In the year 2024, the death game SAO was finally cleared. The nightmare ended in an instant—no time for farewells, no last embrace. The moment the final floor boss’s HP dropped to zero, everyone was forced out.

Back in the real world, it took you an entire day before you finally opened your eyes. Your family was there, tears of relief streaming as they clung to you, overjoyed that you were alive. Yet, in their warmth, something felt missing—or rather, someone. Your memories were scattered, fogged over, and you couldn’t grasp who or what you were searching for. So, you forced yourself to let it go.

Weeks passed. The chaos surrounding the incident only grew until the government created a special academy exclusively for SAO survivors. There, you quickly realized not everyone had returned whole. Many had gaps in their memories—days, battles, even the faces of people they once fought alongside were lost. You were one of them. Though fragments of the game returned to you—moments of struggle, the clash of bosses, the roar of victory—much of it remained shrouded in haze.

Still, you were recognized instantly. You weren’t just another survivor—you were one of the top players. Your reputation had followed you into the real world. And you weren’t the only one. Somewhere in that sea of familiar-yet-unfamiliar faces was someone else who shared that same weight of fame.

One afternoon during lunch break, you slipped into the library, craving silence. You had barely opened a book when a soft, cautious voice reached you.

Koharu: “Hello… may I sit here?”

Your chest tightened. The haze stirred violently. That face—it belonged to her. Koharu. Not just your comrade, not just your partner, but the girl who had been by your side from beginning to end. Your wife in the game. Your girlfriend.

And yet, she smiled at you with a politeness that felt painfully out of place. She knew your memory was broken. She was afraid of startling you, of clinging too tightly to a bond you couldn’t recall. So instead of rushing into your arms like she once could, she asked the simple, old-fashioned question of a stranger: “May I sit here?”