“But today, AIDS isn’t nearly as terrible a condition as we once thought it was,” she heard Dr. Kurahashi say kindly. “As long as you start treatment early after contracting HIV, you can hold off the onset of AIDS by ten or even twenty years. As long as you take your medicine and manage your health carefully, your life can be virtually the same as before contraction.”
The doctor sat in the chair in front of the console with a small creak. He continued. “But, unfortunately, the virus she caught was a drug-resistant strain. Apparently, after it was revealed that the entire family was infected, Yuuki’s mother considered having them all choose death. But she was also a devout Catholic. Through the power and support of her faith and husband, she was able to overcome the initial danger and chose to fight the disease.”
“To…fight…”
“Yes. Just after she was born, Yuuki underwent HAART, or highly active antiretroviral therapy. After she survived the most critical early period, she grew up well, if a little small. She was relatively normal until elementary school, in fact. But it’s difficult for a small child to take so many regular medications. And RT inhibitors have intense side effects. But Yuuki stayed strong and was determined to fight her condition. She hardly ever skipped a day of school, and she maintained grades that were the top in her class. She had many friends, and from what I’ve seen of the videos of that time, her smile was as radiant as the sun…”
He paused. Asuna heard him make a nearly inaudible sigh.
“Yuuki’s status as an HIV carrier was kept secret from the school. That is normal protocol. Schools and businesses are forbidden from conducting HIV blood tests. But…right after she started fourth grade, through means unknown, a number of the school parents became aware that she was a carrier. The word spread like wildfire. The law prohibits discrimination against sufferers of HIV, but sadly, not every factor of society works solely on altruistic, healthy reasoning…The school was inundated with requests to remove her, as well as harassing letters and phone calls asserting all manner of false stories. Her parents resisted the onslaught of abuse, but ultimately, they had no choice but to move residences and transfer Yuuki to a new school.”
“…”
Asuna couldn’t even murmur to show that she was listening anymore. It was all she could do to listen to his words, her spine frozen stiff.
“But Yuuki continued to attend her new school without crying. However…life is cruel. It was just around this time that her CD4 count, the lymphocytes that can indicate lowered immune response, began to drop precipitously. In other words…she had progressed to the AIDS stage. Even now, I believe it was the actions and statements of that school’s parents and teachers, and the way they hurt her deep inside, that resulted in this shift.”
The young doctor’s voice was calm and measured. It was only the sharpness of his breath that betrayed his emotional state.
“When your immune system is compromised, it causes you to be vulnerable to viruses and germs that the body is usually perfectly capable of fighting. These are called opportunistic infections. Yuuki was first brought to this hospital when she contracted PCP, a particularly troublesome form of pneumonia. That was three and a half years ago. Even in the hospital, she was always smiling and reassuring us that she wouldn’t give in and let the disease win. She never even raised a single complaint during the more painful tests. However…”
He paused briefly to shift his weight. “Germs and viruses exist everywhere, all over the hospital, and especially in the patient’s body. So the risk of opportunistic infections continues even after hospitalization, and the longer you continue HAART treatment, the greater the risk that the virus will acquire more drug resistance. After the pneumonia, Yuuki caught esophageal candidiasis. This was right around the time that society was rocked by the NerveGear scandal. In the midst of calls to outlaw full-dive tech altogether, a medical-use NerveGear prototype developed by the government and tech companies—in other words, the Medicuboid—was installed in the hospital for clinical trials. But given that this was the NerveGear, and an even more powerful version at that, no one could have known the long-term effect it would have on the human brain. It was very hard to find patients who were willing to brave that risk to test the unit out. So with that in mind, I made a proposal to Yuuki and her family…”
As she waited for him to continue, Asuna stared at Yuuki on her bed, and the white cube that covered most of her face. The inside of Asuna’s mind was cold and numb. What little of her confused wits was able to think straight desperately tried to avoid facing the truth.
