The streets of Tokyo buzzed with life. It was just another evening—except for one thing.
5:35 PM.
Across Japan, living rooms, and online forums exploded with excitement.
At a bustling news station, a young anchor adjusted her earpiece as she read the latest updates.
"The world's first FullDive MMORPG had finally gone live. Sword Art Online has officially launched with a record-breaking one million players worldwide. Gaming analysts call this the biggest event in MMO history—"
A small cluttered room with dirty, stained walls. The light in the room is dim, with the primary source of illumination likely being the computer screen LED with different colors. With various objects scattered on and around it, including a white paper, tissue, or a sticker.
Nearby, a black wired earphone dangle. The desk has a single drawer and a cabinet beneath it, with visible wear, scratches, and a missing handle on one drawer revealing a cluttered interior with clothes or fabric hanging out.
The floor is covered with plastic bags, bottles, and scattered cables across the floor.
An unkempt, overweight man with a disheveled appearance. He has short, messy black hair with strands sticking out unevenly, giving him a somewhat neglected look. And his expression appears dull or fatigued.
His navy-blue tracksuit is loose-fitting and slightly wrinkled, his matching sweatpants are baggy, extending down to his bare feet, which further emphasize his unkempt state. His posture is slightly slouched, contributing to an overall sluggish appearance.
"Tch!"
I, Daisuke Ueno—better known online as SupremeOverlord, the legendary speedrunner of 8-Kun—was supposed to post my latest theorycraft build last month. Supposed to.
If that old hag hadn't dragged me to the countryside to visit some "distant relatives" I didn't even know existed, I'd still be on top.
A whole month.
A whole damn month of no internet, no gaming, no updates—just the sound of cicadas and my sanity slowly decaying.
And while I was gone? That damn Vtuber bastard stole my spotlight! My forum went silent, my followers jumped ship, and now that loudmouth's the talk of the net!
I slammed my desk in irritation, glaring at the NerveGear sitting beside my monitor.
"And now I'm finally home," I muttered, scowling. "But of course, I've gotta help my old hag unpack before I can even play SAO."
I groaned, ruffling my hair.
"I can't even play SAO properly with someone distracting me."
My eyes drifted to the half-unpacked boxes in my room—they sat there like mocking reminders of my misery.
The NerveGear gleamed under the light, almost smug.
"Tch… forget it." I slumped into my chair. "If I can't play right now, I'll at least watch someone else suffer."
A few clicks later, I opened a streaming site. "Let's see which of these so-called 'pros' is live right now… maybe that Vtuber bastard."
I scrolled lazily—until one stream title caught my eye. "Wait…" I muttered, leaning closer.
"That's strange. He's supposed to be playing right now." I squinted at the title and chat. "Don't tell me… he bailed for a collab?"
A slow, wicked grin spread across my face.
"Hehehe… so the great Hamikaze Ouri ditched his promise, huh?" I leaned back, laughing under my breath.
"He's probably losing his mind reading the comments right now."
"Serves you right, asshole!!!"
"Well… if he's not playing SAO, I'll find someone who is."
I started scrolling through social media. The trending topics were exactly what I expected: #SwordArtOnline, #FullDive, #NerveGear.
Everyone had been talking about this game for months.
My eyes stayed glued to the screen as I pulled up a random stream. "They're already grinding levels like crazy,"
I muttered, taking a sip of soda. "Should've played on release day…"
The stream had been running for about half an hour now. He was testing out mob mechanics in Sword Art Online. And like everyone else, he was desperate to push its limits.
---
I gritted my teeth as a horde of boars and goblins swarmed around me. I barely dodged an incoming club swing,
Tch! My HP bar dipping dangerously low.
"Damn, I might actually die here," I muttered, and blocking the swings of the goblins.
I glance on my chats and it's in chaos, as usual.
A goblin shaman in the back raised its staff, sending a fireball directly on my face. My HP dropped instantly.
