Second World Online

The soft hiss of the hydraulic system as the Virtual Reality capsule slowly opened sounded like a long exhalation that broke the silence of my room. Cool air from the air conditioner immediately swept across my face, carrying the sterile scent of the room that had become an inseparable part of my life. I blinked slowly, allowing my eyes to adjust to the afternoon sunlight that filtered in through the gaps in the window curtains.

That golden-orange light fell precisely onto the marble floor of my room, marking that the day had already progressed toward dusk by the time I was pulled back into the real world.

Beside the capsule, the most precious figure in my life was already standing and waiting. Mira. She wore a clean and neat classic black-and-white household maid uniform. Her shoulder-length black hair was tied back, framing a face that always radiated gentleness.

Mira was not a medical nurse, but my personal attendant who had worked for and accompanied me since we were children. Growing up together in this house had long blurred the boundaries between master and servant. She was my lover, the woman who stubbornly refused to leave when the leukemia diagnosis stole my youth. When the effects of chemotherapy left my body so weak that I had to depend on a wheelchair, Mira voluntarily took over my entire care, ensuring I received a comfort that no hired nurse could ever replace.

"Good afternoon, Young Master," she greeted softly; the tone of her voice always managed to become a melody that soothed the pain of my fragile body.

Her warm right hand reached out; her slender fingers carefully removed the neural sensor pads from my temples and the back of my neck. Her touch was extremely precise yet full of affection.

"Afternoon, Mira," I replied with a voice that still sounded hoarse and weak. I forced a smile. "You're always on time. I hadn't even fully opened my eyes yet, but the aroma of the tea you brought already woke me up."

Mira smiled sweetly; a faint blush appeared on her cheeks. She returned my smile with a gentle stroke on my pale cheek. "Of course I have to be on time, Rian. The system monitors your brain waves, and I know exactly when your adrenaline drops signaling that you've already logged out. Besides, your meal schedule must not be late."

She supported me with extreme care, embracing my shoulders to help me rise from the gel padding of the capsule and transfer onto the wheelchair that had already been prepared beside the bed. This blood cancer did not leave me paralyzed, yet the brutal treatment therapies had completely drained my muscle mass and stamina. Standing for more than two minutes alone made my vision spin. Being in Mira's embrace, even only briefly while changing places, always made the weight of my body feel a little lighter.

On the small table in the corner of the room, a wooden tray was already waiting. The menu never surprised me: a bowl of smooth wheat porridge, clear fat-free chicken broth, pureed boiled vegetables, and several medicine pills. Bland and sterile food was mandatory for a leukemia patient whose immune system was as fragile as paper.

I stared at the tray and exhaled in resignation. The memory of the juicy and spicy Roasted Wyvern Tail Steak at the "Crimson Drake Eatery" still lingered strongly in my brain's simulation, making the porridge in front of me look like wet cement paste.

"Don't look at the food like that, Rian. You have to finish it," Mira chided half-pouting, pulling a chair and sitting in front of me. She took a spoon and began feeding me with full patience.

I opened my mouth, accepting the spoonful of bland porridge without much protest. Together with Mira, even the most unpleasant things became tolerable. While chewing slowly, I told her a little about my plans inside the game that had to be postponed because my remaining login time had run out. I did not recount the details of the deadly battle with the Snake Queen. I did not want to make her worry about the mental burden I received in VR so I only talked about Alya who was extremely excited waiting for the evolution of her third tail.

"Your little sister truly never runs out of energy," Mira chuckled while offering a glass of plain water after my last spoonful was finished. She then opened the medicine bottle and placed several pills onto the palm of my hand. "Take your medicine. The latest blood test shows your white blood cells are slowly beginning to stabilize thanks to this month's treatment. That game at least helps keep your mind positive."

I swallowed those bitter medicines in one gulp, then leaned back against the wheelchair's rest, allowing the medicine to begin working. This room felt too quiet. Too enclosed. The four walls that imprisoned me every day suddenly made me feel breathless.

