Chapter 1 | A Leap of Faith

  Nine's Own Goal. Rented Guildhall. YGGDRASIL. 2128.

  Suzuki Satoru, or otherwise known as the Undead Overlord Momonga on this side of the digital universe, was currently testing YGGDRASIL's wear-and-tear physics with his anxious pacing up and down the pristine white floor of the rented guild hall. His skeletal frame, designed to inspire terror, looked positively ridiculous engaged in something as human as pacing.

  His clan, Nine's Own Goal had expanded their numbers significantly since its early days nearly two years ago in 2126. They started with nine, and now they were just over twenty. It was a growth Momonga appreciated, as fewer dispassionate stares from other players usually translated into fewer attempts to turn them all into experience points. Usually anyway.

  Due to its members all being working adults however, coordinating their schedules was like trying to herd cats— if the cats were all level 100 heteromorphs with strong individual opinions on optimal grinding spots. Consequently, a firm rule had been established by their illustrious clan leader, the World-Champion, Touch Me: when a rare majority was online, all personal grinds were to be set aside for the good of the clan.

  This was the same Touch Me who had, including today, been offline for six days. Silent. No messages. No excuses. It would not have been much of an issue if not for the fact that a new major update had been launched earlier last week, and with it came a month long PVE event that promised one of the rarest and most powerful rewards: a chance to earn a guaranteed World Item.

  These items were different. They, like their name suggests, were unique artefacts that had the ability to shape the game world to the user's liking. Some possessed effects so blatantly overpowered that the developers themselves had labeled the top twenty balance-breakers simply as "The Twenty."

  The in-game lore claimed they were the lost 'leaves' of the World Tree, devoured by some primordial horror before the game began. The entire premise of YGGDRASIL was for players to venture forth, explore the nine remaining worlds, and protect them from a similar fate— preferably while maintaining a sufficiently impressive kill count of other players and hoarding any lost leaves they stumbled upon.

  While not every World Item could terraform a portion of the continent or summon endless hordes of mindless demons, their sheer rarity— only two hundred in existence— made owning one the ultimate status symbol.

  Finding them, of course, was the real endgame. The developers had hidden them with their usual sadistic enthusiasm, scattering them in obscure corners of the map, placing them at the end of unrepeatable quest chains, locking them behind raid bosses nobody could solo, or on occasion, as an one-in-a-million drop from a common flying squirrel.

  This was also what made the event a godsend. It was a month-long PVE contest where the group with the most endgame dungeon clears won a gacha ticket guaranteeing a random World Item. This was basically gambling in its truest form, but a chance was better than none. To level the playing field, smaller registered groups received a multiplier to their clear count, hence allowing even minute clans like Momonga's Nine's Own Goal to stand a chance.

  It was also the very reason why Touch Me's week-long radio silence was so catastrophic, and why Momonga completely understood the frustration of their clan mate, Phainality, one of the original nine founding members.

  "Six days! A guaranteed World Item event drops, and our glorious leader decides to take a vacation?" Phainality roared.

  Even as he erupted, his avatar's face remained unchanged, the only sign of his fury being the violent bobbing of his avatar like a very upset balloon. He was an Eidolon heteromorph, a floating spectral undead that dealt mainly mental and magic damage. "We need every member for this grind, and he decides to go MIA at this timing!"

  "Now, now, Phai-kun!"

  A gelatinous, amber tentacle landed upon the eidolon's translucent shoulders, miming a patting action with its little puddle of goo. While eidolons were generally immune to most physical attacks, the developers had wisely decided that it would make the game a chore to interact with should the user also not be able physically interact with the world. The end result was that allies and the world itself had physical collision, while most enemies and mobs would phase right through.

  The one doing the patting was one of the only two female members in their clan; Bukubukuchagama, or BubblingTeapot, depending on which language one preferred. She was also a heteromorph, and in her case it was a slime. She had specialised her build for defensive utility and often served as one of the main tanks for the clan during dungeons and raids.

  "I'm sure Touch Me has his own reasons!" Ever the sunny personality, BubblingTeapot's unshakable optimism was usually their clan's best buff against tilt, whether facing a raid wipe or a teammate's meltdown.

