u/WasteAd2744

Chapter 1

Steam drifted lazily through the locker room showers.

Suguha stood beneath the warm stream of water, letting it trickle over her smooth skin, the heat slowly easing away the fatigue from practice.

Her muscles ached pleasantly from training.

She was getting stronger.

The steady rhythm of practice, the familiar weight of the shinai, the gradual improvement she had worked so hard for—it all brought a quiet satisfaction.

A faint smile tugged at her lips as her thoughts wandered.

And—as they had been doing lately—they drifted toward Kazuto.

Images surfaced.

Not intentionally.

But they were there all the same.

His quiet kindness.

The gentle way he spoke when he lowered his guard.

The closeness they had when they were younger.

A warmth stirred unexpectedly in her chest.

She didn't understand it.

But wanted to.

"...Mm."

The sound escaped, almost subconsciously.

She froze.

Her eyes widened.

"W-What...?"

Her cheeks flushed almost instantly.

She turned away beneath the spray, and hid her face in her hands.

"Oh my God..." she muttered beneath her breath. "What was that about...?"

"...idiot."

Embarrassed, she hurried through the rest of her shower and dressed as quickly as she could.

When she stepped back into the locker room, however, something felt wrong.

A crowd was gathered near the television.

The usual chatter was gone.

The laughter too.

Replaced by tense voices and uneasy expressions.

Suguha slowed.

Something was wrong.

"What's going on...?"

She moved closer, weaving through the crowd.

"Why is this happening!?"

"My friend just bought that game..." another said, pale-faced.

"T-They aren't dead... are they?"

A chill ran through Suguha.

Game?

The television flickered overhead.

On screen, a news broadcast.

Too formal.

Too serious.

Too real.

"...213 confirmed deaths have occurred following attempts to remove the NerveGear headset..."

Her breath caught.

"...officials report the cause of death to be the microwave transmitters built into the device. Nearly ten thousand players remain trapped inside the VRMMORPG Sword Art Online..."

The words didn’t feel real at first.

Just noise, just numbers—but then they settled.

Heavy.

Unmistakable.

And somewhere beneath the shock, one thought surfaced—sharp and impossible to ignore.

Kazuto…

The room seemed to tilt.

No.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

No, no, no—

Kazuto.

That name hit her like ice water.

Her stomach twisted violently.

She forced herself to keep listening.

"...players are being transferred to medical facilities while authorities disconnect external power and internet access..."

Hospital.

The word cut through everything else.

Before the report had even finished, Suguha was already moving.

Running.

Her hands shook.

He wouldn't leave me like that... right?

───

The Ballad of Baloo and the Betrayal of the Car Wash.

So I decided it was high time for Baloo to get a bath.

And yes—Baloo is my truck.

Before anyone asks, HE is most certainly a man. Not because of science or mechanics or anything sensible like that, but because—like most men—HE has an ornery personality and occasionally makes decisions that leave me questioning every life choice that led us here.

Now trust me when I say this—

Baloo desperately needed a bath.

It had been about a month since his last cleaning, and I say this with great pain and disappointment... the man was filthy.

Mud.

Dust.

Bug casualties from at least three different zip codes.

I washed enough grime off that truck to build a respectable mud shack and decorate it with insect remains.

Honestly, I'm irritated I didn't think of that sooner.

Might've started a weird new trend.

But I digress.

So there I was, enthusiastically scrubbing away this absolutely tragic "new look" Baloo had adopted, doing my civic duty as a responsible truck owner and all-around decent human being.

Apparently...

At some point during this process—

Baloo had an idea.

Now I don't know exactly when his dome light kicked on, but he apparently reached the conclusion that if he was getting a good cleaning...

Then by God—

I would too.

And let me tell you something.

I swear, at that moment in time, Baloo had two choices...

One, smorth and peacful.

B-absolue chaos.

...care to take a guess which one he chose?

Yep, Option número whatever.

Cause this betrayal came with ZERO warning.

One second I'm cleaning his wheels like a loyal companion.

The next—

WHAM.

A monsoon of soapy water blasted me square in the face.

Not a splash.

Not a little spray.

No.

I got hit by what felt like the full wrath of Poseidon operating a pressure washer.

And because the universe enjoys comedy at my expense—

There was a woman in the next bay over.

Not just a woman.

No.

A stunning, high-spirited, gorgeous woman.

Also—

not married.

...I think.

And she witnessed the entire humiliating disaster unfold in real time.

The pressure hit hard enough to knock my big self clean onto my ass.

It was the first time I'd ever heard someone come so dangerously close to choking while simultaneously asking:

"Are you okay!?"

while trying not to die laughing.

And to be fair—

she was trying not to.

She really was.

But failing.

Miserably.

Meanwhile, I was sitting there drenched, betrayed, and spiritually damaged.

At that exact moment, I wanted a freak storm with hundred-mile-per-hour winds to descend from the heavens and wipe that evil car wash straight off the face of the Earth.

And Baloo?

Baloo gave zero Fs.

Matter of fact—

I swear he looked cleaner and prouder afterward.

And here's the part that still hurts.

