Virtual Hell (Sword Art Online X Male Reader Remake)

Level 5 - Zekken

The room felt smaller tonight. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, curling and twisting as though they were alive. Every inch of my space seemed to close in on me, pressing in from all sides. The air was thick oppressive, and I couldn't shake the sensation that something was lurking, just beyond my reach.

I stared at the box on my bed, the object of my growing unease. It was nothing more than cardboard, but in my mind, it was a prison. A doorway back into something I wasn't sure I was ready to face again. Its presence weighed heavily on me, its edges darkening the closer I looked, the air in the room thickening as if it were absorbing my very thoughts.

I rubbed my palms against my jeans, my mind scrambling for a way to calm the panic that was rising inside me. The dull throb of my heartbeat reverberated in my ears, a constant reminder of how far I'd fallen from any semblance of normal. I had done this before, hadn't I? I had survived it before.

But this was different. This was now.

The shadows seemed to peel from the box, creeping across the bedspread like a living thing, snaking their way around the room. My breath caught in my throat, the air heavy and thick as though the walls themselves were watching me. My pulse quickened. I closed my eyes and squeezed my hands into fists as if I could hold the fear back with sheer force.

It's not real, I told myself. It's not real. I opened my eyes. The shadows still clung to the edges of the room, thickening as though to choke the light. My hands trembled as I forced myself to reach for the box. It's just a headset. It's just a game.

But the weight of it, the implications, the memories—everything that came with it—was too much. I pulled my hand back.

"I can't do this," I whispered aloud, though the words didn't even sound like they belonged to me. The heaviness in my chest only deepened, constricting my lungs as I tried to breathe. It was suffocating and overwhelming.

I sank back onto the bed, staring at the device as if it were a ticking bomb, waiting for it to explode. I couldn't escape the feeling that if I put it on, everything—every inch of progress I'd fought for—would unravel. 

****

"I have to say, Y/N," Mr. Kanoi's voice echoed in my mind, the calm tone still fresh, as if he were sitting right next to me. "I'm quite pleased with your progress. It's been remarkable to watch you open up little by little. I know it hasn't been easy."

The memory of our last therapy session lingered in the corners of my mind, like an unfinished conversation I wasn't sure I wanted to revisit. He'd looked at me with those clinical eyes, but there was something about the way he said it that had made me feel like I was almost making it that I was on the right path.

His voice was steady, but I knew it was never as simple as it sounded.

"Khloe has provided me with some fascinating data," he said, the tone almost giddy. "I think it's time we move to the next step in your recovery."

The words themselves seemed innocent, even optimistic, but they pulled me deeper into my memories. The moment he reached beneath his desk to retrieve the AmuSphere, it felt like it was happening in slow motion. My stomach had twisted painfully, my skin prickling.

"This," Mr. Kanoi had said, holding the device up like it was a relic of the past, "is the next step. A tool for recovery."

The sight of it had made my blood run cold. Even now, it sent a chill crawling up my spine. The pristine surface, gleaming as it caught the light—my reflection hazy in the visor—was enough to bring everything rushing back in an instant.