3 JUST AS WE ARRIVED BACK AT URBUS, BELLS RANG crisp and clear from all over the town, signaling the arrival of night. It was a calm, slow melody with a hint of longing. Seven o’clock was about the time for the players out adventuring in the wilderness to make their way back home. In the MMORPGs I’d played before SAO, seven o’clock was just when the game was getting going. People would begin to log in to the server around then, hitting peak traffic at about ten, with the hardiest of souls lasting all through the night until morning. As a student of mandatory schooling age, I always logged out by two in the morning at the latest. I remembered looking on in jealousy at those who were preparing to race out for yet another round of hunting. Ironically, now that all I wanted was to be able to go back to school, I could stay out well past two, until five or eight o’clock in the morning if I chose. And yet once it got dark outside, I always found my way back to town. Many times, it was just to eat dinner and fill up on supplies before trudging out for another round of adventures until sunrise—the night I met Asuna in the labyrinth was just such an occasion. But every time I saw that red, sinking sun through the outer perimeter of Aincrad, the sky changing from purple to navy blue, I couldn’t sit still. I had to walk back to civilization. As proof that this urge was not solely in my own mind, there were a number of players walking the main street of Urbus, all wearing smiles of relief. Lively cheers erupted from the restaurants and bars on the sides of the street, with the occasional toast or song dedicated to another day of survival. This same scene occurred at the towns and villages of the first floor. But it had been quite a while since I’d heard such unreserved laughter—perhaps never—since we’d been trapped in Aincrad. “This is the first time I’ve come back to Urbus at this time of day. Is it always like this? Or is today a special day?” I asked Asuna. December 8 wasn’t a holiday. She shot me a quizzical look, her beauty hidden beneath the wool cape once again. “Both Urbus and Marome have been like this for several days. Have you been in hiding both day and night?” “Um … well …” She was probably asking if I really cared that much about being seen. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t visit Urbus even if I wanted to. If I was going to tell her about my Martial Arts skill over dinner, I’d eventually get to this topic, but it was not something that could be summed up briefly. “You could say I was hiding. Or maybe I wasn’t,” I stammered. Asuna’s stare grew even more incredulous. “Didn’t I tell you you’re being paranoid? We’ve passed by dozens of people so far, you’re not in disguise, and not a single one has bothered you in the least.” She was correct: My awesome striped bandanna was not on display. My face and hair were just like normal, though the black coat was stashed away, too. But I had a feeling that it was not a case of players recognizing me as “Kirito the Beater” and choosing to leave me alone, but that they were simply too full of relief and anticipation of dinner to bother spending any time examining one gloomy-looking swordsman out of many. I coughed lightly, subtly maneuvering myself to use Asuna as cover. “Ahem … w-well, perhaps. Anyway, back to the topic—is this place always this lively at night? For no particular reason?” “Oh, I’m sure there’s a reason.” I shut my mouth. She shot me another look. “… In fact, you’re responsible for about three-quarters of that reason.” “Huh? M-me?!” I sputtered. She sighed in total exasperation. “Look … Isn’t it obvious why everyone is smiling and laughing? It’s because we’re on the second floor.” “… Which means?” “It wasn’t a riddle. Everyone was much more nervous for the entire month we were trapped on the first floor. They were terrified that they might never see the real world again. I was one of them. But then the boss raid came together, we won on the first try, and opened up the second floor. Everyone realized that maybe we can beat this thing. That’s why they’re smiling. I’m just saying … we wouldn’t be seeing this phenomenon if a certain someone hadn’t stood strong during that battle.” “… …” Finally I understood the point Asuna was making, but I was no closer to knowing how to react to that. I coughed again and grasped for something to say. “Uh, I g-guess. Well, if you ask me, that certain someone did a good enough job to deserve a free shortcake,” I finished hopefully. “That was that; this is this!” It was worth a shot. We turned onto a narrow path leading north from the east-west main street, then made another right and a left to reach the restaurant. I knew about this establishment (and its infamous shortcake) from my tireless exploration of Urbus during the beta test, so I was a bit surprised that Asuna knew about it after just a few days on