As usual, Shouichi Shinkawa had made his way to one of the facility's few smoking areas. He leaned against the railing, shook a cigarette from the pack, caught it between his teeth, and struck a match.
His first lungful drew a satisfied sigh from him. Smoke filled his chest, and something almost like energy spread into the rest of his body.
He was still pale from the latest experiment. Being thrown into a virtual world and forced to survive against impossible odds had done him no favors. He was no Bear Grylls. When disaster came, all he could do was struggle with a little dignity before death took him.
Wild stubble covered his jaw like grass hacked apart by a storm. His eyes were sunken yet unnaturally wide, the exhaustion in his mind at odds with the restless vitality of his body.
Cold water dripped from his long hair, plastering it against his sickly skin. No one would have mistaken him for a healthy man. Once, he had possessed a certain brooding charm. Now he looked like an addict hollowed out by years of dependency.
Hunched over his cigarette, he resembled a vulture tearing into a meal.
His thin body shuddered as he fought down the cold and the burning pain inside his skull. His Fluctlight had been awakened through artificial force, and the side effects were far worse in him than in the others. Sometimes he could almost hear his own lifespan crackling like wood in a fire.
The researchers were delighted to collect the data.
Dealing with the pain and fear was his problem.
Cigarettes and alcohol were a man's best friends. When the storm had to be faced alone, even a little comfort was precious.
The facility did not allow alcohol, but he had begged cigarettes from a few researchers he got along with. In only a few months, he had become a committed smoker. His need for nicotine had grown far beyond anything he had expected.
A ruined man walking toward his grave with a cigarette for company.
Shinkawa found a certain dark romance in the image.
After several long drags, he smoked the cigarette down to nothing. He reached for another, only to find the pack empty.
Disappointed, he crushed it in one hand and tossed it from five or six meters away. The crumpled pack dropped neatly into the center of the trash can like a half-court shot. The metal bin answered with a lonely clang of applause.
Still unsatisfied, Shinkawa raked a hand through his soaked hair. Cold water coated his fingers.
Just as the craving began to gnaw at him, a hand appeared in front of his face, offering a cigarette.
Shinkawa looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"Dr. Nagashima."
"Shinkawa-kun."
Nagashima nodded in greeting. Shinkawa snatched the cigarette, tore open the filter, pulled out the cotton, and threw it away.
Nagashima watched him.
"Is smoking it that way really a good idea?"
"Hits like a truck."
Shinkawa gave a pleased grunt.
"The first cigarettes didn't come with filters. This is how men are supposed to smoke. What's the point of some mint-flavored thing that feels like breathing oxygen?"
"I'm afraid mine only contain eight milligrams of tar. They may not qualify as real men's cigarettes by your standards."
"Who cares? A cigarette's a cigarette."
Shinkawa was already drawing smoke into his lungs. Nagashima watched him for a moment, then took out one of his own and removed the filter in imitation.
"Well, look at you, Doctor. Knowingly making the wrong choice."
Nagashima said nothing. He lit the cigarette and inhaled, only to cough at once. He was an experienced smoker, but without the cotton filter, the familiar smoke struck far more harshly.
Shinkawa smiled and took his time with the next drag.
"Still too mild. Buy something with at least twelve milligrams next time."
It was terrible advice, freely given.
Nagashima did not answer. He was usually quiet and composed, but today something heavier hung over him. Their conversation died, leaving a strained silence between them.
"Kikuoka has begun making his arrangements," Nagashima said at last.
The abrupt statement did not surprise Shinkawa.
"Of course he has. I suppose the girl has nothing left for them to squeeze out of her."
Nagashima's face tightened.
"I succeeded. I killed the disease hanging over her. With the resources here, I cured her."
"You cured AIDS? Impressive. Have you considered publishing a few papers? You could make quite a name for yourself internationally."
Shinkawa's tone remained flippant.
