Chapter Text
Opening your eyes after two years...
Who would've thought it would be this hard?
Kirito, or rather, Kazuto Kirigaya, heir to the Yamato dynasty, once trapped in the deadly game known as Sword Art Online, or SAO, as the players called it.
"Dammit..."
Falling out of the bed wasn't exactly a pleasant wake-up call, especially when you haven't moved in years. His body felt like liquid, spilling across the floor with no strength to hold itself together.
Groaning, Kazuto gripped a nearby dresser, trying to steady himself as his legs trembled.
"Get up… You weakling..."
The cold floor under his feet reminded him that the nightmare was over, or so it seemed at least. He still hadn’t quite grasped what was going on. His legs were still shaky, but he forced himself to walk, step by step, toward the door of his hospital room. The room itself was spacious, filled with natural light, polished wood, and clean white sheets.
But he didn’t care.
He pressed his palm against the door. It opened with a soft hiss.
Two soldiers in black ceremonial armor, bearing the crest of the dynasty, stood guard outside. The moment they saw him, they straightened in shock, then quickly bowed, fists over their hearts.
"Your Highness...!" one of them breathed. "You— You're awake?!"
Another stumbled forward. “We were told it might take years or more—! Please, you should rest—!”
Kazuto ignored them and kept walking, barefoot, his hospital gown fluttering slightly with each step.
“Prince Kirigaya, wait—!”
Kazuto ignored the command, his footsteps steady despite the pain gnawing at his muscles. His legs wobbled, but he didn’t care. He kept walking, moving past the two soldiers without so much as a glance.
One of the guards hesitated, then, with wide eyes, turned to the other. “We can’t let him go! He’s—!”
The sound of a commanding voice cut through the tension.
“Stop standing around like statues!” The head guard’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent. “Alert the medical staff! Alert the Emperor and the Empress immediately!”
Kazuto’s ears caught the word “Emperor,” and he grimaced slightly, but kept moving. Knowing that his appearance had caused a stir amongst the guards, he had a few extra minutes, or even seconds, before his pursuers caught up to him.
His mind raced, but for now, he focused only on getting to someone...
Someone dear to his heart...
The hallway seemed endless, and as he passed the grand doors leading to other rooms, he noticed something odd, Or rather, he had simply grown unaccustomed to all this beauty, having been away from the real world for so long. The entire floor was lavishly decorated, with expensive materials and soft lighting.
Kazuto’s body ached with every step, but he pushed through it, his pace quickening despite the pain that shot through his legs. The sharp stab of discomfort told him just how long he’d been lying in that hospital bed, how disconnected from his own body he had become.
The elevator doors slid open, and Kazuto stepped inside, slamming the button for the first floor.
He took a steadying breath, trying to calm the torrent of thoughts rushing through his mind.
No one must know...
He knew better than to let that information slip out. If he was going to find Asuna and the others, he would have to play it smart. He could ask at the reception for directions, but he had to do it as Kazuto Kirigaya, not as the prince.
As the elevator descended, the soft hum of the machinery filled the silence. Kazuto stood upright, forcing his posture to be natural and not broken.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
As Kazuto stepped out, he was met with chaos. Nurses rushed past with clipboards and carts. Doctors spoke hurriedly into headsets. The calm and quiet of the upper floor was gone, replaced by urgency and motion.
He moved towards the reception desk, his bare feet almost silent on the polished floor. Behind the counter sat a young woman in a pale blue uniform, her voice low as she spoke into a phone.
“…yes, we’re checking the vitals now. Yes, I understand—of course, if he wakes up, you’ll be notified first—”
She paused when she heard somebody approach. With a quick motion, she slid the phone slightly to the side, lowering the volume.
Kazuto leaned on the desk, brushing his long black hair, because of two years of not being cut, back from his eyes.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice hoarse but steady, already knowing the answer, but he just wanted to make sure if he was right.
The receptionist didn’t look up at first, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
“All SAO players are… starting to wake up,” she said quickly, still focused on her screen. “Some of them came out of it this morning. We’re trying to keep it under control.”
Kazuto’s eyes widened. For a moment, the pain in his body was gone, replaced by a wave of relief.
His voice trembled slightly as he leaned in closer. “Do you… do you know where I can find a patient? Her name is Asuna. Asuna Yuuki. Is she here… in this hospital?”
He held his breath.
Hoping.
Praying.
Please let her be close.
Please let her be safe.
