The pink bedsheets were buried under clothes of every possible style. Each piece Saki had rejected and tossed aside still had the tag of some famous high-end brand attached to it.
To anyone who cared about fashion, it would have looked like she was throwing money around for fun, but she had no time to be aware of that right now. She was too busy failing to do anything about her naturally curly golden-brown short hair.
Instead, she yanked another outfit from the closet she had already torn apart.
It was a beige dress with a clean, simple silhouette and crisp lines. It would flatter the figure well enough and looked like the kind of thing meant for an elegant entrance at a party.
She held it against her petite body and looked in the mirror for two seconds.
No. Too short. She could not pull off the aura. Seriously, why had she even bought this dress back then?
Annoyed, she flung it onto the bed behind her.
Next came a small formal dress in a vivid red. The color caught the eye immediately, and it did not depend too much on the wearer's figure. As long as she fixed her hair and makeup properly, she could absolutely lean into a cute look. She had dressed that way a few times when going with her father to meet his friends, and they had all praised her as looking like a delicate doll.
No. Wait. She was not twelve or thirteen anymore. This was no time to rely on baby fat and play dumb for cuteness. Besides, those business friends had probably just been flattering each other. And more importantly, that person definitely would not fall for it.
After a brief moment of thought, the fiery-red dress was thrown aside too.
A cropped denim jacket? It would look fashionable with casual pants, but... this was dinner at home. That kind of outdoorsy style did not fit the mood at all. The meal was probably going to be Western too, so it was not safe enough. It would make her look careless.
The jacket was tossed aside as well.
Hm? What was this?
Puzzled, she picked up a puffy piece of clothing.
Wasn't this the padded jacket she had worn when she was seven? Why had Dad kept something like this?!
She threw it straight onto the floor.
"Aaaaah!"
She grabbed her head. Her curls, which had already been messy enough, instantly turned even worse, as if they were bristling.
"I have this many clothes. When I bought each one, I should have thought it through carefully and decided it suited me, that I liked it. So why do they all feel completely wrong after a while?!"
There was another problem with trying on clothes too: even after two years, her old clothes still fit.
It was not as if she had the body of a little child, but people often thought she was still in elementary school. At most, they might guess she had just finished her middle-school entrance exams.
Should she use the cute short twin-tail look she used to be best at?
No, no, no. That was the exact opposite of her style in Aincrad. If she really did that, that irritating guy would definitely hold back his laughter with a perfectly serious face, only for the corners of his mouth to keep giving him away, and he would absolutely look her up and down with that subtle expression.
She crossed her arms and stood on the plush carpet in nothing but her underwear. Her doll-like limbs were slender, delicate, and almost glowing white, but they refused to stay still. Her right leg bounced like an anxious middle-aged man's, her bare foot pressing again and again into the pleasantly soft rug. With both hands crossed over her chest, she sadly discovered that aside from those hands, she could not feel any extra softness at all.
Between mature femininity and fresh, refined cuteness, she was trapped in an endless struggle.
Would it be better to shock him into blurting out, "Holy crap, so this is what you're like," or to make him feel closer with, "Yeah, that's you. Just how I imagined"?
She thought for a moment. Then a bolt of genius flashed through her mind, as if she had uncovered the truth behind the problem of the century, and she struck her palm with conviction.
Why not have both?!
Dress a little more elegantly, a little more intellectually, and then draw a few whiskers on her face. Wouldn't that perfectly fuse the information broker setting with the rich girl setting?!
"Then there won't be any problem... like hell there won't!"
She let out a conflicted whimper, clutched her head, hopped in place, and then simply rolled onto the bed covered in rejected outfits. With practiced skill, she deployed the childish three-hundred-and-sixty-degree bed-roll technique, leaving all those expensive clothes, the ones that had always been professionally cleaned and ironed, wrinkled into wild freedom.
Just then, the alarm she had set began to ring.
Her whole body froze on the bed. Then she sat up in one quick motion.