the second floor. We took a table near the back and ordered our food, at which point I decide to ask her how she knew. “So let me guess, Asuna: the smell of the sweet cream—” Those brown eyes went sharp beneath her hood. I instantly changed course. “—did not guide you here. So was it coincidence? It’s got a small storefront with a tiny sign. I think it would be difficult to pick this place out at random.” There wasn’t anything to be lost by wandering into a business at random in Aincrad, as there were no rip-off bars that bullied you into paying up just for entering (as far as I knew), but there were some that automatically initiated an event-type quest when you walked in the door. There was no danger to one’s HP within town (again, as far as I knew), but such events might come off as a nasty surprise to someone not familiar with MMOs. I figured Asuna was not the type of person to appreciate or desire unexpected thrills, but her answer surprised me. “I asked Argo if there were any low-traffic NPC restaurants in Urbus and bought the answer from her.” Sure enough, there was no one else in the restaurant. Asuna opened her menu and unequipped the cape, letting her hair swing free with a sigh. “Oh … I see. That makes sense …” On the inside, I broke out into a cold sweat. I was the one who brought Asuna and Argo together. Technically, it was when Asuna borrowed the use of my bath at the farmhouse near Tolbana, and Argo had visited with perfect timing. Despite my best efforts, they ran into each other in the bathroom, much to Asuna’s shock. She screamed and ran out into the main room, where I was sitting— “You’re not remembering something you shouldn’t, are you? If so, I might need two cakes instead of one.” “No, not remembering a thing,” I replied instantly, vigorously shaking my head clear. “Anyway, Argo might be quick and accurate with your information, but be careful around her. There’s no entry for ‘client confidentiality’ in her dictionary.” “Meaning … I could ask her to sell me all the information she has about you?” It was too late to regret my slip of the tongue now.
“W-well, yeah … maybe … but it’ll cost you a lot. I’m sure the whole bundle would cost you at least three thousand col.” “That’s actually not as much as I expected. I bet I could raise that amount without much trouble …” “N-n-no! I’d buy all of yours in return! After all, she saw your—” I shut my mouth so hard my teeth clicked. She grinned at me. “My what?” “Umm, er … what I meant to say is …” At that moment, a miracle occurred and the NPC waiter returned with dishes of food, saving me from certain catastrophe. The menu was simple salad, stew, and bread, but this was the finest to be found on the second floor. Asuna’s eyebrows emitted a threatening aura as we ate, but it disappeared by the time the long-awaited dessert arrived. As we agreed, Asuna paid for the dinner, while the cost of the dessert came from my own wallet. The terrifying thing was the cost of that one dish easily exceeded the three-piece dinner for two. But given that I’d busted out my secret Martial Arts skill and still lost the bet, I wasn’t in any position to complain. My only option was to rue the lack of my own skill. The triumphant winner, seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil, looked at the green plate piled high with a mountain of cream, her eyes sparkling. “Oh my gosh! Argo’s info said you just have to try the Tremble Shortcake once. I can’t believe the moment has finally come!” The “tremble” in the name was clearly derived from the Trembling Cows, the female versions of the terrifyingly huge oxen that roamed the second floor. The cows were nearly twice the size of the oxen, practically bosses in their own right. The cream piled atop the shortcake came from their milk (supposedly), but now was not the time to mention that. There was another angle to the “trembling” moniker, however: the cream was piled so high atop the dish that it shook on its own. The piece was a triangular slice from a full-size round cake, seven inches to a side, three inches tall, about sixty degrees of the whole. That meant the total volume of the cake was (7 x 7 x 3.14 x 3) / 6 … totaling seventy-seven cubic inches of pure heaven. There had to be almost an entire quart of cream on that thing. “So … what about this cake qualifies as ‘short’?” I whined. Asuna picked up the large fork that came with the cake and said, “You don’t know? It’s not called shortcake because it’s short in stature.” “Why, then? Was it invented by a legendary big-league shortstop?” She effortlessly ignored my killer joke. “It’s because the crispy texture of the cake is achieved through shortening. In America, they use a tough, crispy biscuit-like cake as the base, but we have soft sponge cake in Japan, so it’s not really accurate to the original meaning. Let’s see which kind this is …” She put her fork to