The night in Aincrad was beautiful — cruelly beautiful.
A crescent moon hung over the endless grasslands, casting silver light over the plains outside the Town of Beginnings. The air shimmered faintly with drifting pixels, and the only sound was the whisper of the digital wind brushing against Kirito's cloak.
He had been walking for hours.
He could have stayed in the city. Most players did. But fear had already begun to root itself in their hearts. The plaza was filled with shouting, crying, confusion — and denial.
Kirito didn't want to listen. He didn't want to see.
So he walked.
Every few steps, his boots kicked up tiny fragments of light where his feet met the earth — small details that the developers had crafted to make Aincrad feel alive.
But tonight, it felt too real.
He found an empty cottage on the edge of the field — one of the small safe zones that dotted the starting area. The door opened with a soft chime. He stepped inside and sat by the unlit hearth.
"There is no logout button."
Kayaba's words still echoed through his mind like a curse.
Kirito opened his menu and looked at his reflection in the faint glow of the interface. Same black hair, same pale eyes. He hadn't even customized his avatar — he wanted this world to see him.
He closed the menu, sighing.
Then, it happened again.
The flicker.
His surroundings bled white.
And suddenly he was outside the cottage — watching himself from above, standing on the field. The vision played out like a dream: he saw a shadow in the tall grass, moving toward him. A boar, no — something larger, faster — a Wolf Fang, its yellow eyes gleaming.
Kirito gasped and blinked — the world snapped back.
The door burst open.
Growl!
The wolf lunged.
Kirito moved before thinking. He sidestepped, drew his sword, and slashed diagonally upward — steel met fur and light. The creature exploded into shards of blue crystal.
His chest heaved. He stared at the dissolving pixels.
"...I saw that," he whispered.
He looked down at his trembling hand. His pulse was racing — not from fear, but from adrenaline. The vision had been perfect, down to the timing of the attack.
He checked his HP — barely scratched.
Then his EXP bar — it had risen more than expected.
System bonus detected.
A faint chime echoed in his ear.
> New Skill Acquired: Precognition (Tier I)
Allows the user to perceive limited future outcomes during combat for a brief duration.
Kirito froze.
The system recognized it?
He opened the skill menu. The icon was faintly pulsing — a swirling eye surrounded by silver runes.
"Future Sight…" he murmured.
The realization hit him like a wave. This wasn't just some glitch. It was a system-bound ability. Something unique — maybe something not even the developers intended.
Hours passed.
Kirito spent the night hunting on the plains, testing his new skill. Every time he activated it, the world would blur for half a second — then split.
Two paths would appear before him — two possible futures.
He'd see a monster's attack from two angles, his own dodges, and the damage outcomes. If he reacted fast enough, he could choose the best path.
But there was a cost.
Each use drained his focus — a mental fatigue that built behind his eyes until it felt like knives were pressing into his skull.
By dawn, he was exhausted. His eyes burned, his HP was full, but his heart was heavy.
He had learned to kill.
Not just monsters — anything that threatened him. He felt the rhythm of combat now, the pulse of battle — but also the eerie calm that came before each strike.
And every time he landed a killing blow, he saw flashes — split-second glimpses of the creature's last thought, its instinctive fear, the moment before it vanished into light.
It was as if the system was showing him the end of everything he touched.
When the morning sun rose, Kirito returned to the town. The plaza was quieter now. Some players had formed parties. Others sat motionless, staring into the distance.
He spotted Klein among a group of newcomers. They were sharing food, trying to cheer each other up. Kirito smiled faintly, then turned away before Klein could notice him.
He wasn't ready to explain.
Not yet.
At the weapon shop, he traded materials for an iron longsword — heavier, sharper, balanced perfectly for his stance. The blacksmith, a cheerful NPC, smiled at him.
"Brave adventurer," it said automatically. "May your blade carry you to victory."
Kirito looked into the NPC's eyes.
They were empty. Perfectly rendered, but empty.
He wondered — if they died, would he see their future too?
He shook the thought away.
Outside, the sky shimmered as another player's name blinked out on the system board.
> [Player Death Detected] — HP reached zero.
Gasps echoed through the plaza. It was the first confirmed death.
Kirito's heart stopped. His vision pulsed white.
Another flash — this time not in battle. He saw a dungeon, walls slick with mist, a terrified boy backing away from a beast, screaming for help — before it struck.
Then, darkness.
The vision ended.
Kirito stumbled back, gripping the wall.
It wasn't just short-term sight anymore. The long-term visions were returning — warnings.
He realized something then:
The system wasn't just showing him possible futures. It was showing him the ones that were destined to happen… unless he changed them.
That night, as the red moon rose once again over Aincrad, Kirito stood at the edge of the town walls, looking toward the wild lands that stretched toward the next floor.
He tightened his grip on his sword.
"I won't let them die," he said softly. "Not this time."
His reflection flickered in the blade — for a heartbeat, he saw another version of himself: cold eyes, bloodied armor, surrounded by fading lights of fallen players.
The future.
He sheathed the sword.
Then he walked into the darkness, toward the wild fields of Aincrad, the only player who could see tomorrow — and the only one cursed to watch it fall apart.