The receptionist’s voice was steady but cautious as she glanced at her tablet. “Asuna Yuuki is here. She is on the eighth floor, room-”
Her words were swallowed by a sudden, crippling pain that tore through Kazuto’s head, like a thousand needles piercing his skull. He gasped, clutching his temples, his vision swimming with black spots. The world seemed to tilt, and her voice faded into a muffled hum.
Eighth floor.
That was all he registered, just below his own floor where he had awakened some minutes ago.
His legs buckled, but he caught himself against the desk, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The pain was a cruel echo of the NerveGear’s hold on him, a reminder of the virtual prison he’d escaped. But Asuna was on the eighth floor. That thought alone kept him moving.
The receptionist frowned, her tone shifting to concern. “Sir, who are you to the patient? A family relative? A friend?”
Kazuto didn’t respond. His mind was a storm of pain and desperation, focused solely on one thing.
He pushed off the desk and staggered toward the elevator, his bare feet slapping against the polished floor. Each step sent fresh waves of agony through his body, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop now.
“Hey, wait!” the receptionist called, her voice rising with alarm. She stood, leaning over the counter as she realized he hadn’t answered. “Sir, you can’t just—!”
Kazuto reached the elevator and jabbed the button for the eighth floor, his trembling fingers barely able to press it. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and he stumbled inside, bracing himself against the wall. His head throbbed, each pulse threatening to drag him into unconsciousness, but he gritted his teeth and held on.
The receptionist’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. She’d just told a stranger, someone who looked like he could barely stand, where to find one of the SAO patient's. She hadn’t even gotten his name. Panic seized her, and she grabbed the phone, her voice sharp with urgency. “Security! We need security on the eighth floor, now! There’s an unauthorized person heading to the ICU!”
The elevator hummed as it climbed, its soft mechanical whir a stark contrast to the chaos erupting below.
Kazuto staggered out of the elevator as the doors slid open, his bare feet meeting the icy tiles of the eighth-floor hallway. The pain had drowned out the receptionist’s words, leaving him with only one fragment of information: Eighth floor. Asuna was here, on the floor just below his own, but the room number was lost in the haze of agony that clouded his thoughts. His vision flickered, black spots dancing at the edges, but he forced himself to move forward, one trembling step at a time.
The hallway stretched endlessly before him, a sterile corridor lined with identical doors, each marked with numbers etched in sleek, silver plaques: 8-01, 8-02, 8-03.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows that seemed to pulse in time with his headache. His hospital gown fluttered against his legs, the thin fabric doing little to shield him from the chill seeping into his bones. Every muscle screamed in protest, his body still frail from two years of disuse, but the fire in his chest burned brighter than the pain.
Asuna.
Her name was a lifeline, pulling him through the fog of exhaustion and despair. He didn’t know her room number, but he’d break down every door if he had to.
He pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself, his breath ragged. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and polished wood, a stark contrast to the virtual battlefields of Sword Art Online. The faces of his friends flashed through his mind, Klein’s cocky grin, Lisbeth’s fiery determination, Silica’s gentle smile, but above all, Asuna’s eyes, warm and fierce, urging him to keep going. He took another step, then another. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant hum of medical equipment and the faint murmur of voices behind closed doors.
He scanned each plaque, his heart pounding.
Where are you, Asuna?
Meanwhile, in the chaotic lobby below, another elevator dinged open with a sharp, metallic chime. A squad of imperial soldiers emerged, their black ceremonial armor glinting faintly beneath long, tailored coats designed to blend into the civilian bustle. Their movements were precise, almost mechanical, as they scanned the room with hawk-like intensity. At their head strode a man with a jagged scar slicing down his left cheek.
As he approached the reception desk, he slipped his imperial badge, bearing the crest of the Yamato dynasty, into his inner pocket with a deft, practiced motion, concealing it from the view.
The receptionist, still rattled from her encounter with Kazuto, looked up as the scarred man loomed over the counter. His presence was like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive, and the air seemed to thicken around him. Her fingers froze on the phone she’d been clutching, her eyes darting nervously to the soldiers fanning out behind him, their hands resting lightly on concealed weapons.
The scarred man leaned forward, his voice low and edged with urgency. “The young man who was just here, black hair, hospital gown, barely able to stand. Where did he go?” His tone was commanding, but he kept it measured, as if he were just another part of the hospital’s security.
“I’m Kageyama. A boy escaped from his ward on the 4th floor. He’s a dangerous individual; the head of the department told us to keep an eye on him. So, I would like you to show the way he went? Maybe the elevator? Stairs?"
The receptionist’s breath hitched, her hands trembling as she processed his words.
