Second World Online

The morning sunlight felt warm against the surface of my pale skin. After finishing a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of green tea, I asked Mira to take me out of the isolation room. Those white walls were beginning to feel stifling, and after a night filled with the smell of virtual sulfur and the panic of the game's developers, I simply wanted to feel something real and peaceful.

Mira gladly granted my request. She pushed my wheelchair along the corridors of the luxurious Hortensia family home, past the giant sliding glass doors, and brought us into the rear garden of the residence.

This garden was designed like a private botanical park. The neatly trimmed green lawn still hid remnants of morning dew. Shady trees provided cooling shade, while chrysanthemums and lilies bloomed, radiating a sweet fragrance that drove away the antiseptic smell that always clung to my body. The gentle sound of water from the koi pond in the corner of the garden became a natural melody that soothed my nerves.

Mira parked my wheelchair under the shade of a small banyan tree, ensuring I received enough healthy morning sunlight that was not too harsh. She sat on a wooden garden bench beside me, a thick book on her lap, ready to accompany me while I sunbathed.

For the first dozen minutes, I simply remained silent. I closed my eyes, letting the cool breeze caress my face and taking deep breaths, filling my lungs with fresh air. This sensation was a luxury in itself for someone who spent most of his time lying inside a Virtual Reality capsule or a medical bed.

However, boredom began to creep upward.

I opened my eyes, reached into the pocket of my pajama pants, and took out my smartphone. The OLED screen lit up, displaying the browser interface that I immediately directed to the national news portal and social media trend aggregator.

As I had already guessed, the hashtags #SecondWorldOnline, #Ironhold, and #MadAlchemist dominated the top ten hottest topics in the virtual world. The forums were filled with heated debates regarding Patch Note 1.05a that had just been released this morning. Players from Ouroboros and Black Wolf celebrated the nerf on my explosives as if it were their own victory, while the crafter community and the Knights of the Round launched fierce protests because the game's physics system had been forcibly changed by the GMs solely out of fear of one player.

I only smiled faintly while reading it. Let them argue. Being the center of controversy of a global phenomenon had its own form of entertainment.

I swiped the screen, switching from gaming news to the mainstream national news portal. I wanted to know how severe the accident was that had forced Doctor Karin to run this morning.

Right on the front page, with a thick red main headline, the news was clearly displayed.

NORTH HIGHWAY TRAGEDY: MASSIVE MULTI-VEHICLE COLLISION, 10 VICTIMS DEAD ON THE SPOT.

I furrowed my brow; my finger pressed the article link. An amateur video from the dashboard camera of a car traveling in the opposite lane played automatically. The visuals made my blood run cold.

The article dissected the chronology of the disaster in extreme detail. Everything began from a fatal infrastructure negligence. On the right lane of the highway connecting the suburban area to the city center, there was a fairly deep asphalt hole. However, it was not the depth of the hole that was deadly, but a sharp reinforcing steel bar from the road foundation that protruded upward from inside the hole, hidden by the thick fog remaining from last night's rain.

A family SUV traveling at high speed failed to notice the anomaly. The right front tire of the SUV struck the hole and was immediately punctured by the steel rebar. The tire exploded instantly.

At a speed of more than one hundred kilometers per hour, losing one front tire in an instant was a death sentence of loss of control. The SUV slammed hard to the right, smashed through the concrete highway barrier, and leaped into the air, flying into the opposite-direction lane.

The real disaster occurred in the next second.

From the opposite direction, the morning traffic was dense. Cars traveling at high speed did not have even a fraction of a second to brake when a two-ton SUV suddenly fell from the air and blocked their path. A frontal collision occurred with force that crushed metal like soda cans.

One collision triggered a chain reaction. The cars behind that tried to swerve ended up colliding with each other, bouncing, and rolling, covering the entire section of the highway. Dozens of vehicles piled up in a terrifying zigzag formation.

However, the horror that made my stomach churn was the next paragraph.

The extreme metal friction from the successive collisions created sparks. At the same time, the fuel tanks of several destroyed cars ruptured, spreading tens of liters of high-octane gasoline across the asphalt road. Fire immediately seized the pool of gasoline.

In less than one minute, the pile of locked vehicles transformed into a giant sea of flames. Thick black smoke billowed high into the morning sky. Reports stated that several drivers and passengers in the middle and rear cars were trapped inside their dented cabins. Stuck seatbelts and jammed doors prevented them from escaping before the tongues of flame consumed their vehicles.

By the time this news was published, the police and fire department had evacuated dozens of severely injured victims to the Emergency Department where Doctor Karin was now fighting and ten people had been confirmed dead at the scene due to fatal impact and burns.

I quickly turned off my phone screen, swallowing with difficulty. My fingers felt a little cold.

I closed my eyes, trying to drive away the visualization from the news article. Imagining ordinary people who were simply going to work or taking their children to school suddenly trapped in a blaze because of a single neglected asphalt hole truly made my heart clench.

Inside the game Second World Online, I had just burned and exploded thousands of players. I used chokepoint tactics, threw sulfur grenades, and created seas of fire with Yuuki's help. But there, death was merely the scattering of light pixels and the dropping of an HP bar. Pain was neutralized by the system, and lives could be repeated at the respawn tent.

