I turned to Klein, his eyes watering as he stared out at the rippling fields and distant city walls.
“So is SAO your first NerveGear game, period?”
“Yeah.” Klein nodded, turning his gallant face to me, like some proud samurai from the distant past.
When he maintained a serious expression, he could have been the lead actor in a period piece, but this did not reflect his real-life appearance. It was nothing more than a virtual avatar created from scratch out of a robust list of finely tuned parameters.
Naturally, I had also chosen a look befitting the hero of a fantasy anime, almost embarrassing in its shameless elegance.
Klein continued in a strong and clear voice, also likely to be falsified.
“Actually, I got SAO first, so I needed to buy the hardware just to play it. I mean, the first shipment was only ten thousand copies, right? I’m one of the lucky ones. Although, since you’ve been playing SAO since the beta test, that makes you ten times as lucky. There were only around a thousand testers!”
“I guess you could say that.” I scratched my head as he stared holes into me.
I could remember as though it were yesterday the excitement and enthusiasm that swept through the media when Sword Art Online was announced.
The NerveGear and its revolutionary new full-dive format were so novel that the actual software to take advantage of it lagged in response. Initial offerings were simple puzzle and educational titles, a source of serious disappointment to full-blown game addicts like me.
The NerveGear creates a true virtual world. But the effect of such freedom is entirely lost when the world you inhabit is so small that an impassable wall can be found within a hundred yards in any direction. Hardcore gamers like me were initially entranced by the experience of truly being inside a game, but it was only a matter of time before we sought a killer title in one very specific genre.
We wanted an MMORPG—an online game that hosted thousands of players in the same vast world together, living, fighting, and adventuring.
Just when desire and expectations had reached their peak came the announcement of Sword Art Online, the first-ever entry in the VRMMO genre.
The game took place in a massive floating fortress made up of a hundred expansive levels. Armed with nothing but the weapons in their hands, players explored each floor, packed with fields, forests, and towns, looking for the staircase upward and defeating terrifying guardian monsters in their quest to reach the top.
Unlike typical fantasy-themed MMOs, the concept of magic spells had been largely excised from the setting, making way for a nearly limitless combination of special attacks called “sword skills.” This was an intentional move to maximize the full-dive experience, forcing players to use their own bodies and swords to fight.
Skills applied not just to combat but also to crafting disciplines like blacksmithing, leatherworking, and tailoring; productive endeavors such as fishing and cooking; and even creative pursuits such as playing musical instruments. Therefore, players weren’t limited to adventuring within the vast virtual world—they could literally choose their own lifestyle within the game. With enough hard work, a player could buy a home, till fields, and raise sheep if he chose.
As details of these features trickled out in stages, enthusiasm among the gaming public rose to a fever pitch. A beta test was announced, in which a thousand players would be granted access to the game before release to help stress test the system and isolate software bugs. The developer was quickly swamped with more than 100,000 applicants, which represented nearly half of all NerveGear units sold at that point. That I somehow managed to slip through the crowd into one of those valuable slots was nothing short of a miracle. Not only that, being a beta tester gave me priority access to the retail edition of the game when it hit the market.
The two months of the beta test were like a fever dream. Even at school, my head was swimming with thoughts of my skill loadout and equipment, and once I got home, I dove into the game until dawn. In no time at all, the beta test ended, and when my character data was erased, it felt like I had lost a part of myself.
The day was Sunday, November 6, 2022.
At 1:00 PM, Sword Art Online would finally go live to the public.
I was ready a full thirty minutes early, of course, logging in without a second’s hesitation and checking the server status to confirm that more than 9,500 lucky purchasers were brimming with anticipation just as I was. The major online retailers had sold out of their initial shipments in seconds, and brick-and-mortar shops had made the news with crowds lining up three days early to get copies of the game. In other words, everyone who managed to secure a copy of SAO was almost certainly a serious gaming addict.
My first interaction with Klein seemed to support that assumption.
As I logged in to SAO and marched down the familiar cobblestones of the Town of Beginnings, I ducked into a back alley heading for a particularly cheap weapons dealer. He must have noticed my lack of hesitation and pegged me for a beta tester. “Hey, spare some advice?” Klein hailed me.
Impressed by his utter lack of restraint, I tried to pass myself off as a helpful town guide NPC with a feeble, “H-hello…Are you looking for the weapon shop?” Soon we were grouped together into a party, followed by some hands-on combat lessons outside of town—and here we were.
Frankly speaking, I was at least as antisocial in the game as I was in real life, if not more so. I grew familiar with many other gamers during the beta test, but there wasn’t a single one of them I’d have called a friend.
But this Klein fellow had a mysterious ability to slip past one’s defenses and latch on, and to my surprise, I didn’t really mind. Thinking that I might actually be able to stick around with him, I opened my mouth again.
“So, what now? Want to keep hunting until you get the hang of it?”
“You bet your ass I do! Or…normally I would…”
Klein’s shapely eyes darted to the right—he was checking the time readout displayed in the corner of his vision.
“But I need to log out for a bit to eat dinner. I scheduled a pizza delivery for five thirty.”
“Now there’s a guy who comes prepared.” I sighed.
Klein straightened up and continued as though he’d just thought of something. “Um, so, I’m gonna go back to the Town of Beginnings after this and meet up with some friends I made in another game. If I introduce you, would you want to add them to your friends list? It makes it easy to send messages to each other.”
“Uh, hmm…” I stammered.
I found it easy to get along with Klein, but there was no guarantee I’d hit it off with his friends. In fact, it seemed all too easy to envision feeling uncomfortable around them, which might make things awkward with Klein himself.
“Yeah, well…”
As I failed to give a clear response, Klein quickly shook his head in understanding.
“I mean, I’m not saying you have to. There’ll be other chances to meet them.”
“…Sure. Thanks for asking, though,” I apologized, as Klein shook his head again.
“None of that! I’m the one who should be thanking you! You helped me out a ton; I’ll make it up to you sometime. Y’know, mentally.”
He grinned and checked the time again.
“All right, man, I’m gonna log out for now. Thanks again, Kirito. We gotta hang out sometime.”
As I reached out and grasped his extended hand, it occurred to me that this man was probably an excellent leader in that “other game” he’d played.
“Sure thing. If you ever have any questions, just ask.”
“Yeah. Will do.”
We released the handshake.