"Mira," I called softly, turning toward the window that displayed the silhouettes of trees in the distance. "The afternoon air seems really nice. Would you accompany me to the city park? I need to see something real, something that isn't digital pixels or isolation-room walls."

Mira stopped her activity of clearing the tray. She looked at me for a moment; her eyes radiated concern. She knew my immune system was weak, and going outside required extra preparation. The distance from our house to the city park was actually not too far, only about one kilometer, yet for us, moving this vulnerable body of mine outside the house required logistics that were not simple.

"Of course," Mira finally answered with a sincere smile that warmed my chest. "But I can't possibly accompany you on a walk wearing this maid uniform, can I? Wait a moment; I'll change clothes. You also need a thick jacket and a mask."

In only ten minutes, Mira returned. She had changed out of her maid uniform into ordinary casual clothes: a pastel knee-length dress paired with a white knitted cardigan. Her appearance looked extremely beautiful, simple, and radiated the charm of a girl who always made my heart race. She put a thick jacket and a scarf around my neck on me, then fitted a medical mask onto my face.

After ensuring I was ready, Mira released the brake lever and began pushing me slowly out of the room, along the quiet hallway of the house, toward the elevator that connected the upper floor with the underground garage.

The elevator door opened with a soft ding. We entered the underground garage that was extremely spacious and brightly lit. Its epoxy floor reflected the light from the long neon lamps on the ceiling.

As my wheelchair slid inside, my eyes immediately fixed on the row of cars neatly parked on the left side of the garage. That was my sports car collection. A matte-black Lamborghini Aventador that looked extremely aggressive, a bright-orange Porsche 911 GT3 RS with a carbon-fiber rear wing, and an elegant Aston Martin DBS.

All of them were covered in a thin layer of dust. The car covers were half-open in several places, indicating that months had passed without anyone touching them, let alone warming up their engines.

I stopped the movement of my wheelchair for a moment, staring at that row of ferocious machines in silence.

Once, those cars had been my escape. Speed was my addiction. Being behind the wheel, hearing the roar of a V12 engine that shook the asphalt, and cutting through the toll roads in the middle of the night gave an absolute sensation of freedom that I loved deeply. On the asphalt, I felt invincible.

But now, this leukemia has stolen everything. I could not even press the gas pedal or turn a heavy steering wheel without feeling dizzy and out of breath. My speed was now limited only to the simulation of Wind Walk in the world of Second World Online running across pixel ground while my original body withered on a wheelchair that moved at five kilometers per hour.

Without realizing it, I exhaled a long and heavy breath. The bitterness I tried to hide behind my fortitude seeped out.

Mira, who could always read every micro-change in my emotions, stopped her steps. She walked in front of my wheelchair and knelt until her face was level with mine. Her soft hands reached for both of my cold hands, gripping them tightly, channeling a warmth that soaked all the way into my heart.

"Hey," Mira whispered gently, looking straight into my eyes. There was no pity in her eyes, only absolute love and acceptance. "Those cars aren't going anywhere, Rian. They will wait for you there until you recover. And I will also wait for you, standing beside you, until you can hold that steering wheel again. You are fighting this disease magnificently. Don't give up just because these iron machines are gathering dust."

Those simple words pierced my mental defenses like an arrow piercing a boss monster's weakness. I smiled thinly behind my medical mask, squeezing her fingers back with the remaining strength I possessed. "Thank you, Mira. For always knowing what to say to save me from myself."

Mira returned my smile, then stood up. She pushed my wheelchair past that row of sleeping sports cars, toward a large white family MPV at the end of the garage. This car had been specially modified; its middle seats had been removed and replaced with automatic locking rails and an electronic hydraulic ramp that made wheelchair access easy.

Mira opened the side door, lowered the hydraulic ramp, and with extreme care guided me into the spacious cabin of the car. After ensuring my wheelchair was safely locked onto its seat and fastening the seatbelt around my body, she got into the driver's seat.

The engine started with a soft sound, extremely contrasting with the roar of the cars I used to drive. Mira pressed the gas pedal slowly, and we slid out of the garage, through the house gate, joining the afternoon city traffic flow.

