep breath, rubbing her temples. The only way to cope with the overwhelming weight that presses down on her is to take it one step at a time.
Like every day, she starts with e-mail. Like every day, there's a flood of department memos, analysis of SAO's code, reminders of the Bureau's media policy. Like every day, each one will need her attention.
Unlike every day, there's one she's been waiting for. At first, she can only stare at the subject line.
BETA TESTER INFORMATION.
It's from MMO Today. She knew she could count on him.
The body of the e-mail contains one sentence; I have the info you need.
She tabs over and opens Discord. It's how she and her contact with the magazine have done most of their talking since they first got in touch. He's online, and she's not surprised that he's messaged her before she can even type a word.
Thinker: Wow. That was fast.
Yulier: I don't have time to waste.
Thinker: Who does?
Three dots appear on the screen. As usual, Thinker is writing out a missive in response. Nozomi knows how he came by the name. While Argus cooperated with the Bureau, they provided little more than raw data. Most of the programmers and designers were, conveniently enough, trapped in the game. That's where Thinker and MMO Today came in. They could gather the data that she and the Bureau needed.
Thinker: The problem is that just about every hardcore gamer in the beta test wanted to be there for the launch, especially after all the delays. Most of the people who weren't logged in were like that CEO's kid. They bought it as a curiosity and don't know much about games otherwise. Just about every beta tester I looked into wasn't what you're looking for.
Yulier: You said almost everyone. Does that mean you have someone?
Thinker: There are two. Someone on staff here even knows her, but it's complicated. The kid got diagnosed with a brain tumor after the beta went down, and that disqualified her from playing. Believe it or not, she's doing better. Spontaneous recovery, her mother said. But the doctors don't want her playing around with full dive until she's in full remission. Could be an option down the line, if we need her.
Yulier: And the other?
Thinker: He's exactly what you're looking for. Best of all, he's right there in Tokyo. Couldn't dig up the contact info, but I doubt the government will have any trouble with that.
Yulier: You're amazing. Next time you're in Tokyo, I owe you dinner.
Thinker: I'll hold you to that.
Thinker provides the name and she logs out. It's a simple matter to cross-reference the name he provided with the database from Argus. She forwards the name to her supervisor. She gets a text from him only a minute later.
Really? You're absolutely sure this player isn't in the game?
Not the response she expects, but she brushes it off. Within minutes, she makes the necessary calls. A meeting is set up within the hour.
The boy feels smaller than usual here. Perhaps it's the broad-shouldered security guards who fix their steely gaze on him as he approaches the door. Within seconds they dismiss him as nonthreatening. Because he isn't, not here. He mumbles his way through the explanation for his visit and they let him through. Then another awkward conversation at the reception desk.
The woman who emerges from the elevator to meet him (Nozomi Kitamura, she'd said on the phone) is a typical government employee. Smart suit, wire-framed glasses, shoes polished to perfection. That will give him something to stare at besides his own sneakers as she tries to make awkward small talk. As they reach the elevator, she still hasn't explained why he's here.
Well. He knows why. it's just the specifics that he's hazy on. The game. Always the game. He's not allowed to forget about it, not does he want to. Yet the silence in his home is suffocating, the warmth draining away like a photo slowly robbed of all saturation. He's reminded by the empty seat at the dinner table, by the stilted conversations he has with her mother. They're both hurting. It's made worse by the fact both of them know it's his fault.
For myriad reasons, he still hasn't worked up the nerve to visit the hospital. Every day, he worries his hesitation will keep him from ever seeing her again. But he can't bear the thought of her, one of the most vibrant people he's ever known, lying in a sterile hospital room, hooked up to life support, her head trapped within a NerveGear helmet. His NerveGear.
His hands clench into fists so tight his fingernails dig into the palms. It should have been him.
"So," she says, fidgeting awkwardly. She's as bad with children as he is with... well, everyone. "You were there. During the beta, I mean."
"...yeah."
"What was it like?"
That question, and the nervous energy in her tone, get his attention. He gives Ms. Kitamura a second glance, noticing her hair this time. On the street, it might not bear notice. On the head of a government employee, it's bordering on outrageous. Tied back in a long ponytail, her bangs are cut upward at sharp angles while leaving longer strands to perfectly frame her face. There's a green pin tacked to her lapel, and he recognizes it instantly as the Wind symbol from Tales Online.