The man waited until the FINAL wheel.

The final one.

One more second and I would've been hanging up the wand and walking away victorious.

Mission accomplished.

Instead—

I got pressure-washed into spiritual enlightenment.

And when the soap bubbles settled...

I simply sat there.

Soaked.

Defeated.

Staring at Baloo.

Absolutely... no dignity left to recover.

Just silence.

The woman, sensing the awkwardness and perhaps realizing she had just witnessed a grown man's dignity leave his body, made a tactical retreat.

Promptly.

And Baloo?

Baloo sat there cleaner than he'd been in months.

Victorious.

And, I suspect—

sleeping better because of it.

I should've stayed mad.

Really, I should have.

But then—

I started him up.

And that familiar low rumble echoed through the stall.

Damn him.

I forgave him right then and there.

Moral?

We live.

We learn.

And sometimes...

we get sucker punched by soapy betrayal from the things we love most.

The Ballad of Baloo and the Betrayal of the Car Wash.

So I decided it was high time for Baloo to get a bath.

And yes—Baloo is my truck.

Before anyone asks, HE is most certainly a man. Not because of science or mechanics or anything sensible like that, but because—like most men—HE has an ornery personality and occasionally makes decisions that leave me questioning every life choice that led us here.

Now trust me when I say this—

Baloo desperately needed a bath.

It had been about a month since his last cleaning, and I say this with great pain and disappointment... the man was filthy.

Mud.

Dust.

Bug casualties from at least three different zip codes.

I washed enough grime off that truck to build a respectable mud shack and decorate it with insect remains.

Honestly, I'm irritated I didn't think of that sooner.

Might've started a weird new trend.

But I digress.

So there I was, enthusiastically scrubbing away this absolutely tragic "new look" Baloo had adopted, doing my civic duty as a responsible truck owner and all-around decent human being.

Apparently...

At some point during this process—

Baloo had an idea.

Now I don't know exactly when his dome light kicked on, but he apparently reached the conclusion that if he was getting a good cleaning...

Then by God—

I would too.

And let me tell you something.

I swear, at that moment in time, Baloo had two choices...

One, smorth and peacful.

B-absolue chaos.

...care to take a guess which one he chose?

Yep, Option número whatever.

Cause this betrayal came with ZERO warning.

One second I'm cleaning his wheels like a loyal companion.

The next—

WHAM.

A monsoon of soapy water blasted me square in the face.

Not a splash.

Not a little spray.

No.

I got hit by what felt like the full wrath of Poseidon operating a pressure washer.

And because the universe enjoys comedy at my expense—

There was a woman in the next bay over.

Not just a woman.

No.

A stunning, high-spirited, gorgeous woman.

Also—

not married.

...I think.

And she witnessed the entire humiliating disaster unfold in real time.

The pressure hit hard enough to knock my big self clean onto my ass.

It was the first time I'd ever heard someone come so dangerously close to choking while simultaneously asking:

"Are you okay!?"

while trying not to die laughing.

And to be fair—

she was trying not to.

She really was.

But failing.

Miserably.

Meanwhile, I was sitting there drenched, betrayed, and spiritually damaged.

At that exact moment, I wanted a freak storm with hundred-mile-per-hour winds to descend from the heavens and wipe that evil car wash straight off the face of the Earth.

And Baloo?

Baloo gave zero Fs.

Matter of fact—

I swear he looked cleaner and prouder afterward.

And here's the part that still hurts.

The man waited until the FINAL wheel.

The final one.

One more second and I would've been hanging up the wand and walking away victorious.

Mission accomplished.

Instead—

I got pressure-washed into spiritual enlightenment.

And when the soap bubbles settled...

I simply sat there.

Soaked.

Defeated.

Staring at Baloo.

Absolutely... no dignity left to recover.

Just silence.

The woman, sensing the awkwardness and perhaps realizing she had just witnessed a grown man's dignity leave his body, made a tactical retreat.

Promptly.

And Baloo?

Baloo sat there cleaner than he'd been in months.

Victorious.

And, I suspect—

sleeping better because of it.

I should've stayed mad.

Really, I should have.

But then—

I started him up.

And that familiar low rumble echoed through the stall.

Damn him.

I forgave him right then and there.

Moral?

We live.

We learn.

And sometimes...

we get sucker punched by soapy betrayal from the things we love most.

The Ballad of Baloo and the Betrayal of the Car Wash.

So I decided it was high time for Baloo to get a bath.

And yes—Baloo is my truck.

Before anyone asks, HE is most certainly a man. Not because of science or mechanics or anything sensible like that, but because—like most men—HE has an ornery personality and occasionally makes decisions that leave me questioning every life choice that led us here.

Now trust me when I say this—

Baloo desperately needed a bath.

It had been about a month since his last cleaning, and I say this with great pain and disappointment... the man was filthy.

Mud.

Dust.

Bug casualties from at least three different zip codes.

I washed enough grime off that truck to build a respectable mud shack and decorate it with insect remains.

Honestly, I'm irritated I didn't think of that sooner.

Might've started a weird new trend.