---
This small streamer is quite funny. "Wrong move,"
I chuckled and shake my head. "He shouldn't have blocked, use dash skill for an i-frame, then combo it, before going to another pack."
I paused momentarily while watching the player scramble.
"Well, too late you're dead. you panicked, and look at that, pulled the mobs from the other side. Classic beginners mistake."
---
My screen flashed red as my HP dropping to 0.
"God, it's a pain in the ass to respawn at the starting city again... and I don't wanna lose XP either," he sighed, shaking his head. "Well, I just need to be more careful next time—"
---
I almost spat out my soda, I barely manage to swallow it before bursting into laughter.
"Pff—hahaha! My stomach hurts!"
The usual banter filled the chat—people mocking his death, spamming emotes.
I waited for him to respawn, grinning. I was expecting a good rant about how "unfair" the goblin AI was.
But seconds turned into minutes.
"Pffft—HAHAHA! No way! He's actually raging right now!" I clutched my stomach, wheezing between laughs. "Come on, dude! Respawn and face your chat! You can't just go silent after dying!"
I wiped my tears from laughing. "Man, I love small streamers. Peak entertainment."
three minutes.
five minutes.
Silence.
The screen remained black. No movement, no audio. Nothing.
This is so eerie… "if he doesn't respond soon, he'll lose viewers."
His loyal viewers began to worry.
the moderators scrambled in the background, messaging him on Discord, spamming his phone.
Nothing.
Then, after ten more minutes, a new sound broke the silence.
A loud BANG echoed from somewhere inside the stream—like a chair being knocked over, or something heavy hitting the floor.
Chat exploded, on what they heard.
A few moments later, a voice came through—not the streamer, but someone else's. "Hello? What the hell is going on? Why is he having no pulse—"
Then, the stream abruptly cut off.
The VOD was never recovered.
I stared blankly at my screen, the faint reflection of the black monitor staring back at me. My brain couldn't process what I'd just heard.
"What the hell, did just happened to him?" I whispered.
One by one, SAO streamers started going silent. Some screamed before their cameras cut out. Others just stopped moving.
Viewers and fans spammed their chats with messages, but there were no replies.
---
The Argus Corporation's main development office was alive with energy. A dozen programmers and engineers sat at their desks, with real-time data from Sword Art Online's servers. Some leaned back in their chairs, filled with the smell of fresh coffee and takeout food and sipping energy drinks, others excitedly watching the numbers rise.
Laughter echoed through the room as developers leaned back in their chairs, their screens filled with SAO's real-time player data.
Akiko Yuri the lead analyst, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes, leaned forward. "Keep an eye on server loads. We don't want the launch crashes right now"
"Over one million players connected worldwide! This is insane!"
One of the developers cheered, Yamada raising his can of energy drink like a toast.
"I think we just made gaming history! No major crashes. No overloaded servers. No performance issues."
The room erupted into cheers. The SAO launch had gone beyond expectations.
A lead network engineer, Satoshi Iwata, smirked as he scrolled through the server logs.
"Of course it's insane. This is Kayaba's masterpiece. Have you ever seen a launch this smooth? Not a single critical crash."
"Perfect synchronization, no lag, seamless environment rendering, Kayaba really did it. This is decades ahead of any VR system out there!" one developer muttered, shaking his head in awe.
"Of course, it is." said Yamada, a senior network engineer, spinning in his chair. "Kayaba's a genius. Everyone thought FullDive was science fiction. But he just made the real world obsolete."
Another developer laughed.
"Man, Kayaba's a goddamn genius. Now we have a world this real, he was a visionary. SAO was the future. Nothing could ruin this moment."
A systems analyst spun in his chair.
"Honestly? I bet in five years, no one will even play regular games anymore. It's all gonna be FullDive."
The team chuckled, some high-fiving. This was the future. And they had built it.
A soft BEEP interrupted the conversation. A single red notification popped up on the main monitoring screen.