Her original plan had been to start three hours early: the first hour for choosing clothes, the second for doing her hair, and the third for calming herself down. Somehow, without realizing it, she had already wasted two hours.
Oh no, oh no. She had not even washed her hair yet.
She scrambled up, only to tumble off the bed with a soft thump. The fall was low, and the plush carpet absorbed it completely, so there was no pain at all. That only made her feel even more tangled and irritated.
"What am I getting so excited for...?"
The girl muttered to herself and let out a long sigh.
It was just inviting a friend over for dinner.
Granted, her dad thought this was someone who had looked after his daughter inside a death game. Because of that, he had specially invited the head chef from his usual high-end restaurant to cook at home. He had ignored the trouble his business was facing and cleanly turned down a dinner engagement just so he could host properly.
But it was still just dinner with a friend.
She had not originally had this much on her mind.
It was all Dad's fault. Why had he given her that meaningful, satisfied smile earlier, patted her on the head, and then gone into his room to say to Mom's photo, "See? Our daughter has grown up. Don't worry. I'll make sure she has the full support she needs."
Why did he have to make it feel weird?!
That guy would kneel on the ground like a lapdog for a single cigarette. He was not the outstanding talent Dad was imagining. The final battle against Kayaba, changing into a ridiculously cool set of equipment amid the flames, calmly and arrogantly driving the creator of Sword Art Online step by step into a corner, ending the death game with cold eyes... all of that was just fantasy!
...Although she had personally seen how that battle unfolded.
In truth, the so-called ending had come far too suddenly.
It had been a day like any other, and then she heard it: a sacred hymn that seemed to come from beyond the clouds, announcing the liberation brought by the game's defeat.
Before she could fully react, a field of white light swallowed her vision. It felt just like being transported by a Teleport Crystal. But after a slightly long stretch of time, when she opened her eyes again, what she saw was the white ceiling of a hospital room.
Everything after that, she had only heard from other people.
Heathcliff's true identity. The terrifying battle fought with lives on the line. Satoru's long-awaited return to the assault team for a Floor Boss fight, only for him to end up facing the Demon King of the 100th Floor alone on the 75th Floor.
As if by fate, he had become a hero, even though she felt that role had been forced on him.
Because even a true hero belonged to only one person, right?
She could not help thinking of that blonde girl who always wore a gentle smile and looked at him with such tenderness.
...He must be in pain.
Saki clenched her hands a little tighter.
"Whew..."
For the moment, she shoved those wandering thoughts aside.
"I wonder what kind of sorrowful face he'll have. Anyway, I need to make sure I look good."
They had known each other for two years, but this would be their first real meeting.
She dove back into the pile of clothes, this time with the hair dryer from the table in hand.
...
In the spacious living room, warm yellow light softened the room. The sunlight outside was gradually fading, and in the hour near dusk, the natural evening glow blended gently with the lamps inside. The decor, mostly wooden furniture, cared less about dazzling luxury than about the warmth of a home.
Hidemura Kurosaki had already been sitting at the dining table for quite some time.
"Sorry to make you come all this way," he said, looking at the middle-aged man setting the table.
"Not at all. You've always taken good care of our business," the man said with a smile. "And besides, this is an important guest, isn't it? Otherwise, you wouldn't have gone all the way to my teacher."
"Ah, I'm really sorry about that..." Hidemura gave a wry smile. "It isn't that I don't trust your cooking, Koizumi."
"You're too kind. My teacher was simply too busy to come. Otherwise, with the relationship you two have, there is no way he would have missed it."
"He even went out of his way to tell me not to embarrass him. Really, now. I only just managed to get his approval to open my own restaurant not long ago, but he still can't stop giving me reminders."
"That Torashiro Restaurant?" Hidemura asked. "In that case, shouldn't you be busy too? You were only just promoted to three stars recently, right?"
"Which is why my teacher also told me not to chase quick success..." The middle-aged man spread his hands helplessly. "By the way, because of your request, I made today's dishes look a little more restaurant-like. Roughly speaking, it is a combination of Japanese raw-egg rice bowl and Western black truffle. To account for appetite, I also prepared French red wine steak, as well as Matsuba crab and snow crab."