  However, that same boundless optimism had a flip side: a penchant for what she called "clan morale activities," which usually involved targeting her little brother, Peroroncino.

  Their dynamic was a well known clan feature. He had called her an "odd-looking blob of flesh"; she, operating on the ironclad principle that little brothers exist to be tormented by their elder sisters, had retaliated by bestowing upon him the prestigious title of Nine's Own Goal's Number One Birdbrain. A fitting moniker, given his avatar was a feathery birb who happened to have arms and legs.

  Speaking of the bird, Peroroncino chose that moment to swoop into the conversation. "Maybe he's finally got a girlfriend? I certainly wouldn't be surprised. You all know he's got a well-paying job."

  BubblingTeapot's playful demeanour evaporated. Her gelatinous form seemed to solidify, and her voice dropped from a cheerful gurgle to a jarring, guttural growl. "Not everyone is obsessed with the utility of their reproductive faculties, my useless little brother."

  "I don't want to hear that from the person who'd voice any character so long as they get paid!" The bird-brother squawked back.

  And just like that, the rented hall was treated to an on-demand episode of "The Onee-slime and the Ototori." The ensuing verbal battle— a mix of personal jabs, exaggerated threats, and the occasional glitchy sound effect from Peroroncino's avatar— usually ended with the Onee-slime victorious, either through sheer auditory amplitude or by threatening to "negotiate" with him in the real world.

  "Nah, that's not possible." Came another voice from the sofas. There sat a demon goat-man, his right arm positioned with theatrical menace. This was Ulbert Alain Odle— not a founding member but one of the most active, whose obsession with overwhelming firepower had earned him the World Disaster class. He had a fondness for over-embellished coats, absurdly long goat-nails, and a perplexing refusal to wear shoes.

  Then again, Momonga pondered, perhaps it's just to show off the hoofs. He does have an aesthetic.

  "I know him well. He's not the type for flings or to abandon his duty over one. He'd probably date someone for half a decade, propose, spend another two years planning the wedding, and have kids three years later," Ulbert paused, stroking his goat-tee with suitably goat-y charisma. "In other words, we'd know."

  "Then what!?" Phainality erupted once more, pounding his spectral fist onto the hard table. A ping and a large zero appeared to inform the eidolon that he had dealt no damage. "We need his firepower! I don't think I need to mention that we've been ganked mid-pull by PVPers several times already. He's a World Champion! He should be here!"

  "Calm down, Phai-san."

  Another tentacle was now attempting to pat the eidolon. This time, it was a stem of green shrubbery coming from a heteromorph that was best described as a walking cabbage with arms who wore a templar's top. It was either that or a reverse-hoodie. Momonga was not sure.

  This cabbage was Punitto Moe, the clan's chief strategist. Whenever there were clan or guild battles, he would be there at the backlines, waving his staff and doing his best impression of Kongming, all the while issuing commands to ensure the ensuing chaos was of a controlled variety and not of the less desirable, more catastrophic alternative that usually ended up with multiple members dead, several best-in-slot gear lost, an entire wipe or all of the above.

  "The previous attempts were doomed from the start," the sentient vegetable said, a vine stroking what was presumably its chin-equivalent. "Even with Touch-san, the odds were insurmountable. We were simply out-gunned."

  Momonga decided that it was time to steer the conversation toward a solution. "I concur. We were vastly outnumbered. That being said, I think it's time for us to decide where we are going today."

  His intervention brought the group's focus back to the present.

  "I suggest we pick a target we can actually handle," BubblingTeapot called out, one tentacle still firmly wrapped around her brother's neck. "Otherwise it'd just be us doing charity and donating free gear again."

  A wave of grim agreement rippled through the hall. Ulbert raised a hand. "A practical suggestion. Shall we put it to a vote? Momonga?"

  "No objection," Momonga replied. He, too, was tired of funding the repair NPC's retirement plan every time he respawned. The vote was swift and unanimous: lower the difficulty.

