The monster dissolved into particles of light, yet the lingering resonance of battle still hadn't fully faded from the air.
"Today's efficiency exceeded expectations." Lina sheathed the longsword, faintly wrapped in frost, her tone carrying a subtle satisfaction.
She tilted her head toward Kiriya, her eyes shining with crystalline clarity. "I'll go sort out the gear and replenish consumables. Tomorrow morning at ten, same place—the entrance to Misty Gorge?"
"Alright." Kiriya nodded. His gaze flicked across the system panel glowing faintly in the corner of his vision, where a teammate status prompt pulsed with a dim red light.
"Remember to repair your gear before logging out. Your chest plate and greaves—durability's nearly gone."
He reminded her. Lina's fighting style was bold and all-out, sometimes throwing her gear against lethal blows or chasing maximum damage output, leading to severe wear and tear.
"Got it," Lina replied curtly, as though long accustomed to such reminders. "See you tomorrow."
No further words were exchanged. Almost simultaneously, their avatars were engulfed by pale blue streams of logout data, dismantled into light, and finally vanished completely.
…
The real world.
Night gradually pressed down, gently swallowing the clamor of the day. Outside the window of Kiriya's high-rise apartment in City A, the city lights bloomed one after another, like an inverted river of stars.
The iridescent glow spilled soundlessly through the glass, scattering across the cold floor, casting a lonely splendor.
He removed the sleek Mind Gear helmet and placed it gently on the desk, massaging his brow with slightly sore fingers.
The fierce scene of battling the Venom Widow alongside Lina still replayed faintly in his mind.
His muscle memory retained the lingering sensation of sword swings, and even the subtle pulse of the system panel when experience points were gained still seemed to echo through his nerves.
But in reality, silence reigned.
On the desk sat only a plate of steaming curry rice, simple to the extreme, topped with a fried egg, edges browned crisp. Its small warmth felt insignificant, swallowed by the vast, empty apartment.
Just as he lifted the bowl, chopsticks poised to send this monotonous dinner into his mouth, the phone at the corner of the table lit up and buzzed.
The glow of the screen pierced the dimness of the room. A new message popped up, the avatar marked by long, familiar violet hair with softly curled tips cascading down. —Violet.
"Kiriya, I heard you've been playing EAO recently?"
The message paused for a few seconds, as though she was weighing her words. Another popped up.
"The company project just wrapped up, and I've got a long break. I'm bored to death. Your mom used to always ask me to look after you, remember? So I thought… maybe through this game, I can understand you a little more. You won't have to hole up by yourself all the time. Will you teach me to play?"
Kiriya froze, nearly dropping his chopsticks. Violet rarely contacted him so proactively, much less with this light, almost teasing tone. His memory was yanked violently back to years ago.
He thought of when he was thirteen. His mother remarried, and he moved into that overly spacious house that suffocated him with restraint.
Violet, three years older, was already a graceful young lady. She often wore finely tailored dresses, fingers flowing across the piano keys in a bright, chandelier-lit living room.
Meanwhile, he clutched his worn schoolbag at the entryway, awkward and out of place—like an intruder who had stumbled onto a dazzling stage.
Since moving out for college, he had grown used to living alone. His ties to that so-called "home" had faded like an old photograph drained of color. His parents, perpetually abroad, only remembered to call perfunctorily during holidays.
If not for that dust-covered family photo still sitting in the living room corner, he might have forgotten entirely that he had once lived under the same roof with someone—someone not quite close, but never wholly a stranger.
That someone was Violet, his legal but not blood-related sister.
The incoming video call tone shattered the silence. After a moment's hesitation, Kiriya accepted.
Violet's face appeared on the screen. She seemed just off work, still wearing a silky white blouse of fine fabric, its top two buttons casually undone, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone against luminous skin.
A pair of slim gold-rimmed glasses rested on her nose. Behind the lenses, her violet eyes gleamed with warmth and amusement.