the top of the triangular wedge and carved out a good five cubic inches, exposing golden sponge cake. It was a four-layer cake, going sponge, strawberries and cream, sponge, strawberries and cream. The top of the cake, of course, was covered in a stunning amount of strawberries—or more accurately, some kind of in-game fruit that resembled strawberries. “So it’s sponge cake. I like this style more, anyway,” Asuna said. Her smile was so radiant that it was almost worth losing the bet and being forced to pay a massive dessert bill just to see it. In truth, it didn’t matter whether I came out ahead or behind. The fact that she’d gone from pale-faced despair in the depths of the labyrinth to a full-faced smile under these warm oil lamps was a very good thing, indeed. If there was one very bad thing here, it was that there was only a single slice of cake on the table. I’d been planning to live dangerously and order two servings outright, but the price on the menu was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my enthusiasm. I summoned up every last point of my Gentleman statistic and waved a magnanimous hand, smiling as naturally as I could. “Please, dig in. Don’t mind me.” She smiled back. “Oh, I won’t. Here goes.” Two seconds later, she cracked with laughter, then reached into the cutlery basket at the side of the table and handed me a fork. “I’m just kidding—I’m not that mean. You can have up to a third of it.” “… Um, thanks,” I replied, a relieved smile on my face. On the inside, my brain was doing rapid calculations. One-third means I can eat … twenty-seven and a half cubic inches of cake! When we left the restaurant, the town was wreathed in the dark of night. Asuna sucked in a deep breath and let out a deep sigh of contentment. “… That was good …” I knew how she felt. That cake was probably the first honest dessert she’d tasted since we’d been trapped in this place. It was the same for me. I sighed happily as well and murmured, “It feels like that tasted even better than in the beta test … The way the cream melted in your mouth, the perfect level of sweetness that wasn’t too heavy, but still satisfying …” “Don’t you think that’s just your imagination? Would they really bother with such fine-tuning between the beta and the retail release?” she asked. I answered her skepticism with all seriousness. “It wouldn’t be that hard to update the data in the taste engine. Besides, even ignoring the difference in flavor, we didn’t have this in the beta.” I pointed just below my HP bar, in the upper left portion of my view. There was a buff icon displayed that hadn’t been there before, a four-leaf clover that signified an increased luck bonus. That effect could only be gained by making an expensive offering at a church, equipping an accessory with that particular bonus, or consuming a special food item. SAO kept its main stats exceedingly minimal, showing only values for strength and agility. However, there were a number of hidden stats affected by equipment properties, buffs and debuffs, even terrain effects. Luck was one of those stats, and a pretty important one—it affected resistance to poison and paralysis, the probability of weapon fumbling or tripping, even potentially the drop rate of rare items. No doubt someone on the Argus development team had taken a look at the exorbitant price of the shortcake and decided that it was enough to warrant a bonus effect when the retail game launched. The effect would last for fifteen minutes. That would be a handy amount if eaten as a snack in the middle of a dungeon, but … “Unfortunately, it’s not enough time for us to make good use of it out in the fields,” Asuna said, clearly following my line of thought. Even if we ran out searching for monsters, we’d barely find a handful before the buff wore off. Plus, the monsters around the outskirts of the town didn’t drop any decent loot. “Too bad … What a waste of a good buff.” I stared at the icon timer ticking away precious seconds, wracking my brain for a way to make good use of the bonus while it lasted. We could get down on hands and knees in the street—coins and fragments of gems could be found on very rare occasions—but I didn’t think Asuna would like that. We could gamble big at a casino, except that they didn’t start showing up until the seventh floor. The more I pondered, the less of the effect remained. Wasn’t there anything we could do to test our luck? I supposed I could turn to the fencer and ask if she’d go out with me, but I had a feeling the system’s luck bonus had no bearing on my chances there … Just as the steam was about to pour from my ears in frustration, I heard a sound. It was the distant, rhythmic clanging of metal. Clank, clank, went the hammer. “Ah …” I snapped my fingers, finally having spotted a use for the twelve remaining minutes of good luck.
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