“Wha…?” I was so shocked that not only did my avatar’s breath catch in its throat, the same likely happened to my real body.
Akihiko Kayaba!!
I knew that name. I couldn’t not know it.
He was the brilliant young game designer and quantum physicist who transformed niche game studio Argus into one of the foremost developers in the business. Not only was he the executive director of SAO, he also designed the basic foundation of the NerveGear unit itself.
Like most other hardcore gamers, I held a deep reverence for Kayaba. I bought every magazine profile and reread his precious few interviews until I could practically quote them from memory. Just the brief sound of that voice conjured my mental image of Kayaba, looking smart in his ever-present white lab coat.
But he’d always preferred to stay out of the spotlight, avoiding media attention wherever possible, and he’d certainly never stepped into an active GM role within a game like this—so why now?
I stood stock-still, urging my mind back into motion, trying to grasp the situation. But try as I might, the words that followed from the empty hood mocked my feeble attempts at comprehension.
“You have likely noticed by now that the log-out button has disappeared from the main menu. This is not a bug. I repeat, this is not a bug—it is a feature of Sword Art Online.”
“F-feature…?” Klein muttered, his voice cracking.
The smooth baritone continued, overlapping the end of his question.
“From this point onward, you will be unable to freely log out of the game until the summit of this castle is conquered.”
The word castle snagged on the inside of my brain. Where was there a castle in the Town of Beginnings? But my momentary confusion was instantly wiped away by his next statement.
“Furthermore, the NerveGear cannot be removed or shut down via external means. If forceful means of exit are attempted…”
A pause.
A palpably heavy silence filled the air, ten thousand breaths held in apprehension. The next words came with a slow, awful finality.
“…the high-powered microwaves emitted by the NerveGear will scramble your brain and shut down your vital processes.”
Klein and I stared at each other for several seconds, our faces blank masks. It was as though our brains themselves refused to process the words. But Kayaba’s simple ultimatum shot through my body from head to toe with a palpable impact.
Scramble our brains.
In other words, it would kill us. Turning off the NerveGear’s power or attempting to remove it from the user’s head would prove fatal, according to Kayaba.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but no one screamed or raged. Everyone present, including me, either couldn’t or wouldn’t process the implications of his declaration.
Klein’s hand slowly rose to his head, attempting to grasp the NerveGear that existed only in the outside world. He let out a dry, quick laugh.
“Ha-ha…what’s he talking about? Is he crazy? That’s not possible. The NerveGear’s just a game system. It can’t possibly, like…destroy our brains or whatever. Right, Kirito?” he finished in a rasping shout. Despite his pleading glare, I couldn’t bring myself to nod in agreement.
The underside of the NerveGear helmet is embedded with countless transmitters that emit faint electromagnetic waves, sending false sensations directly to the brain cells. It’s a piece of ultra-sophisticated, cutting-edge tech, but it also works on the same fundamental principles as a home appliance that has been around for decades: the kitchen microwave.
With enough power, the NerveGear could potentially vibrate the moisture in the brain cells, causing frictional heat strong enough to steam the brain from the inside out. But…
“…In principle, it’s not impossible…but he has to be bluffing. I mean, if you just pull the plug on the NerveGear, how can it produce enough juice to do that? Unless it’s packing some massive…batteries…”
Klein understood exactly why I trailed off. He moaned, a desperate expression plastered across his face. “But…it is. I heard that a third of the unit’s weight is battery cells. But still, this is ridiculous! What if there’s a blackout?”
As though he heard Klein’s roar, Kayaba continued his proclamation.
“To be more specific, the brain-frying sequence will commence upon any of the following circumstances: ten minutes of no external power; two hours of network disconnection; removal, dismantling, or destruction of the NerveGear. The authorities and media in the outside world have already announced the details of these conditions to the general public. At present, the friends and family of several players have already ignored these warnings and attempted to forcefully remove their NerveGears, the result being…”
The echoing, metallic voice paused for a breath.
“…that sadly, two hundred and thirteen players have already been permanently retired from both Aincrad and the real world.”
A single shrill scream rang out from somewhere in the crowd. But the majority of players were stock-still, either unable or refusing to believe, their faces displaying absentminded smiles. Like them, my mind resisted Kayaba’s words, but my body was more honest, my legs beginning to quaver. I hobbled backward several steps on buckling knees, trying not to fall. Klein simply fell straight onto his rear, his face still empty.
Two hundred and thirteen players.
The words reverberated over and over in my ears.
Was Kayaba telling the truth? Were more than two hundred people who had been playing this game just minutes ago already dead?
Some of them must have been beta testers like me. Possibly even people whose faces or names I recognized from my time playing. And now Kayaba said their NerveGears had fried their brains and killed them?
“I won’t believe it…I refuse to believe it,” Klein muttered from the paving stones, his voice hoarse. “It’s just a threat. He can’t do this. Quit dicking us around and let us out already. I’ve got better things to do than sit around while your little stunt plays out. That’s all this is, right? A stunt. A bit of excitement to juice up the game’s grand opening, yeah?”
The same thoughts had been racing through my mind at the exact same time. But Kayaba’s dry, practical announcement continued, disregarding the wishes of his captive audience.
“There is no need to worry about your physical bodies back in the real world. The current state of the game and today’s fatalities have been covered far and wide on television, radio, and the Internet. The danger that someone will forcefully remove your NerveGear is already much diminished. The two-hour offline leeway period should provide enough time for your physical bodies to be transported to hospitals and other long-term care facilities with proper security, eliminating concerns over your physical well-being. You may rest assured…and focus on conquering the game.”
“Wha—?” A scream finally ripped out from my throat. “What do you mean? Conquer the game? You expect us to just sit back and enjoy the game when we can’t even log out?”
I glared at the headless crimson robe stretching up to nearly the upper floor and continued bellowing.
“This isn’t even a game anymore!”
And again, as though he heard my voice, Akihiko Kayaba’s monotone continued.
“However, please proceed with caution. As of this moment, Sword Art Online is no longer a game to you. It is another reality. The standard means of player resurrection will no longer function as they did previously. When your hit points dwindle to zero, your avatar will be permanently deleted…”
I knew what he was about to say before the words even came.