I, the spiritual mentor of beautiful girls from all over the world

Asuna didn't even glance at it.

She simply lowered her head and, with somewhat stiff movements, began to unfasten the intricate metal straps on her chest.

The red and white Blood Oath Knights uniform she wore was a god-like battle robe in the eyes of all the players in the strategy group, a testament to her power.

But to her, it was just a cold, heavy shackle that separated her from him.

The armor pieces were removed one by one and casually thrown on the ground, making a dull and grating clanging sound.

When the last piece of leather armor binding her body was removed, she let out a long breath, as if expelling the nauseating exhaustion and murderous intent deep within her soul.

At that very moment, the exhaustion that had been forcibly suppressed burst forth like a flood, instantly overwhelming her.

She could no longer hold on, her body slowly slid down, and finally collapsed against the door, sitting on the cold floor.

With such a vulnerable air, she reached out her slender fingers and unbuckled the straps of those white boots.

Then, hooking the edge of the pure white over-the-knee socks, he slowly pulled the fabric, which also symbolized the honor and constraints of the knights, off his tired calves, inch by inch, revealing smooth, jade-like skin, free of any dust.

She went into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe that she treasured.

There was no other equipment inside, only a piece of clothing hanging there all by itself.

A simple, pure white dress.

She stretched out her hand, still trembling slightly from the intense fighting, and gently stroked the soft cotton fabric with her fingertips.

That's the feel.

Warm and genuine.

A tactile sensation that doesn't belong to this cold, data-driven world.

She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek against her skirt, and took a deep, deep breath.

There was nothing in the air.

But deep in her soul, she could clearly smell that scent that belonged only to him, mixed with the aroma of lemongrass, a scent that brought her immense peace of mind.

Only by wearing this dress...

She then realized that she was no longer the "shining star" revered and worshipped by countless people.

No longer the omnipotent deputy leader of the strategy team.

She reverted to being the real, vulnerable, and completely his own Yuuki Asuna.

I changed into a dress, went barefoot, and stepped onto the cool wooden floor.

She walked to the easel by the window.

On the easel was a painting she had been working on for nearly half a year.

Since meeting him, she has picked up the hobby that her mother forced her to give up in her childhood on the grounds that it was a "waste of time".

The content of the painting is very simple.

A girl, also dressed in a white dress, nestled in someone's arms, her face beaming with an undisguised, almost foolishly happy smile.

She had already finished painting that girl.

Every detail is so lifelike, it's as if it will step out of the painting at any moment and embrace the whole world.

But beside the girl, in the spot that should have belonged to him...

Yet it remained a glaring, despairing blank.

Today, after experiencing a resounding victory, she felt that perhaps she could do it.

She picked up a paintbrush, dipped it in paint, and tried to sketch his outline on the blank canvas.

That face always carried a hint of languor, yet seemed to see through everything.

Those calm eyes that could make her offer her soul.

However, just as the brush tip is about to touch the canvas...

Her hand, however, stopped in mid-air as if it were not under her control.

No.

Or not.

The bloodshed and madness of the battle were still churning wildly in my mind.

The skeletal dragon roared in resentment.

His companion screamed in despair.

And his final, earth-shattering, devastating seventeen consecutive thrusts...

That violent, resolute killing intent was the complete opposite of the tranquility and gentleness she wanted to portray.

She simply couldn't depict his gentle appearance on a soul stained with blood.

"Still...can't you?"

Her chestnut hair slipped down her shoulders, obscuring the expression on her face. Only a suppressed whisper filled with extreme resentment could be heard.

why?

Why is it that as long as I close my eyes, I can see him sitting by the window quietly reading a book?

Why can't I draw it?

She gripped the paintbrush in her hand tighter and tighter, her knuckles turning white from the force.

[WARNING: Grip force exceeding the safety threshold may damage the item.]

A cold, impersonal system notification sounded in my ear.

Asuna snapped back to her senses and released her grip.

The paintbrush broke in two and fell to the ground with a "thud".

She stared blankly at the broken pen in her hand, then at the heartbreakingly clean blank canvas.

A sense of powerlessness, even more profound than defeat, instantly overwhelmed her.

She gave up.

She put down the broken pen, dejected, and fled into the kitchen.

She started cooking, using top-quality ingredients provided by the players and following the most perfect recipes to prepare the food from her memories.

Soon, a steaming bowl of creamy stew was served.

It looks perfect and smells amazing.

She scooped up a spoonful and put it in her mouth.

Then, those beautiful hazel eyes instantly dimmed.

is empty.

It has only a concept, but no soul.

The aroma is merely superficial, and the feeling of fullness is fabricated by the system and tastes like chewing wax.

Compared to his stew, this was practically a desecration.

She silently finished all the food and silently washed the dishes, every movement mechanical and numb.

Then, she curled up on the sofa in the living room, buried her face in the soft cushions, and began to recall those three dreamlike days over and over again.

The taste of his creamy stew...

When he read "The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter," his voice carried a hint of laziness and was quite deep...

The warmth of his embrace...

And that kiss, tinged with both teasing and doting, after everything was revealed...

As she thought about it, a silly, blissful smile involuntarily crept onto her lips.

But as she laughed, the smile gradually froze, turning into a silent sob.

Crystalline tears slid down from her tightly closed eyes, silently soaking the pillow beneath her.

Those three short days felt like an eternity, encompassing her entire life.

……

Every night, she seeks a moment of peace in the same dream.

In my dream, I smelled lemongrass.

And that familiar, warm embrace.

She seemed to be resting her head on his arm, listening to him read stories from a book to her in that slightly lazy, magnetic voice...

This brief dream was her only refuge in this cold world.

That was the only reason she could maintain her human form amidst the bloodshed and slaughter of the day.

Asuna opened her eyes.

What comes into view is the same cold, day-to-day night in Aincrad, illuminated by false starlight.

She lay in bed, beside her, the pillow that was always cold.

She looked to the other end of the room.

The sofa he often sat on, the book she had turned to the page he had last finished reading, even the empty teacup on the coffee table that belonged to him…

She tried to arrange everything here to resemble the home she remembered.

The same.

But it was just an empty shell without him.

She lay on her side, motionless.

Time seemed to have lost its meaning at this moment.

After an unknown amount of time, a tear silently slid down her cheek, soaking her pillowcase without a sound.

She slowly, very slowly, sat up.

She went out.

……

She arrived at the tranquil lakeside.

The night breeze was cool, stirring the hem of her pure white dress and drying the tear stains on her face.

She looked up at the unchanging, illusory starry sky of Aincrad, composed of data.

There is no moon here, no Milky Way.

Only cold, fixed-patterned pixels.

She stood there quietly, as if she had become one with the deathly silence of the night.

After a long while, as if she had made up her mind, she took out the canvas from the room, the canvas on which she had failed countless times.

She didn't look at the false world around her.

She simply closed her eyes, immersing her entire soul in the memories of those three days.

The sound of the wind, the light and shadow, the tone of his voice, the curve of his lips...

After an unknown amount of time, she took out a small piece of burnt charcoal from her pocket and, relying on her sense of touch, slowly began to paint on the canvas.

When she opened her eyes again, she was completely stunned.

There were only a few strokes on the drawing board.

Yet, it precisely outlines the contours of a pair of eyes.

Those eyes always carried a hint of languor, yet seemed to see through everything.

It was as if... he was quietly looking at her through this drawing.

"．々..."

Asuna's breath hitched.