In the real world, one small hole in the highway asphalt, one protruding steel bar, could permanently snatch away ten lives. There were no Healers, no Return Scrolls. Fire in the real world did not care about system damage limits; it incinerated bone and flesh without mercy. The fragility of human life felt so absolute.

"Rian? Are you alright?"

A gentle touch on the back of my hand made me open my eyes. Mira was looking at me with a worried gaze. She must have noticed the sudden tension in my expression.

I forced a thin smile and put my phone back into my pocket. "I'm fine, Mira. It's just… I just read the news about the multi-vehicle accident that Doctor Karin mentioned this morning. The details are truly horrifying. Dozens of cars burned because of one blown tire."

Mira let out a sympathetic sigh, her hand continuing to stroke mine with a calming motion. "I also saw the clips on the staff room television this morning. An extraordinary tragedy. It's so sad thinking about their families who received that phone call this morning."

"Yes. This reminds me of how fragile we are in this world," I muttered softly, gazing at the blue sky above the garden. "In that world of mine, I feel like a god who can bring down steel. Here, I sit in a wheelchair, and out there, steel and fire snatch lives indiscriminately."

Mira stood from her bench, walked behind my wheelchair, and gently hugged my shoulders from behind. The warmth of her body and the vanilla scent from her uniform stabilized my heartbeat that had begun to race.

"That's why you must not give up on healing, Rian," Mira whispered right next to my ear. "This world is indeed fragile and full of uncertainty. But as long as we are still breathing, as long as you still have this chance from the remission period, we must cherish every second of it. Don't let the tragedy out there extinguish your spirit. Make it a reminder to keep fighting here."

I nodded slowly, resting my head against her. Mira's words were always the best antidote for my dark thoughts. The two of us remained silent in that position for several moments, simply listening to the birds chirping and the morning wind sweeping through the banyan leaves.

I decided not to open my phone again. I spent the rest of my morning in the garden, simply chatting lightly with Mira about the house's architectural design, lunch menu plans, and letting the warmth of the morning sun recharge my energy.

Exactly at nine in the morning, when the sun's heat began to feel scorching and my skin started to feel warm, Mira decided that my sunbathing session was enough.

"Let's go back to the room, Young Master. You need rest," Mira said, releasing the brake on my wheelchair and beginning to push me back into the house.

Upon arriving in the room, the effects of physical fatigue began to be felt. Even though my cancer cells were in a rapid remission phase, my body was still in the adjustment stage. My stamina capacity in the real world was nowhere near the limitless stamina of my Elf avatar.

Mira helped me lie down on the bed, pulling a thin blanket up to my chest.

"Sleep. I'll wake you in the afternoon for food and medicine," Mira said while arranging the pillow under my head.

"Thank you, Mira," I mumbled with eyes already half-closed.

In only a matter of minutes, I fell into a deep sleep. My sleep was very sound and dreamless, a rare luxury. My brain and body truly performed a shut down process to recover.

I woke when the golden light of the afternoon sun slipped through the half-open curtain gap. My room felt cool. I stretched my body, feeling the muscles in my arms a little more energetic than in previous days.

The time on the wall clock showed four in the afternoon.

Mira was already inside the room, sitting on the corner sofa while knitting something. Hearing the rustle of my blanket, she immediately set aside her knitting and walked over.

"Good afternoon, Rian. You slept very soundly," she greeted with a bright smile.

"Afternoon," I replied while sitting up against the headboard. "How long did I sleep?"

"Seven hours," Mira answered, taking a small tray containing a glass of plain water, several medicine capsules, and a tuna sandwich. "It's time to fill your stomach and take your vitamins. After that, you can decide whether you want to read a book, or… go back to causing trouble for the Chronos Tech employees."

I chuckled softly as I accepted the glass of water. "Of course the second option. My little sister and party companions are surely already waiting for me in StoneBrook. And I have to check directly how severely the system has restricted my explosive inventory."

After finishing the afternoon snack and swallowing my medicines, the routine of world transition began.

Mira removed the blanket and helped me rise from the bed. With her strong arms supporting me, I walked a few short steps toward the Chronos Tech medical capsule located in the corner of the room. Even though my steps were still unsteady, the fact that I could support part of my own body weight was extraordinary progress.

"Be careful," Mira whispered as she helped me lie down onto the cold blue gel padding inside the capsule.

I positioned my body comfortably. Mira carefully attached the nerve sensors to my temples and the base of my neck. The cold sensation from the metal connectors always made me shiver slightly.

"Don't push yourself too hard today, okay?" Mira reminded, looking at me with a gaze that implied a strict prohibition against staying up too late. "If the system restricts you, just follow the flow for now. Don't exhaust your brain searching for algorithm loopholes."

"I can't promise not to look for loopholes, Mira," my mischievous smile appeared. "But I promise I won't exhaust myself. I'll just walk around, check on the shop, and maybe think about new weapon designs that don't use gunpowder."

Mira rolled her eyes while smiling in resignation, knowing that my stubbornness in innovating could not be prevented. She pressed the panel button on the side of the capsule.

"Have fun, Alchemist," she said softly, stepping back.

The transparent polymer lid of the medical capsule slowly descended, sealing tightly with an airtight hiss. Blue scanner light swept my body from the tips of my toes to my head.

My consciousness slowly faded, pulled by the gravity of digital data toward the artificial universe where the laws of physics had just been rewritten to restrain me. But they did not know restriction was merely a catalyst for evolution.

Link In.