She's a gamer. They have common ground. It becomes easier to answer honestly.
"Amazing. The screenshots don't do it justice. Even the immersive stills in the NerveGear don't do it justice."
There's a familiar flutter of excitement in his chest as he speaks. It shouldn't be there. He shouldn't be nostalgic for a world that might rob him of family. But he can't stop dreaming about it. Whenever he wakes up, he's disappointed to find himself still in the real world, with all of its limitations.
"You still feel that way?"
There's no anger in her tone. It's not an accusation, just curiosity. He shouldn't feel this way, but there's no point in denying the truth.
"I'd go back if I could."
And for a split second, he thinks he sees her smile.
The elevator doors slide open to reveal a whirlwind of activity. He ignores the cacophony of conversations and the dual monitors at almost every desk. His attention is instead immediately drawn to a wall lined with NerveGears and a variety of other interface devices. There's even a bed with a boxy structure near the head, not unlike an MRI station. Maybe the full dive medical device he heard rumors about a few months ago? But Nozomi ushers him forward before he can find any answers.
They reach a door at the end of the hallway and she knocks on it. A placard identifies its occupant as Director of the Second Office - Advanced Network Division, Seijirou Kikuoka. Someone tells them to come in, and Ms. Kitamura opens the door.
The man behind the desk is younger than he expected. Less stuffy, too. He's quick to smile and speaks with a warm, friendly tone.
"I appreciate you taking this meeting as such short notice," he says.
Strange. He can't shake the feeling there's something familiar about him. It's his voice, the boy decides. He's heard it somewhere before. Maybe in television coverage of the incident?
"I wasn't aware I had much of a choice in the matter."
The smile didn't waver. "I have no intention of forcing you into anything. But I hope you'll at least hear out our proposal."
"Proposal?"
"Yes. To begin, I believe you have a vested interest in the Sword Art Online incident. Is that correct?"
You mean my cousin's one of the players trapped in the game."
His cousin, who'd never so much as played a mobile game. The one who scoffed at him and said he wasted too much time in virtual worlds. Now she was trapped in a game of death, and he doubted her real world skills would translate.
"And we're doing everything in our power to make sure she and the rest of Kayaba's victims are returned safely. And that's where you come in, actually." He paused. That flicker of recognition grew stronger. "I'll admit, I was surprised when Miss Kitamura told me you weren't logged in. You're the last person I would have expected to give up his place on launch day. As I recall, you never gave up anything without a fight."
Kikuoka rests his hands atop the desk and grins. Then it clicks into place. He does know both the voice and that grin would translate in any language. He heard that same voice boasting before every boss raid. He enjoyed watching that arrogant smirk fade as he snatched the last attack bonus away from him on the fourth floor. He'd last seen it when the scimitar wielding player PKed him on the fifth floor in revenge.
"Chrysheight."
"Ah, you do remember me!" He's too cheery and upbeat for the boy's taste. "In the case, I should ask. Do I call you Mr. Kirigaya, or would you prefer Kirito?"
"Kirito is fine." His eyes narrow. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Because you're one of the few players with Sword Art Online experience who isn't currently trapped in the game. In fact, as much as I hate to admit it, you're the best player I've seen."
"So?"
Kikuoka leans forward and says the last words Kazuto Kirigaya expects to hear.
"You're our last hope. We need you to go back into the game."
A/N -
My apologies! That chapter sadly features no Asuna or Yuuki... but I've finally let one of the bigger cats out of the bag, and there are hints to a few other dominos that might fall as a result. I also had to retcon an earlier chapter to make this work, since I namedropped Thinker earlier on but really liked the idea of he and Yulier meeting outside of the game. And once I knew that Chrysheight had been in the beta, I knew I wanted to use that as the launching point for the relationship he and Kirito have in this version of the story.
I also decided to experiment with the narrative style of this chapter... going forward, I think I'll be putting the real world chapters in present tense. It was in part to practice working with it, and in part because this chapter was harder than I expected it to be. Probably because of the aforementioned lack of Asuna and Yuuki. Fingers crossed I can get the beginning of Part Two out a little faster, though work has been particularly difficult lately so please bear with me.
A little teaser for Part Two, though... expect a brief time skip, a chance to see Brave Phantasia in action and an appearance by someone (or someones) I've name dropped a few times already. I hope you'll enjoy it!