  Phainality let out a resigned sigh. "Fine. We lower our standards." He shared a map ping in the clan chat, suggesting several alternative dungeons as the clan began deliberating over which offered the best data crystal returns for their now-more-cautious efforts.

  Meanwhile, the other female clan member, Yamaiko brought up an update to a piece of breaking news that had caused a nationwide controversy earlier during the week.

  "It seems our diving athlete managed survive her ordeal," the bulging Nephilim began, her voice muffled slightly by the many scarves and coats swaddling her avatar.

  Yamaiko was a teacher by trade, and as such teaching was one of her fortes. It was unfortunate that her other defining forte was an gloriously short fuse that often ended up in the earlier-than-expected deployments of her 'Female Sensei's Iron Fist of Wrath' gauntlets. Fortunately, she had specialised as an off-tank support healer; otherwise, the clan's diplomatic record may have had a much longer list of regrettable incidents.

  She continued her update on the athlete's status, letting the caster's voice playback into the room. Many members immediately quietened down and started paying attention to the news update.

  "...an update on Neo-Asia diving athlete Yugao Xia Lanyue. The two-time gold medalist and world-record holder, who was admitted to Neo-Tokyo Omicron Medical University Hospital earlier this week following a catastrophic traffic accident, has reportedly regained consciousness. This news brings much relief to fans across Neo-China and Neo-Asia at large."

  A murmur of relief went through the room.

  "Reports indicate the athlete's team limousine was struck by a seventeen-year-old who had taken his parent's sports sedan for a joyride. The teen was allegedly driving under the influence and exceeding 160 km/hour at the time of the collision. Tragically, Athlete Xia suffered injuries resulting in the loss of both her legs. The other driver escaped with only a fractured arm. Neo-Asia Olympics President Han Hotteok has publicly condemned…"

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Bloody asshole." Peroroncino spat out. "The bastard gets a fractured bone, and our star athlete loses both her legs? What the hell. They should plaster his name everywhere. He stole from the continent a talent no one could replace. He should be skinned alive."

  "Yeah," Punitto Moe concurred, his vegetable-head shaking. "The worst part? He crashed into her the same day she won that medal. I heard she was on her way to celebrate. The wreck was brutal."

  A resentful ripple washed through the clan and Momonga felt it keenly. Of course the kid's name was kept secret, he thought, the bitterness was a taste he was familiar with. It was the way of their world.

  His mind drifted back to the history lessons everyone knew. The First Global Warming Tsunami, seventy years ago, had drowned coastlines and starved nations. The only good to come from that mess was that it forced the old countries to band together, leading to the continental alliances that now competed in the Olympics.

  But the bad had also festered. As resources dwindled, corporations grew fangs more venomous than their last. He remembered the Corporate Alliance Revolts of 2066— a short, brutal war of economic attrition that left the megacorps with more power than most governments. Now, sixty years on, it was standard for a corporation to have a seat in parliament. They called it "joint-governance," but everyone knew it was a legitimised shakedown.

  The result was a permanent and cynical stalemate. For every corrupt official the authorities and business leaders rooted out, two more sprung up in their place, nurtured by the endless shadowy trades and lobbying. The Corpo-Governmental Offices made sure no one starved, but they did little to clean out the rot festering beneath the tables. Japan was no exception.

  The fact that the seventeen-year-old driver was a nameless ghost was just the latest proof. It spoke volumes about the dirty political favours that kept the whole rotten machine grinding along.

  "Well, I wouldn't worry too much. You all know of Athlete Xia's mixed blood descent, don't you?" Ulbert joined in the conversation, equally upset but noticeably less enraged than the others. He always enjoyed playing the part of the well-informed cynic. "She's from the Xia family, the same one that founded the Xia Conglomerate a hundred years ago. They pretty much have ties all over Asia. Heck, her mother was apparently Japanese. So was her great-aunt or something."

  Their demon goat-man took a seat, the sofa groaning under his weight. "There's no corporation in Japan that can match them. Mark my words, the Xia patriarch will be knocking on that family's door within the week. Probably with a battalion of PLA commandos, JSDF elites, or both." He shook his head for theatrical effect, his goat-tee swaying around his goat-snout. "The kid, his family, their businesses… poof. Gone. And a few governmental heads will likely roll, too."