"I may not look it, but I come from a family of doctors. I know enough to understand what you've accomplished. You could reasonably call it the work of a genius."
"It doesn't matter."
Nagashima slowly shook his head.
"I can do nothing about the Fluctlight inside her. And I can do nothing about what they intend to do with her next."
"Tragic."
Shinkawa shrugged.
Nagashima looked at him.
"Shinkawa-kun, what do you believe a Fluctlight is?"
The old doctor's expression was difficult to read.
"To me, her Fluctlight and AIDS are both diseases. They live inside the body and consume the host's life. A pathogen uses that life to reproduce. A Fluctlight burns it as fuel. All living things are vehicles for genetic information, built to preserve and replicate it. Pathogens and Fluctlights do the same thing. They take and take until the host dies, then perish along with it."
Nagashima lowered his gaze to the cigarette between his fingers.
"They create nothing. They give nothing. They simply burn bright and disappear. Humanity has repeated that pattern for thousands of years, destroying everything around it to preserve itself. Like a virus, we ruin the very environment that keeps us alive, then march toward our own extinction."
He let out a deep sigh.
"That's quite the grand philosophy from one of society's elites."
Shinkawa exhaled and glanced sideways at him.
"Personally, I think there's one absolute difference between a disease and a Fluctlight: what you get in return."
He lifted the cigarette slightly.
"The life stolen by a pathogen is like money seized by a tyrant. You'd be an idiot to expect anything back. A Fluctlight is different. Whatever life you feed it comes back to you as power."
"You lose ten years, but in return, you get one chance to break out of a hopeless situation. Depending on the numbers, that might be a bargain."
Shinkawa took another drag.
"Danger is always beside us, Doctor. It's in the cigarettes we're holding, the traffic outside, or a flowerpot falling from the roof of a high-rise. Sooner or later, something finds you."
"You and I have lived different lives. When I was trapped in a death game, I never thought about how long I might survive. The more you think about dying, the more frightened you become. Fear makes you hesitate. Hesitation makes you weak. I thought only about how to kill the person in front of me. In the end, I outlived plenty of people who thought they were being careful."
His eyes narrowed.
"That's what a Fluctlight is to me. A sword for someone making his last stand. A bottle of liquor for someone with no road back. The sharpest fang of a beast trying to tear open its cage. Aside from the girl lying in that room, every bearer I've met has been exactly that kind of dangerous bastard."
"For her, the Fluctlight is poison. For people like us, it's a gift from heaven. You probably don't understand. Victory is simple to us. It means having one sliver of HP left after the other guy hits zero. Nothing more."
A dark glint entered Shinkawa's eyes.
"I must look half-dead to you. But I've never been more certain that I can turn things around. The girl and I may both be prisoners here, but we are not the same."
His voice dropped.
"She's a rabbit. I'm a snake."
"So a Fluctlight is a weapon for the selfish," Nagashima said.
"Selfish? Call it whatever you want. It works best in the hands of a fool. The kind of idiot who'll charge forward until his skull cracks open and still insist he was right."
"Blind faith in a childish obsession? That sounds like chuuni nonsense."
"I was hoping for a more objective, academic description."
Shinkawa spread his hands.
"Either way, the girl doesn't fit. She belongs in school, stealing glances at a handsome upperclassman from the sports club, laughing and fighting with her friends, getting excited over some ridiculous rumor. She should not be picking up a sword and joining our fight."
"What fight? It's only a game!" Nagashima snapped.
"Exactly. Only a game."
Shinkawa's voice rose to meet his.
"And you can't even stop them from deciding how that game will be played. All you can do is watch them stake her life on a virtual duel, then watch her die in a very real fight."
He laughed without humor.
"It's only a game, yet it keeps a death-row inmate like me locked in this facility and strips away every legal right I have. It forced you to sign a contract you couldn't refuse, one you'll regret for the rest of your life. It's only a game, yet people keep dying because of it."
