Virtual Hell (Sword Art Online X Male Reader Remake)

Level 4 - A Refused Dream

I could barely contain myself, the grin on my face practically aching from how long it had been there. My leg bounced impatiently under the small table between us as I launched into yet another recount of last night's Ordinal Scale battle.

"And then—then—he swung down with this massive overhead strike, but I was already moving, you know?" I gestured wildly, almost spilling the teacup beside me. "It's like my body remembered every single pattern from back then. I sidestepped, parried, and the way I switched the sword between my hands—it was perfect! Absolutely flawless."

Mr. Kanoi nodded along, his faint smile unwavering. He sat relaxed in his chair, his clipboard resting loosely in one hand, the pen held more like an accessory than a tool he intended to use. He hadn't written anything in the last twenty minutes, but his steady gaze was locked on me, absorbing every word.

"And the way that boss moved..." I leaned forward, lowering my voice for emphasis. "It wasn't just like the old SAO bosses—it was the exact same. Kagachi, the Samurai Lord. Floor 10's boss! I mean, how did they even program that into an AR game? The attacks, the stance, the pattern—it was all exactly like I remembered."

I leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh. "I swear, if the sword had been just a little heavier—like the ones back in SAO—I could've finished him myself. He wouldn't have stood a chance."

Mr. Kanoi chuckled softly, but he said nothing, his faintly amused smile never faltering. His silence only encouraged me to keep going.

"And then, when I saw Asuna again..." I trailed off for a moment, shaking my head in disbelief. "I mean, can you believe it? After all this time, after everything we went through, she's still out there. Still fighting. And Kirito, too. It was like seeing ghosts from another life, but they were so alive, so... them. Asuna's moves were the same, maybe even sharper. It was like no time had passed."

The words spilt out of me as if they'd been bottled up for years, and in a way, they had. Every detail of the fight, every emotion I'd felt, every moment of awe and disbelief—it all poured out in an unstoppable torrent. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't feel the weight of silence pressing down on me.

"And the crowd!" I added, laughing a little. "They were going wild! Most of them didn't know what they were doing—running around swinging their virtual weapons like headless chickens—but still, the energy was insane. It felt... alive. Like being part of something bigger again."

I finally stopped, realizing my throat was dry from all the talking. The tea Mr Kanoi had set out earlier sat untouched on the small table beside me. I grabbed it, the ceramic cup warm against my hands, and took a long sip. The earthy flavour was comforting, grounding me for a moment.

When I looked back up, Mr. Kanoi had leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on one hand, the other holding his clipboard. His smile had grown, not just amused but genuinely pleased.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice calm and measured, "this is quite remarkable."

I blinked, lowering the tea cup slightly. "What is?"

"This is the first time I've heard you speak this much since we began these sessions," he said, his tone laced with gentle humour. "You've talked straight through the first thirty minutes without so much as a pause. Usually, you're quiet and reserved, waiting for me to guide the conversation. But today?" He gestured toward me with his pen. "You've taken the lead."

Embarrassment crept up on me, and I ducked my head, hiding my face behind the teacup again. "Sorry..." I muttered.

"No, no. Please don't apologize," he said quickly, leaning back in his chair. "What you choose to do with these sessions is entirely up to you. Everyone approaches therapy differently. Some people like to dissect their past, their feelings, their struggles. Others just want a place to talk about the baseball game last night or the movie they watched. I even have one attendee who insists we play chess for the whole hour."