  The thought of corporate vengeance did seem to mollify the clan somewhat. But for some, rage was not so easily contained.

  BubblingTeapot, for one.

  It was no surprise; she had proclaimed herself Xia Lanyue's "number one slime fan" more times than Momonga could count.

  "She was only twenty-six," BubblingTeapot stated, her form quivering as she stared at the news feed. "She had at least one more medal in her. I swear, if I ever find that guy, I'll rip his balls right off."

  "Now, now," Momonga interjected carefully, making sure to time his interruption after BubblingTeapot was done speaking. "I know we're all upset about it, but she's awake, and that's what matters right now. Let's focus on what we can control instead. Which dungeon are we hitting?"

  "Hmm… let's go with The Trinning," Phainality suggested, sharing the map coordinates. "It's fast, drops versatile data crystals, and its inconvenient underground location usually means less PVP traffic."

  A round of nods and acknowledgements later, the clan set off for their chosen dungeon. As the teleportation countdowns started to flicker around him, Momonga felt the familiar weight settle back onto his non-existent shoulders. I can herd them toward a dungeon well enough, he thought, but keeping them focused and working together? That was always Touch Me's job.

  A wave of weary exasperation washed over his back. Managing the clan's chaotic energy was exhausting. He just did not have the same natural authority his friend possessed.

  Touch-san… I really wish you'd hurry back. I'm not cut out for this.

  ———

  Neo-Tokyo Omicron Medical University Hospital. Seiyō-no-Sekai (静養の世界). Top Floor. Neo-Tokyo. 2128.

  3 Weeks After Accident.

  Touch Me, or Ka Masayoshi, as his name was displayed on his digital passport, rode the elevator to the university hospital's apex. The past 3 weeks had become a new familiar routine for him. Go to his governmental office, scribble some official-looking paragraphs on a decidedly-not-very-important-but-still-official-enough-bureaucratic-memo, shake a few hands, sip some exorbitantly-priced beverage, evade some amorous colleagues, get in his car and drive to the hospital.

  Every day, his only real thought was his sister's recovery. He was her only relative here in Neo-Japan, their other less-friendly siblings were either half-way across the globe or sitting in a bamboo-forest somewhere admiring Pandas while pretending to be working. Their father had already purged the responsible family and their corporation last week with his usual brutal efficiency, visibly upset at the damage done to one of his most lucrative assets: his daughter. With her legs amputated and gone, her career as an athlete was over.

  Masayoshi stared out into the bleak dystopian cityscape as the private elevator continued to perform its singular mission of delivering personnel up the floors at mind-bogglingly slow speeds. Probably designed so the old baldies do not vomit up their lunch when going up, he thought, before his mind drifted back to that of his sister.

  To be honest, Masayoshi dreaded walking into this elevator. Not because he disliked making the trip, but because after three weeks, he had already exhausted his personal vocabulary of comforting responses. Going up and seeing his sister lying on that white bed in her suite was as demoralising to his psyche as it sounds. He had failed as her older brother. If he had being the one driving that night, then maybe her career and dreams would have still been intact.

  Yugao had always been a shy kid. She only began to blossom after discovering her love for water and later, her prodigious talent for diving. Masayoshi had been overjoyed when she made the Neo-Asia Inter-Continental Olympic Team at fourteen. Sure, their father had probably greased the wheels, but her talent was the real deal. Their father had also noticed that talent shortly after and started pouring investments into her. Yugao would later get her own massive glass-domed training facility, an army of nutrition and health specialists and a battalion of private security following her every step.

  She swept regional competitions, dominated the U-18 category at her first Games, and four years later, as a full-fledged Olympian, she snatched three Silvers. Then, at twenty-two, she shattered the world record.

  Masayoshi could still see it: the scores flashing on the board. 28.5 x 4.2 x 9.7. 1161.09. A new record. He had been ecstatic, knowing how brutally she had trained to master the Forward 4? Somersaults. That HAI score of 9.7 was a testament to her will.