Her pale-purple hair fell loosely over her shoulders, a few strands slipping down her cheek, softening her usual professional sharpness into something more natural, almost sisterly.
Behind her stretched her spacious office, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the brilliant city skyline. Neon light streamed in, gilding her profile with a dreamlike halo.
Kiriya even noticed the small picture frame on her desk—the one holding a photo from when they had just met.
In it, the violet-haired girl leaned playfully against the piano lid, laughing bright and bold.
Beside her stood a thirteen-year-old boy, clutching his old schoolbag tightly, his gaze drifting away from the camera, carrying that unique mix of stubbornness and unease only adolescence could bear.
"At last, you're willing to answer me." She propped her chin on her hand, violet eyes curving like crescent moons, teasing. "I thought you'd long since blocked me."
"I'm not that childish." Kiriya averted his gaze, spooning rice into his mouth and chewing the cooled egg, while neon lights outside cast shifting, lonely shadows across the floor.
"How do I download EAO?" Violet twirled a strand of hair absentmindedly, curious. "The official site says it uses that neural-link helmet. Same one you wear?"
"Yeah. Mind Gear." Kiriya named the model. Yet his mother's words from years ago echoed suddenly in his head—spoken before she left City A for the airport: "Kiriya, Violet is your sister. You must behave. Don't trouble her."
At the time, his mother had clutched Violet's hand tightly, her eyes filled with trust. Violet, half a head taller than him then, had only nodded calmly, her gaze brushing over the silent, tight-lipped boy.
"Already bought one. Delivery says it'll arrive tomorrow morning." Violet's voice was breezy, as though deciding on dessert for tea.
"I've even chosen my in-game ID: Violet. Simple and easy to remember. By the way, what class are you playing? I heard there are rare hidden classes?"
"There are," Kiriya answered vaguely, remembering his phantom swordsman and Lina's Frost Knight.
He had no plans to elaborate. After a pause, he suggested, "Start as a Priest. Healing's good for beginners—easy to survive, and you'll always find parties."
"Alright, I'll trust you." Violet's smile remained tender, tinged with a familiar closeness that resisted refusal. "It's settled then. Oh, and tomorrow at one, let's have lunch. That little Japanese place near the university—you used to love their tonkotsu ramen."
Kiriya's chopsticks froze mid-air. She meant the narrow shop by the campus gate, humble yet serving remarkably authentic broth.
Many late nights, he had sat there alone after part-time jobs, a steaming bowl warming his exhausted body.
Once, Violet happened to drive by, saw him inside, stopped to pay for his meal, and pretended it was just a coincidence.
"No need for that." He lowered his voice, gaze dropping to the curry rice. "I'll teach you in-game."
"That won't do." Violet's voice softened, carrying the same warmth as when, years ago, she had quietly pressed a glass of hot milk into his hands. "Think of it as… a thank-you gift from your sister. Don't refuse."
After the call ended, silence reclaimed the room. Kiriya stood before the window. Outside, the city still blazed endlessly with light and life.
But he knew well—Violet's so-called "long holiday" was little more than an excuse. Just last month, his mother had mentioned over a call from abroad: "Violet's buried in work. But she still worries about whether you've been eating properly."
Before putting the Mind Gear back on, he glanced at his phone. The screen still showed their chat log. The last message, half a year ago, on Christmas Eve:
"Kiriya, are you coming home this year? Dad said he wants to have dinner together."
His reply then had been one curt word: "Busy."
Now, beneath that cold response, her new messages glowed warmly.
"Kiriya, good night."
"See you tomorrow."
Perhaps… letting this sister, who had always cared for him in silence, step into EAO wasn't such a bad thing.
At the very least, in the virtual world, they wouldn't have to keep their distance the way they did in reality deliberately.
He took a deep breath and secured the Mind Gear onto his head.
His vision sank into darkness, then flared alive again, lit by the boundless galaxy of the login screen.