Nagashima's hands curled into fists.
"Life is only a game too," Shinkawa said quietly. "If you hate it that much, stop playing. Delete your character and uninstall."
Nagashima had no answer.
After a long silence, his shoulders sagged as if the strength had drained from his body.
"You're right. What good does any of this hesitation do? I've already lost."
Shinkawa watched the defeated old man and clicked his tongue.
"I meant what I told you before. Get the girl out of here. Otherwise, she'll keep believing she's in some benevolent medical facility right up until they send her to her death."
Nagashima remained silent.
"After Makoto Kaizuka died, she was the only Fluctlight bearer they could observe freely. Then I arrived. She doesn't have much time left, and I'm a healthier replacement, so her value has dropped. They'll find one last use for her."
Shinkawa's voice went flat.
"Put two Fluctlight bearers in a fight to the death and collect the final data."
"She can't even control her Fluctlight. There are only two ways it ends. Either she burns herself out from the inside, or her opponent tears her mind apart one blow at a time."
"She might not lose."
Nagashima clung to the last of his hope.
"She's spent almost three years inside virtual worlds. That environment should favor her."
"They chose a genuine Sword Saint as her opponent."
Shinkawa's expression hardened.
"The number of deaths he indirectly caused in SAO is higher than mine, and some of those victims were Fluctlight bearers. Every known clash between bearers has ended with him standing. Calling him the Fluctlight Killer would hardly be an exaggeration."
"If Kikuoka is trying to breed the strongest fighter by pitting them against one another, Satoru is already his champion. That girl is simply the next opponent being fed to him."
"Fed to him...?"
"While you were still trying to understand what a Fluctlight was, while this miserable institute was busy experimenting on me, he kept moving forward. He tamed something your brilliant professors and researchers still can't explain. Made it as obedient as a house cat."
Gold flickered in Shinkawa's eyes.
"The girl's final value, and mine, is to serve as fodder for him. The stronger the champion becomes, the more valuable the result is to the people raising him. Satoru is the real target of this institute. We're bait, nothing more. Clues left behind to draw him here."
"Then she was abandoned from the beginning," Nagashima murmured.
"Not quite. If she somehow kills Satoru, she'll take his place. But I've already told you. She has no chance of winning."
Nagashima lowered his eyes.
Deep inside the facility, the girl who had barely returned to reality in three years was still soaring through a world where she felt free, unaware of the fate others had chosen for her.
Nagashima took out another cigarette.
"Shinkawa-kun, you once said I hadn't truly done everything I could. That I was nowhere near ready to stake my life on this."
"I did."
"You were right. I still have one final card to play."
Nagashima raised his head.
"My life."
For an instant, Shinkawa saw something familiar in the doctor's normally steady eyes.
Nagashima gave a quiet laugh.
"It's almost funny. The moment I stop trying to protect myself, a solution appears."
"I hope that solution isn't charging at Kikuoka and trying to kill him. You're competent behind a desk, Doctor, but in a fight, he'd put you on the floor without breaking a sweat. He's not some ordinary ministry bureaucrat."
"Then I'll use a researcher's methods."
Nagashima regarded him calmly.
"What do you say, Shinkawa-kun?"
"Strictly speaking, our interests do overlap. I don't particularly enjoy the idea of being processed as someone else's fodder. I still have to make it to Santorini."
Shinkawa folded his arms.
"There are plenty of reasons to form an alliance, but none are more reliable than shared interests. Congratulations, Doctor. You've recruited a key player."
"Then put that mind of yours to work. If we're saving a little princess, try to come up with something suitably romantic."
Shinkawa turned to leave.
Nagashima watched him go.
"An alliance..."
He gave a faint smile.
"I thought we'd already been allies ever since that message went out."
He turned toward the crooked tree beyond the glass.
Winter was over. Fresh green shoots had begun to spread across its branches, vivid and alive.