[User Complaint: Cannot Log Out]
One of the younger developers, Tanaka, raised an eyebrow.
"Huh. That's weird. Some guy says he can't log out."
Yamada snorted, taking another sip of coffee.
"Tell him to press the damn menu button."
"Yeah, yeah," Tanaka muttered, cracking his fingers as he typed a response.
[Reply: Please navigate to the main menu and select 'Logout.']
He hit send, chuckling. "Bet you five bucks it's just some kid who doesn't know how UI works."
"Idiots," Tanaka muttered, shaking his head.
Another BEEP.
Then another.
And another.
Three more notifications appeared. Then five. Then ten.
Within seconds, the screen flooded with red warnings.
[User Complaint: Logout button missing]
[User Complaint: Cannot exit FullDive]
[Urgent: Game bug? Can't disconnect from SAO]
A nervous silence filled the room. Tanaka clicked on multiple reports, his fingers shaking slightly.
"Okay, wait." Tanaka's fingers hesitated over the keyboard. "This is happening to multiple people now."
"Could be a UI glitch," Yamada muttered. But now even he was frowning.
"Guys… We're getting hundreds of reports per second." A senior engineer frowned, checking the admin console.
"That's impossible. Even if there's a UI error, the players should be able to force-disconnect—"
Satoshi Iwata paused. His cursor hovered over the Emergency Logout Function. The button was not there anymore.
A nervous chuckle broke the tension. "Kayaba messing with us? Maybe this is some hidden event?"
"Yeah, right," Tanaka scoffed. "Like he'd keep something that big a secret from us."
Something was wrong.
Tanaka typed furiously, trying to force a system command.
ACCESS DENIED.
He swallowed hard. "Uh… guys? We can't access the admin panel."
"What?" Satoshi Iwata shoved his chair forward, taking over. He tried running an emergency reset command. His pulse quickened. He ran a diagnostic, checking the system settings.
It was true. The logout button was missing. Not bugged. Not hidden. Just… gone.
This wasn't a launch-day glitch.
Then, the admin panel locked him out.
ACCESS DENIED.
"That's impossible." His voice was shaking. "Only Kayaba has that level of control." Satoshi Iwata blood ran cold. He had seen Kayaba's work before. He had studied his code. He had even worked under him at Argus. But this… this was beyond anything he had imagined.
"Where the hell is he, anyway?"
Yamada replied unconsciously. "Last time I saw him… he was monitoring the servers."
A cold silence filled the room.
Then—
"No way…"
Satoshi Iwata shouted out from his chair, eyes wide. "Can someone call Akihiko Kayaba—now! Get him on the main server room line, immediately! Please!!!"
Several developers bolted out of the office without a second thought. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall.
Then one of the security engineers stood up so fast his chair fell over.
"We've been locked out of the master system!"
Satoshi Iwata's hands trembled as he furiously typed commands into the admin console.
ACCESS DENIED.
He tried to shut down SAO's main server.
ACCESS DENIED.
He turned to his boss, his face pale.
Before anyone could process what was happening, the screens in the room flickered to static. The lights dimmed. The computers shut down.
"What the hell—"
Since SAO's launch, the gaming world went completely in chaos.
In news stations across the world, anchors struggled to keep up with breaking reports.
"In breaking news, reports are coming in that Sword Art Online players are unable to log out."
At Argus Corporation headquarters, executives stared at the emergency reports flashing on their monitors. The CEO wiped sweat from his brow.
"What the hell is happening?"
Then, all at once, every screen in the world turned black.
Phones buzzed, tablets flickered, computer monitors crashed. The digital billboards in Times Square, the neon screens in Shibuya, and even classified government servers—all were overridden.
Every device, not only in Japan but across the world.
And an image appeared.
A lone shadowy figure stood in the vast, empty void, draped in a flowing crimson robe.
Yet beneath the hood, there was nothing—no face. The deep shadows within the hood seemed to swallow the light, giving an eerie, otherworldly presence.