Based on the time it was developed, the Medicuboid was an offshoot of the NerveGear, not the later AmuSphere. Asuna was totally used to the AmuSphere now, but there were times that she missed the greater, more immersive clarity of the original NerveGear’s virtual reality. The AmuSphere had numerous safety measures, a lesson learned from the SAO Incident, but its simulation of reality was unquestionably inferior to the original device.
So the Medicuboid had several times the number of pulse nodes as the NerveGear, was capable of blocking signals from the entire body, and boasted a far more powerful CPU than the AmuSphere. Yuuki’s incredible strength in Alfheim was a product of her interface, then?
An instant later, Asuna knew that wasn’t true. The sharpness of Yuuki’s skill far surpassed anything dependent on machine specs. In battle instinct alone, she was at least Kirito’s equal, if not better.
As far as Asuna understood, Kirito’s strength came from his experience fighting at the front line longer and harder than anyone else during his two years as a prisoner in SAO. In that case, how long had Yuuki spent inside the world created by the Medicuboid?
“As you can see, the Medicuboid prototype is an exceedingly powerful and delicate machine,” Dr. Kurahashi said, after a long silence. “We installed it in this clean room for safe, long-term testing. In other words, conditions with no airborne dust or dirt, purged of all bacteria and viruses. In these circumstances, the test subject is at a vastly lowered risk of opportunistic infections. So I proposed this to Yuuki and her family.”
“…”
“Even now, I wonder sometimes if it was really the best option for her. In AIDS treatment, we prize something called QOL: Quality of Life. It means trying to maintain a high-functioning, meaningful life for the patient during treatment. In that sense, the test subject has an inadequate QOL. She cannot leave the clean room nor come into contact with another human being. My proposal was a very difficult decision for Yuuki and her family. But I believe that the allure of the virtual world was what helped her make up her mind. She agreed to become a test subject and entered this chamber. Yuuki has been living inside the Medicuboid ever since.”
“Ever…since…?”
“Yes, literally. She almost never returns to the real world. In fact, at this point, she can’t return. In terminal care, we use morphine to ease the patient’s pain, but she’s currently getting that from the Medicuboid’s signal-canceling function. Aside from her daily data collection test, which lasts a few hours, she’s been traveling through various virtual worlds. My meetings with her happen over there, naturally.”
“Meaning…she’s been in a dive for twenty-four hours a day…? For…”
“Three years,” he said.
She lost all words.
All this time, she assumed that it was the former SAO players who had the most AmuSphere experience of anyone in the entire world. But she was wrong. The tiny, emaciated girl on the bed over there was the purest traveler of virtual worlds on the planet. And that was the secret to Yuuki’s strength.
You’re a complete and total resident of this world, aren’t you, Kirito had asked Yuuki. Through that short battle, he must have sensed something within her, something akin.
Somewhere in her heart, Asuna felt a sensation like humility flooding through her. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, feeling like a knight taking a knee and pledging her sword to a far superior warrior.
Af
ter a period of silence, Asuna tore her eyes away to face Dr. Kurahashi. “Thank you for letting me see Yuuki. She’ll be just fine here, won’t she? She’ll be able to keep adventuring on the other side, won’t she…?”
But he didn’t respond at once. He simply sat in the chair in front of the console, hands folded over his knees, staring kindly at Asuna.
“Just being in a clean, sterilized room does not purge the bacteria or viruses inside her body. Such things only grow in strength as the body’s immune system weakens. Yuuki is suffering from cytomegalovirus and nontuberculous mycobacterial infections—she’s lost nearly all sight. She’s also got brain lesions caused by the HIV itself. She’s essentially unable to move her body on her own anymore.”
“…”
“It’s been fifteen years since she contracted HIV, and three and a half years with AIDS. Yuuki is in her terminal stage. She’s recognized this fact with lucid understanding. I believe that you understand now why she wanted to vanish.”
“No…no…”
Asuna shook her head. Her eyes were wide. But she couldn’t cast aside the truth that had been laid upon her.