That one-kilometer distance we covered in a short time. The city streets were not too congested. From the car window, I could see the slanted rays of the setting sun reflecting on the glass of office buildings, coloring the sky with a blend of orange, pink, and purple. This view was far more calming than any sophisticated graphical render inside the game.

We arrived at the city park's parking area. Mira got out, opened the side door, and helped me down. A cool afternoon breeze immediately greeted my face. There was no smell of sulfur, no miasma fog, no scent of monster blood. The air here was filled with the aroma of freshly cut grass and the fragrance of hibiscus flowers blooming along the footpath.

"Where do you want to sit?" Mira asked while beginning to push my wheelchair along the neat paved path of the park.

"Over there, under the large banyan tree near the artificial lake," I pointed. "It's shady enough there, and we can clearly see people coming and going."

Mira nodded in agreement. She pushed me slowly, avoiding small children running while carrying balloons, and greeted several passersby warmly. The city park this afternoon was extremely lively.

We finally arrived at the spot I had indicated. A green grassy area shaded by the dense branches of an old banyan tree. The artificial lake stretched in front of us; its surface reflected the golden light of the sun that was beginning to set. Mira locked the brake of my wheelchair, then sat on a teak-wood park bench positioned right beside me.

We sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. My hand automatically reached for Mira's hand, interlocking our fingers on my lap.

My eyes observed the scenery around us. A group of teenagers were roller-skating on the concrete area, laughing loudly every time someone fell. On the running path that circled the lake, several adults appeared busy jogging with earphones fitted in their ears; sweat soaked their shirts. Across from us, an elderly couple walked slowly while holding hands, enjoying the remainder of the day.

Everything looked so normal. So fleeting and fragile, yet extremely beautiful.

"You know, Mira," I broke the silence; my voice was almost a whisper carried by the afternoon wind. "Inside the game, I am an existence that is both highly avoided and feared. Major players respect me, monsters avoid me, and even the number-one Guild seeks me for an alliance. I can leap into the air, run cutting through the wind, and destroy anything that blocks me with a single shot."

I looked down, staring at my feet wrapped in thick pants on the wheelchair's footrest, then stared at our interlocked hands. The back of my hand looked pale and was covered with marks from infusion injections.

"But when I look at those people who are jogging… seeing them able to move their legs consciously, feeling the fatigue from healthy muscles because of exercising… I realize that absolute power in the virtual world cannot cover how weak I am in the real world."

Mira turned to look at me. She shifted her seat closer, gently resting her head against my shoulder.

"You don't need to become an absolute existence in the real world, Rian," Mira said softly; the tone of her voice trembled with restrained emotion. "Those people who are jogging, they have physical freedom, true. But they don't necessarily have mental strength like yours to keep fighting a deadly disease that steals their energy every day. You didn't give up. You found a way to keep living, you found an outlet in that game, and you used it to stimulate your will to live."

Mira lifted her face and looked straight into my eyes. "Inside the game, you might be a hero or a monster to other players. But to me, from when we were little until now, my hero is the man sitting in this wheelchair. The man who refuses to die, who every day struggles to swallow bland food and endure the nausea of chemotherapy, just so we can have tomorrow to see a sunset like this again."

I was stunned. Her words pierced the fortress of cynicism I often built to cover my inferiority because of this leukemia. Tears slowly welled in the corners of my eyes, yet I held them back with a sincere smile.

I lifted my weak hand with the remaining strength, gently pulled my mask down, then tucked a strand of Mira's black hair behind her ear.

"I don't know what good thing I did in the past to be able to get you, Mira," I whispered hoarsely. "Thank you. For always being with me."

Mira smiled; tears of emotion fell from the corners of her eyes. She leaned her body forward and gave a soft, long kiss on my lips. That kiss was not filled with lust, but with gratitude, certainty, and an unspoken promise that we would weather this storm together.

When the kiss released, we returned to gazing toward the lake. The afternoon wind blew dry leaves that fell around us. The sun slowly hid behind the horizon line, marking the end of a long day.