  Four years later, she had done it again. This time, the Reverse 4? Somersaults. Her coach had advised against it, citing the monstrous difficulty. But she had gone ahead and pulled it off anyway. That HAI score of 10 was the evidence of her perfection.

  That was the dive that earned her the medal they were supposed to celebrate that night.

  The thought was a stab to his chest. If only he had been in the car with her. If he had been driving instead of her team chauffeur, maybe she would still be walking. Maybe those legs, which had carried her to such monumental heights, would still be hers.

  A gentle ping! notified Masayoshi of his arrival at his destination. He gave brief nods to the PLA Colonel and the JSDF Naval Captain chatting outside her suite and made his way inside.

  Yugao was there, lying on her Automated Physio-Kinetic Bed. Dozens of Synaptic Weave Monitors tracked her vitals, their filaments a delicate web across her skin. A Holo Diagnostic & Entertainment Sphere played an episode from a Chinese historical drama he did not recognise, but the sight of the characters' elaborate, colourful and definitely-not-historically-accurate costumes made him grin. Some habits, it seemed— like his sister's fondness for those over-embellished traditional dresses— never changed.

  She noticed his entry and turned her upper body to face him, the green healing waves of her Bio-Regenerative Nanite Infusion System rippling softly with the motion. That she could move at all was a massive improvement from three weeks ago.

  "You came again, Brother."

  "Of course," Masayoshi placed a hand near Yugao's, taking care not to disturb the healing nanites. "How are you feeling?"

  His sister gave her usual stoic reply. "I'm fine."

  "I see."

  A moment of silence hung between them before she spoke again. "Do you not have to go meet your online friends?"

  He knew which friends she were referring to. His YGGDRASIL ones. His friends in Nine's Own Goal.

  "I just met them yesterday."

  It was true. He hadn't logged in at all during the first week of her hospitalisation, spending every waking moment outside her suite. She was still unconscious then, most of her days were spent being ferried across different operating rooms. She only woke up on the tail end of the sixth day.

  Naturally, his clan mates were displeased with his unannounced absence. They had every right to be; a new major event was underway, and its prize— a guaranteed World Item— was something he too, desperately wanted for Nine's Own Goal. But his sister took priority. And bound by one of the clan's unspoken rules, he never spoke of his real life.

  He understood that most people played games to escape their bleak realities. It would be ill-mannered to pollute their fantasy with his own, which would only stir unwanted gossip, attention, and perhaps envy. No one knew he had a sister, let alone that she was in the hospital. He did suspect, however, that a few of the original founders had pieced together that he was fairly well-off.

  "Are they not upset with your absence?" Yugao asked, her gaze weak but still held that unmistakable light, that familiar spark, and its characteristic clarity that so defined her spirit. "You used to spend so much time with them."

  "Well… There was one who got pretty angry," Masayoshi admitted, wincing slightly. He elected not to tell her that his angry friend had left the clan shortly after their argument. Phainality was understandably upset; the Clan's chances for success had all but vanished into thin air after the second week of his continued absence. He just did not expect it to escalate so rapidly.

  Thinking back, perhaps if he had explained the situation upfront, the fallout could have been avoided. But if given the same choice again, he would still have chosen to stay by her side. The clan was important, but she was his sister.

  Looking at her now, he saw someone who had lost everything that defined her: her sport, her mobility, her independence, and her purpose. The doctors had been clear; the damage to her spinal cord along with her frayed nerve endings had meant that she was now permanently bound to a mobility-aid and prosthetics were not an option. Even with the comprehensive mobility-assistance the best medical wheelchairs could provide, it was a far cry from walking on one's own two feet. The body that she had trained for a lifetime was gone.

  Once a world-class athlete, her entire identity was built around her discipline, physical mastery and her determination, all tenaciously chasing the goal of performing the perfect dive she could. Now, that goal was no more. She was adrift, stuck in a Physio-Kinetic Bed on a daily dose of Bio-Regenerative Nanite Infusion.

  He let out a soft sigh of lament, suppressing its sound to a bare whisper.