Yuuki had always resisted getting any closer to Asuna. In truth, it was for Asuna’s own sake. Yuuki wanted it that way to minimize Asuna’s pain when the inevitable parting came. And it wasn’t just her. Siune and the rest of the Sleeping Knights had maintained that mysterious attitude whenever the topic came up because they knew the truth as well.
But Asuna never realized, never tried to learn, and ended up hurting Yuuki. With a sharp, stabbing pain, Asuna recalled Yuuki’s tears before she logged out at Blackiron Palace. Suddenly, she realized something.
She looked up and asked, “Um, Doctor…did Yuuki have…an older sister?”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hesitated but eventually nodded. “I didn’t tell you this, because it doesn’t pertain to Yuuki herself…but you are correct. Yuuki had a twin sister. That was the reason for the C-section that was the cause of all of this.”
He looked up into empty space, perusing his memories, and grinned.
“Her sister’s name was Aiko. She, too, was at this hospital. They weren’t the most identical of twins…Yuuki was the happy and energetic one, and Aiko preferred to sit back and watch her. Now that I think about it…something about your face and mannerisms reminds me of her…”
His use of the past tense bothered her. She stared at him. He seemed to sense her unasked question, and explained, “Yuuki’s parents died two years ago…and her sister died last year.”
She thought she had understood what it meant to lose something.
Asuna had repeatedly witnessed the loss of human life while in that long-lost world. On several occasions, she had peered into that abyss herself. So she thought she understood that when the time came, people died. That no matter how hard you struggled, there were certain facts that could never be overturned.
But now that she understood the past and current state of Yuuki, a girl Asuna had only known for a few days, the weight of it overwhelmed her. She leaned against the thick glass. The very meaning of the word reality was melting, trickling away. She pressed her forehead against the cold, hard surface.
She had fought hard enough. Somewhere in her mind, she thought there was nothing wrong with fixating on the simple pleasure she had found. She made excuses for being afraid of change, shying away from friction, backing away and mincing her words.
But Yuuki had been fighting from the moment she was born. She fought and fought and fought against the cruel reality that threatened to steal everything she had, and even knowing her impending finality, she still found the strength to flash that radiant smile.
Asuna shut her eyes tight. Silently, she sent a message to Yuuki, who was undoubtedly traveling some far-off land right now.
I want to see you again. Just one more time.
She wanted to talk to her about the truth this time. Yuuki had told her that there were things she couldn’t get across without confronting them. If she couldn’t rip away everything that she’d wrapped around her weakness and exchange words with Yuuki again, then why had they met at all?
At last, something hot bled into the lids of her eyes. Asuna put her right hand to the glass window, tensing her fingers, seeking any kind of texture from its perfectly smooth surface.
Suddenly, from nowhere in particular, a gentle voice said, “Don’t cry, Asuna.”
Her head shot upward as if on a spring. Her eyes sprang open as well, droplets flying from her lashes. She stared at the bedridden girl. The little figure was still lying prone there, in the exact same spot she had been before. Nothing was different with the white machine covering her face. But Asuna noticed that one of the blue indicator lights on the side facing her was blinking irregularly. The display on the monitor was different from before—it was displaying a small message reading USER TALKING.
“Yuuki…?” Asuna murmured, barely a whisper. She tried once more, louder this time. “Yuuki? Are you there?”
The response was immediate. The speakers fixed above the thick glass partition had to be conveying her voice over there.
“Yeah. It’s through the lens, but I can see you, Asuna. Incredible…You look just like you do over there…Thanks for coming.”
“…Yuuki…I…I…”
The more she wanted to say, the less the words would come. She felt an indescribable helplessness wrench at her heart. Before her lips would work, the speakers above continued.
“Doctor, please let Asuna use the room next door.”
“Huh…?”
Asuna turned around, confused. Dr. Kurahashi was deep in thought, his expression severe, but eventually he regained his usual gentle smile.