And then, a voice.
"Families. Governments of the world."
His voice, calm and methodical, carried an eerie weight as he spoke.
"This is Akihiko Kayaba; I had taken control of the broadcast. By now, you have undoubtedly realized the gravity of the situation. Over more than millions of individuals—your sons, daughters, siblings, and loved ones—are now within my creation."
He paused, allowing the reality of his words to sink in.
"From this moment forward, every player within Sword Art Online is bound to my rules. No one may log out. No one may remove their NerveGear. Any attempt to do so will result in instant death, this is their reality now "
Yamada stumbled backward. "No… Kayaba, what the hell are you doing?"
Across the world, in every country, on every screen—TVs, phones, livestreams, digital billboards, and government terminals—the same figure appeared.
Kayaba raised a hand, and behind him, a holographic diagram of the NerveGear appeared—lines of data scrolling beside it.
The schematic expanded, highlighting a complex set of the micro-chips embedded within the device.
"Any attempt to tamper with or forcibly remove the NerveGear will result in immediate death. The helmet is designed to scan for any forced interference—unauthorized disconnection, external signals, or power cuts will trigger a lethal charge, eliminating the player instantly. The signal sensors in the NerveGear will emit a strong electromagnetic pulse, enough to destroying the brains, thus ending their life. Any user that turned the Nerve Gear off or unlocked the clasp and took it off would be killed. "
The Argus employees stood frozen, still struggling to understand what was happening.
Even now, most of them thought it was some kind of twisted prank—something Kayaba had staged for dramatic effect.
But then they heard his voice echo through the system broadcast:
"And one hundred one thousand seventy players all over the world... have already died inside this game."
And his words hit them hard
The office went dead silent.
No one dare to moved nor breathed.
Monitors flickered with data streams, red alerts flashing across every screen—but none of them could tear their eyes away from that single line.
The number Kayaba spoke shattered every doubt they had left.
The Argus Corporation's headquarters, the CEO was in shock. "We're doomed," he muttered, collapsing into his chair, sweat beading on his forehead. His hands shook as he reached for a phone that no longer worked.
his breath caught in his throat. "This is a joke, right?" Tanaka whispered.
"This… this is impossible," a dev whispered. "if there's a sudden power outage and something"
Kayaba continues explaining, as if he had heard the people's thoughts.
"I'll be providing only two hours; it should be enough to transport them to hospitals and similar institutes and give them the best treatment."
The developers of Argus Corporation—who had spent years building SAO—watched in horror.
His tone remained clinical, devoid of emotion.
Kayaba's voice echoed.
Inside the Japanese Prime Minister's emergency war room, silence hung thick in the air. Ministers, military officials, and tech advisors—all frozen, staring at the hijacked screen.
A trembling advisor finally spoke.
"T-this has to be a bluff, right? We can just shut down the servers—"
A general slammed his fists, his jaw tight.
"Didn't you hear him? Kayaba just stated it; he's in complete control. If we interfere, we risk the lives of the people and more will die."
Kayaba leaned slightly forward.
"If you wish for your loved ones to return, then heed my warning: The stability of their physical bodies is your responsibility. They require medical care, proper nutrition, and uninterrupted power. Should a hospital experience a power outage, should a single machine fail… they will die. To the families watching this broadcast, I offer a choice. If you want them to survive, you must ensure that every life-support system remains operational. You must entrust their safety to the most capable hands."
The screen behind him now displayed a world map, highlighting government buildings, power stations, and hospitals.
Kayaba's voice rang out once more, echoing through every device in existence.
In living rooms, crisis rooms, and corporate offices, the world sat in stunned silence.
"To the government and private sectors: I advise you to act swiftly. Mobilize medical teams. Secure backup generators. Coordinate with experts. If you fail them… then their blood is on your hands."
Satoshi Iwata clenched his fists, staring at the screen. Kayaba had planned this from the beginning. This was why SAO's security was untouchable. This was why no one could hack the servers.