  His sister however, seemed to have caught on to his internal emotional turmoil. "Don't blame yourself, Brother. There was nothing anyone could have done. No one could have known."

  He turned to her. He knew she was right, but the truth did not lessen the hurt. He could not bear to see her like this, stranded in this current reality where she could never reclaim what she had lost.

  Then, a spark of inspiration.

  Reclaim. This reality.

  Masayoshi had a moment of epiphany. If the current reality was the problem, all he needed to do was offer her another. And he knew the one place where she can, if she wanted to, reclaim everything she had lost.

  "Yugao." He started, trying to formulate a convincing proposal. This could be her lifeline, a gateway, a refuge. If she declined here, he was not sure he would get a another chance. In some ways, she was more stubborn than their father. "… I know what you've lost. I can't even imagine how it must feel. But, your mind, your discipline, your tenacity, the very talents that you used to achieve your gold medals— they are all still there, inside of you. In many ways, they're sharper than ever before."

  He took a steadying breath, mentally rehearsing his next lines. "The game I play, YGGDRASIL… it's more than just a simple game. Its mechanics are incredibly deep, its worlds carefully handcrafted, and its hardest challenges punishingly savage in their difficulty. The dungeons, raids and World Bosses, they require the same kind of skill, precision, tenacity and relentless focus that you possess. It's a new kind of athleticism."

  He was halfway done. Yet, he could not be relieved until he had heard her answer. "Inside its worlds, you won't be confined to your bed nor defined by a chair. You can be whoever you want, do whatever you want. You can walk. You can run. Should you wish to, you can be powerful again, in a manner of your own choosing. You can gain a new purpose, to replace the one you've lost."

  He paused, gathering his courage. The carefully constructed logic fell away, leaving only raw, brotherly concern. "And most importantly…" His voice grew softer, the measured tone fading into a near-whisper. "…I can't bear to watch you wither away in despair within these cold sterile walls."

  Masayoshi held his sister's gaze. He could see the conflict swirling in the light of her eyes.

  "I… don't know if I want to," Yugao answered softly. "If I become able to walk, to run, and to… jump and dive again… I don't know if I can handle it, the longing."

  She looked away.

  "What happens when I take the helmet off? When I stare back down at these… stumps. It'd just feel even worse, would it not?"

  Masayoshi understood her meaning. He had to be careful now, he had no desire to be dismissive of her fears, but he also could not just watch her continue on her current trajectory.

  He leaned forward, his voice low but intense. "I know… And that's the bravest thing you've said since the accident. You're not afraid of the challenge, what you're afraid of is the after. But Yugao, listen to me. The longing is already there. It's eating you alive in this room."

  He gave a gesture around the luxurious, sterile suite. "This isn't living, sister. It's waiting. Waiting for nothing to happen. The pain you are worried about— the pain of remembering what you've lost— it's not in the future. It's already here, in your present reality. This reality. YGGDRASIL… won't give you back what you've lost, but it also need not serve as a reminder of what was taken away from you."

  "You don't have to move if you don't want to. You can stand still, and still achieve greatness. YGGDRASIL can become a weapon, a weapon to be used against that feeling of hopeless longing. It's the place where you can still use that competitive fire, that drive for perfection. It can be an outlet, a way to live. To not wait."

  "I'm not asking you to forget what you've lost. You shouldn't. I'm asking you to consider starting a new life, in a new reality, one where you might find a version of yourself you thought was already gone." He paused, letting his words sink in. "The alternative here is to let the longing claim an easy victory by default. And I have never known my sister to capitulate without a fight."

  A single tear traced a path down Yugao's porcelain cheek. She was silent for a long time, her gaze drifting from her brother's face to the sterile white wall, then down to the blanket draped over her thighs. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the medical machinery. Finally, she let out a slow, shaky breath, the fight draining out of her shoulders.

  "I'm… scared, Brother," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But you're right. Waiting here is its own kind of hell."

  She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as if she was once again steadying herself on a high dive platform, ready to perform a leap. This time, into the unknown.

  When she opened them, her resolve was clear. "Fine. I'll try. For you. And for myself."