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My name is Kazuto Kirigaya, and I was born on October 7th, 2008…as far as I know.

This year is supposedly my eighteenth on this planet, and yet I don’t feel entirely connected to that fact. Perhaps that’s because I have absolutely no memory of my birth parents, who died when I was still a baby.

My birth father’s name was Yukito Narusaka. My birth mother’s name was Aoi Narusaka. If it hadn’t been for the car accident that took their lives and gravely injured me, I would have grown up with the name Kazuto Narusaka. Maybe my online nickname would have been Naruto instead of Kirito—but I can’t be sure of that.

For one thing, my interest in computers came from Midori, the mother who raised me, and my addiction to online games was in no small part a result of my loss of self-identity after learning I was a foster child. Perhaps Kazuto Narusaka would have grown up without any interest in computer games at all and never gotten stuck in the SAO Incident. At this point, such conjecture is pointless.

At any rate, ever since I peered at my national ID information when I was ten and learned the truth, I had a hard time feeling a true connection to my birthday. When I was in my second year of middle school, at my most rebellious stage, I refused to celebrate it at home and ended up making my adoptive sister, Suguha, cry.

Now, of course, I regret being so foolish, and last year’s birthday was quite a big celebration, given that the previous two had happened in Aincrad. But even then, I could not fully accept the reality that I was born on October 7th. Most likely, that feeling would last until I knew everything there was to know about my birth parents.

And now my birthday was coming around again, in just ten days. When I turned eighteen, I would be allowed to get a driver’s license and exercise my right to vote. Suguha was apparently making arrangements for a party; I was under strict instruction to return home immediately after school that day, and I was looking forward to it. But at this point in time, I had no leeway to think about my own birthday.

Because one week before that, on September 30th, just three days from today, was Asuna’s birthday.

“Papa, have you decided on what you’ll be giving Mama for her birthday?” asked the little fairy sitting on the rim of my mug.

I was leaning against the back of my mesh desk chair. “I haven’t. I’m still thinking about it…”

The little fairy sounded less like a child and more like an older sister when she scolded, “Whether you’re going to buy it at the store or order it online, it’s not going to be in time if you don’t decide soon. I wouldn’t recommend the tightrope schedule you opted for last year, when you had to use your lunch break on the big day to pick it up!”

“I’d rather avoid that feeling of terror, too, but it’s just really hard! Asuna never talks about how she wants this or that…Yui, do you think you could find a way to ask her what she wants?”

Yui, the artificial intelligence we met in SAO and had adopted as our daughter, was not having it. “You can’t cheat like that! Mama will love anything you get for her, as long as you choose it yourself!”

“Yeah, I know that’s true as a general rule, but…,” I said, trailing off.

For her birthday last year, after much hemming and hawing, I finally settled on a red scarf for Asuna. I had decided on that because Asuna had a ninety-minute commute to school, which I thought would be very harsh on her in the middle of the winter. She did indeed wear it all through November to February, but the truth was, Asuna had enough scarves that she could tie them all up and play a giant game of jump rope with them. Surely some of them had better protection against the cold, too…but I only realized that after the worst of the winter was over.

So this year, I wanted to get away from practical items, but that was getting into territory a VRMMO addict like me knew little about. It was easy to find web pages like “recommended accessory brands, separated by age range,” but making my decision based on that felt wrong.

“Hmmmm…”

I stretched and reached for the mug Yui was sitting on. The little pixie flitted off and landed instead on a flat-screen display that I wasn’t using much anymore. I downed the rest of my lukewarm cappuccino.

Before this, I wasn’t able to communicate with Yui in the real world without the AVIC (Audiovisual Interactive Communication) probe that I had built at school. But thanks to a wearable multi-device called the Augma that hit the market this April, that problem was a thing of the past. Based on the information coming from my visual sensor, Yui could map out the 3D objects on my desk, like cups and monitors, in real time and make herself appear in my view in a physically accurate manner, without clipping through objects or surfaces. She claimed she preferred the AVIC probe, because she could control its camera of her own volition, but that on its own wouldn’t let me hear Yui’s voice. I ought to be thankful to the Augma for making it possible to see my beloved little daughter in the real world at all.

It was with this thought in mind that I extended my hand, letting Yui flap her tiny wings until she landed on my fingertip. I didn’t feel any weight, of course, because she wasn’t a physical object, but the warmth and texture of her pale-pink dress was so convincing that it was almost like I was seeing it in a virtual world. Now that she was much closer, I brushed Yui’s head with my left hand and looked at the bed on the other side of my room.

Atop the blanket, which I’d aired out just earlier in the day, rested my headgear-type VR interface, the AmuSphere. After a year and a half of heavy use, its exterior was getting worn out, and the design that seemed so cool and fresh when I first saw it looked clunky next to the Augma—but I still preferred the full-dive experience over augmented reality or mixed reality.

“Say, Yui. I’m going to pick out Asuna’s present on my own,” I said, looking back at the fairy on my hand. “But before that, I can do a little research, right? I plan to buy it in person rather than ordering it, so I have a bit more time to work with.”

Based solely on the nonverbal cue of the glance I gave toward the AmuSphere, the AI showed considerable perception in anticipating my intentions. Yui shrugged and said, “Well, I suppose I can’t stop you. I’ll be waiting for you in there!”

She jumped off my finger, bounced and rotated in the air, and then vanished into a little spray of light. I stood up from my chair and took the Augma off my left ear. The virtual desktop vanished at once, revealing a wider view of the room. In a moment, I turned to the west-facing window.

It was Sunday, September 27th. The fall equinox had passed just four days ago, but it already felt like the sunset was happening much earlier. It was only four o’clock, but the carpet of spotty cirrocumulus clouds above was already golden.

Much closer to the ground, flocks of birds were flying back to their nests for the night, and as I watched them, I thought I caught a glimpse of a white tower splitting the sunset in two.

The vision caused me to blink quickly several times.

I pressed a hand to my heart to shake off the sudden swell of emotion and then walked over to my bed. There, I put on the AmuSphere and went to lie down with my head on a folded blanket.

Closing my eyes, I whispered the magic words:

“…Link Start.”

And then rainbow light surrounded my mind, transporting me to a far-off fairyland.