“He… he went to the eighth floor,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I told him about a patient, Asuna Yuuki, that is up there, room 8-12, but he didn’t say who he was to her. I have already called the security, so it should be fine by now."
Kageyama’s jaw tightened, his scarred cheek twitching faintly. He didn’t correct her assumption that he was from hospital security, nor did he mention the young boy’s true identity. His eyes flicked to the elevator Kazuto had taken, its indicator light glowing steadily as it climbed.
“Eighth floor,” he repeated, his voice a low growl. He straightened, turning to the soldiers behind him. “Hayato, Riku, take the stairs. The rest of you, with me.”
The soldiers nodded, their movements swift and silent as the two peeled off towards the stairwell, their coats billowing behind them. Kageyama strode towards the second elevator, his hand brushing the hidden badge in his pocket. The receptionist’s voice faltered as she called after him, “Wait—who did you say you were?”
Kageyama didn’t look back, his scarred face unreadable as the elevator doors slid shut.
Back on the eighth floor, Kazuto pushed forward, his hand trailing along the wall for support. The pain in his head was relentless, each throb like a knife twisting deeper, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. The hallway seemed to stretch forever, the door numbers blurring together, 8-04, 8-05, 8-06. He didn’t know Asuna’s room, but he could feel her presence, like a thread pulling him forward. What if she hasn’t woken up? What if she’s—
He shook the thought away, refusing to let it take root in his foggy mind.
A faint sound reached his ears, a distant ding from the far end of the hall.
Another elevator.
His pulse quickened, and he glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the imperial guards or someone from the hospital security closing in. The hallway was still empty, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He didn’t have much time left, he can feel that. He had to find her now.
Kazuto’s trembling hand reached for the next handle, to room 8-12. His heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. The silver plaque gleamed under the fluorescent lights, the numbers sharp and cold, but something about this door felt right, like someone was whispering to his soul telling him that Asuna was behind it.
His vision wavered, the edges darkening as the headache surged, a relentless storm tearing at his mind. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down his pale face, but he pushed forward, driven by a need stronger than pain. Asuna was so close. He could almost feel her presence, like a warmth cutting through the fog of his suffering.
He loved his family, his parents. But the weight of the Yamato dynasty, the pride of his lineage, in moments like this, felt like chains. He couldn’t just be Kazuto, or rather Kirito whom Asuna has always known, the boy who fought alongside her in the virtual world. He was His Highness, bound by the protocol, watched by guards, unable to slip into a hospital room without causing a scene. The thought sparked a flicker of anger in his chest, but he shoved it down. There was no time for resentment, not now.
His fingers brushed the door handle, the metal cool against his clammy skin. Just as he began to push, a strong hand clamped onto his shoulder, yanking him back with a surprising force.
Kazuto stumbled, his weakened legs nearly giving out, and he turned to face the scarred face of Kageyama, the man’s dark eyes glinting with a mix of duty and regret. Behind him stood a larger group of imperial soldiers, seven, maybe eight—their black armor hidden under long coats, their postures tense and ready. The hallway felt smaller now, the air thick with the weight of their presence.
“Your Highness,” Kageyama said, his voice firm, but somehow carrying a sincerity that caught Kazuto off guard. “Forgive me for what I must do.” His grip tightened briefly, not cruel but unyielding, as if to anchor Kazuto to the spot.
Kazuto’s breath hitched, his head spinning. “Let me go,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse, barely audible over the pounding in his skull. He tried to pull free, but his body betrayed him, the strength he’d clung to slipping away like sand through his fingers. The pain in his head flared, a white-hot spike that drove him to his knees. His vision blurred, the hallway tilting wildly, and he clutched at Kageyama’s arm for balance, his fingers digging into the man’s sleeve.
Kageyama knelt beside him, his scarred face softening for a moment.
“You’re not well, Prince Kirigaya. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.” His tone was almost gentle, but the soldiers behind him shifted.
Kazuto’s chest heaved, each breath a struggle. “Asuna…” he whispered, her name. He didn’t care about the title, the guards, or his parent's expectations, not in this moment. All he wanted was to see her, to know she was alive, to hold onto the one thing that had kept him fighting through the hell. But his body was failing him, the aftereffects of the NerveGear and his long coma dragging him down like an anchor.
The floor rushed up to meet him as his legs gave out completely. He collapsed, his cheek pressing against the cold tiles, the world fading into a haze of pain and darkness. Kageyama’s voice echoed faintly, calling for a medic, but it was distant.
The last thing Kazuto saw before the blackness claimed him was the door to room 8-12, so close yet impossibly far, and the faint hope that Asuna was waiting just beyond it.