"A disciple even Hideki Ishikawa trusts. Of course I have no doubts about the flavor," Hidemura said with a smile.
"For the wine pairing, a 1994 Petrus should be fine, yes? I've controlled the temperature. Twenty degrees Celsius is appropriate."
"Ah, yes. That will do..."
"Would you like dinner music?"
"It really doesn't have to be that formal..." Hidemura hesitated, which was rare for him. "But then again, perhaps being too informal would not be good either."
The middle-aged chef looked a little puzzled.
"If I may ask, what is the occasion for this meal...?"
Hidemura thought for a while, then actually rubbed his hands together in nervousness.
"I, I suppose you could call it the first dinner with my daughter's boyfriend?"
Then he continued.
"This is my first time dealing with something like this too... That feeling of my good little daughter finally growing up after two years. Oh, right. Are my clothes all right today?"
"They look like very comfortable loungewear," the chef answered honestly.
"Will he think I'm being too casual? Impolite, maybe? Would that Canali suit be better after all?"
"That would be a little too serious, wouldn't it...?"
While the two of them kept up their scattered conversation, Saki finally came out of the bedroom on the second floor.
Hidemura's eyes lit up despite himself, and he murmured under his breath.
"Short, fluffy curls. A white wrap dress from Topshop. She is actually showing her forearms and calves without hesitation, and... and she even put on Laneige Two Tone No. 3 lipstick."
The chef looked at him with a complicated expression.
Saki walked over to the seat beside her dad and glanced at him as if she did not care.
"Why do you look nervous?"
"I don't." Hidemura immediately covered up his earlier state, putting on an air of complete calm. "What about you? Why did you take so long to come down?"
"I got bored and fell asleep."
"You're... not nervous?"
"Of course not. Are you?"
"I told you, I'm not."
Father and daughter sat side by side at the table, both staring straight ahead with perfect posture.
"..."
The chef scratched his head.
As if the timing had been arranged, the doorbell rang clearly. Saki and Hidemura's eyebrows both twitched at the same time.
"Um, Mr. Kurosaki, I'll answer the door on my way out, all right?"
"Ah, sure. Thanks, Koizumi-kun."
The chef walked over and opened the door.
"Is this the Kurosaki residence?" asked the slender man in plain clothes outside.
"Yes. Please come in."
"Thank you." Satoru gave him a polite smile and stepped inside. "Aren't you coming in?"
"I was just leaving," the chef said. Then, as if remembering something, he patted Satoru on the shoulder. "Seize the opportunity, young man."
Satoru scratched his head, utterly baffled.
Click.
The door closed.
Once it did, Satoru saw the two people sitting upright in the center of the living room... but strangely, neither of them greeted him.
He leaned forward slightly, carefully took off his shoes, and discovered that his old socks had already worn through, exposing his big toes. Without a word, he tucked the socks back into his shoes as well, then cautiously walked farther inside barefoot, one step at a time.
"Um... Saki Kurosaki? Or should I say Argo?" he asked hesitantly.
She did not look that different from the Rat in his memory. If he had to name one difference, it was that she seemed to have an inexplicable radiance about her.
"Hmm... You don't look like that scruffy, trash-picking version from the game anymore. The black jacket and jeans suit you pretty well. I didn't know you had that much of an artistic side. You even tied your hair into a little ponytail."
The girl's unsteady voice drifted over slowly.
"Oh. It's nothing much. This is one of my uncle's old shirts. It seemed to fit, so I put it on. It isn't that hot today either. As for the hair, I've been busy these past few days and didn't have time to wash it, so I tied it back for convenience. I'll cut it when I have time later," Satoru answered honestly.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Do you have any... questions?" Satoru asked cautiously.
"I spent three hours trying on seventy-eight outfits..."
All he heard was Saki's resentful whisper through gritted teeth.
Satoru scratched his head, looking completely baffled.