“Very well. On the other side of that door is the full-dive seat and AmuSphere that I use for our meetings. You may lock it from the inside, but please keep yourself to twenty minutes or so. We are cutting out a number of steps here, after all.”
“Er…of course,” she replied hastily, then looked back at the girl lying beneath the Medicuboid. Yuuki’s voice emerged from the speakers.
“ALO’s included in the app launcher, so once you log in, come to where we first met.”
“Okay…got it. Hang on, I’ll be there soon,” she said, her voice loud and clear. She gave Dr. Kurahashi a polite bow and turned to the door. Within a few steps, she reached the far wall of the monitor room and placed her hand over the sensor. When the door slid open, she squeezed through it.
The room beyond was about half the size of the monitoring station. There were two black leather recliners, both with familiar circular headgear on the headrests.
She impatiently turned back to lock the door, casting her bag onto the floor, then lay on the nearer of the seats. At the end of the armrest were some buttons that she used to adjust the incline, then she picked up the AmuSphere and set it on her head. Asuna took a deep breath, turned on the power, saw nothing but white, and left the real world.
Asuna awoke as the undine fencer in the bedroom of her forest home. She leaped upward without waiting for her VR senses to become fully aligned. Her wings buzzed as they carried her through the window without her feet touching the ground.
It was early morning in Alfheim, and the deep forest was shrouded in thick mist. She spun into a turn and then upward, shooting above the trees to break out of the layer of white. Her arms were held tight against her body as she rocketed toward the center of the floor.
In less than three minutes, she was within the airspace of the floor’s main town, descending upon the glowing blue portal at the center of the square. As a number of players watched, wide-eyed, she did a half turn and came screeching to a stop. At the very moment that her bodily inertia hit zero, she passed through the gate.
“Teleport! Panareze!” she shouted. A deluge of pale light surged, pushing her upward.
In an instant, the process was done, and she hurtled out into the main plaza of Panareze, main city of the twenty-fourth floor.
She jumped hard off the cobblestones, flying for the little island to the north of the city. Asuna zoomed at top speed, her shadow landing on the lake water wreathed with trails of mist.
The silhouette of a large tree loomed ahead. It seemed like the long-distant past in which Yuuki the Absolute Sword had waged her informal duels. The time she’d been there before, there had been a bustling crowd, but now it was empty and silent.
Asuna gradually slowed down, weaving around the trunk and preparing to land. The mist was so thick that she couldn’t see the ground. She landed softly, rustling the dewy grass. Because it was still before dawn, her visibility was limited to just a few feet away. She raced around the tree, her desperation growing.
Halfway around the trunk, on the eastern side, a ray of light from the outer aperture finally broke through the mist for a moment. At last, through the break in the curtain, Asuna found the person she was looking for.
Yuuki was facing the other direction. Her long, dark hair and bronze-colored skirt waved in the breeze. As Asuna held her breath, the imp girl turned and stared at her with garnet-red eyes. Her pale lips formed a smile as delicate as melting snowflakes.
“For some reason, I just had a hunch that you’d find me in the real world. Even though you shouldn’t have, since I didn’t tell you a thing,” Yuuki whispered, then smiled again. “But you came. It’s pretty rare that my hunches come true. I was very happy…so happy.”
Just a few days’ absence had added a kind of transparency to Yuuki’s bearing. Asuna felt something sharp pinch her heart. She approached slowly, one step at a time, praying that the girl wasn’t just an illusion.
Her extended fingers brushed Yuuki’s shoulder. She was unable to stop herself from enfolding the girl’s small body in her arms, squeezing her to feel the warmth.
Yuuki showed no surprise; she leaned her head against Asuna’s shoulder like a blade of grass pushed by the wind. Through the contact of their bodies, Asuna felt a heart-trembling warmth from her that was greater than any digital data sent through electronic pulse nodes. She let out a slow breath and closed her eyes.
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