"You crazy bastard," he muttered.
And then, the screens went dark.
For the first time since SAO's launch, the world was silent.
Then a phone in the office rang—the emergency line from the Japanese government. The CEO, pale-faced and trembling, picked it up.
"You have five minutes to explain what the hell just happened."
No one had an answer.
The weight of kayaba's words settling in.
Families Rush to major hospitals, ambulances were lined up. Hundreds—no, thousands—of players had collapsed.
Doctors and nurses frantically checked vitals.
Parents clutched their children's hands, crying as monitors beeped steadily.
Some families still didn't understand what was happening.
A father grabbed a nurse. "Why won't my son wake up?!" he screamed.
The nurse swallowed hard.
At a crowded hospital in Tokyo, a woman collapsed to her knees, clutching her son's motionless hand. The NerveGear lights were still on. Still active.
"Please answer me!" she sobbed.
A few minutes after kayaba announcement, argus corporation got raided by the government.
"Get down! Hands where we can see them!"
In the heart of Tokyo, the Argus Corporation headquarters was in chaos. Special forces in riot gear stormed the building, restraining executives, engineers, and employees.
The CEO, pale and trembling, was handcuffed on live television.
Hundreds of Japanese police officers and special forces stormed the building. Helicopters hovered above, casting searchlights as armed units rushed inside.
"ON THE GROUND! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!"
"ANYONE ATTEMPTING TO DESTROY DATA WILL BE PROSECUTED!"
The CEO of Argus, drenched in sweat. "I-I didn't know! Kayaba acted alone!"
The officer grabbed his collar.
"You're going to help us shut it down!"
Engineers, developers, and high-ranking executives were restrained and escorted out in cuffs, their faces pale with fear.
A special cyber task force stormed the Argus server rooms, hacking into their systems, desperately searching for a way to free the players.
Terrified employees were questioned on-site, some shouting that they had no idea what was happening.
Computers were seized. Hard drives ripped out. Files copied.
A lead investigator growled. "How the hell do we turn this thing off?"
The special forces unit stood before a massive, reinforced steel door deep within the Argus Corporation headquarters. The air was thick with tension as cyber-security specialists worked to override the locking mechanism.
"Damn it, this encryption is unlike anything we've seen before! It's like Kayaba knew."
A team member placed a breach charge on the door.
"Get back! Breaching in 3… 2… 1!"
BOOM. The heavy doors slammed open, revealing a dimly lit chamber filled with cables, flickering monitors, and an eerie, mechanical hum.
But what stopped the team dead in their tracks was the figure seated in the center of the room.
The main server chamber was dimly lit, illuminated only by the glow of countless monitors and the rhythmic blinking of status lights. Rows of high-end computers hummed softly, their fans whirring in a hollow, mechanical harmony.
And there—among the tangled forest of cables and steel—sat a man.
Akihiko Kayaba.
He was motionless, slumped slightly forward in a reclining chair. Thick bundles of wires coiled around his arms, chest, and neck, feeding into a heavily modified NerveGear fused to his head. The headset wasn't like the consumer models—it was larger, reinforced, with metal plates welded into its frame and extra conduits branching into the main servers like veins of living machinery.
The monitors surrounding him continued to flicker, lines of code still cascading down in endless streams—alive, active, and pulsing as though the system itself refused to stop.
The air was cold.
The only sound was the low hum of servers, echoing like a heartbeat in a tomb.
One of the officers cautiously approached.
"Kayaba…?"
He reaches out and press two fingers to the man's neck.
Cold. No pulse.
Another officer checked his wristwatch and did a quick calculation.
"Estimated time of death… roughly twelve hours ago."
A deep silence fell over the room.
One of the engineers stared at the scene,
Everyone in the room realized the same horrifying truth:
Akihiko Kayaba had been dead since before his announcement even began.
And now, all that remained was a dead body in the machine.