But I digress.

So there I was, enthusiastically scrubbing away this absolutely tragic "new look" Baloo had adopted, doing my civic duty as a responsible truck owner and all-around decent human being.

Apparently...

At some point during this process—

Baloo had an idea.

Now I don't know exactly when his dome light kicked on, but he apparently reached the conclusion that if he was getting a good cleaning...

Then by God—

I would too.

And let me tell you something.

I swear, at that moment in time, Baloo had two choices...

One, smorth and peacful.

B-absolue chaos.

...care to take a guess which one he chose?

Yep, Option número whatever.

Cause this betrayal came with ZERO warning.

One second I'm cleaning his wheels like a loyal companion.

The next—

WHAM.

A monsoon of soapy water blasted me square in the face.

Not a splash.

Not a little spray.

No.

I got hit by what felt like the full wrath of Poseidon operating a pressure washer.

And because the universe enjoys comedy at my expense—

There was a woman in the next bay over.

Not just a woman.

No.

A stunning, high-spirited, gorgeous woman.

Also—

not married.

...I think.

And she witnessed the entire humiliating disaster unfold in real time.

The pressure hit hard enough to knock my big self clean onto my ass.

It was the first time I'd ever heard someone come so dangerously close to choking while simultaneously asking:

"Are you okay!?"

while trying not to die laughing.

And to be fair—

she was trying not to.

She really was.

But failing.

Miserably.

Meanwhile, I was sitting there drenched, betrayed, and spiritually damaged.

At that exact moment, I wanted a freak storm with hundred-mile-per-hour winds to descend from the heavens and wipe that evil car wash straight off the face of the Earth.

And Baloo?

Baloo gave zero Fs.

Matter of fact—

I swear he looked cleaner and prouder afterward.

And here's the part that still hurts.

The man waited until the FINAL wheel.

The final one.

One more second and I would've been hanging up the wand and walking away victorious.

Mission accomplished.

Instead—

I got pressure-washed into spiritual enlightenment.

And when the soap bubbles settled...

I simply sat there.

Soaked.

Defeated.

Staring at Baloo.

Absolutely... no dignity left to recover.

Just silence.

The woman, sensing the awkwardness and perhaps realizing she had just witnessed a grown man's dignity leave his body, made a tactical retreat.

Promptly.

And Baloo?

Baloo sat there cleaner than he'd been in months.

Victorious.

And, I suspect—

sleeping better because of it.

I should've stayed mad.

Really, I should have.

But then—

I started him up.

And that familiar low rumble echoed through the stall.

Damn him.

I forgave him right then and there.

Moral?

We live.

We learn.

And sometimes...

we get sucker punched by soapy betrayal from the things we love most.

The Ballad of Baloo and the Betrayal of the Car Wash.

So I decided it was high time for Baloo to get a bath.

And yes—Baloo is my truck.

Before anyone asks, HE is most certainly a man. Not because of science or mechanics or anything sensible like that, but because—like most men—HE has an ornery personality and occasionally makes decisions that leave me questioning every life choice that led us here.

Now trust me when I say this—

Baloo desperately needed a bath.

It had been about a month since his last cleaning, and I say this with great pain and disappointment... the man was filthy.

Mud.

Dust.

Bug casualties from at least three different zip codes.

I washed enough grime off that truck to build a respectable mud shack and decorate it with insect remains.

Honestly, I'm irritated I didn't think of that sooner.

Might've started a weird new trend.

But I digress.

So there I was, enthusiastically scrubbing away this absolutely tragic "new look" Baloo had adopted, doing my civic duty as a responsible truck owner and all-around decent human being.

Apparently...

At some point during this process—

Baloo had an idea.

Now I don't know exactly when his dome light kicked on, but he apparently reached the conclusion that if he was getting a good cleaning...

Then by God—

I would too.

And let me tell you something.

I swear, at that moment in time, Baloo had two choices...

One, smooth and peacful.

B, absolute chaos.

...care to take a guess which one he chose?

Yep, Option número whatever.

Cause this betrayal came with ZERO warning.

One second I'm cleaning his wheels like a loyal companion.

The next—

WHAM.

A monsoon of soapy water blasted me square in the face.

Not a splash.

Not a little spray.

No.

I got hit by what felt like the full wrath of Poseidon operating a pressure washer.

And because the universe enjoys comedy at my expense—

There was a woman in the next bay over.

Not just a woman.

No.

A stunning, high-spirited, gorgeous woman.

Also—

not married.

...I think.

And she witnessed the entire humiliating disaster unfold in real time.

The pressure hit hard enough to knock my big self clean onto my ass.

It was the first time I'd ever heard someone come so dangerously close to choking while simultaneously asking:

"Are you okay!?"

while trying not to die laughing.

And to be fair—

she was trying not to.

She really was.

But failing.

Miserably.

Meanwhile, I was sitting there drenched, betrayed, and spiritually damaged.

At that exact moment, I wanted a freak storm with hundred-mile-per-hour winds to descend from the heavens and wipe that evil car wash straight off the face of the Earth.

And Baloo?

Baloo gave zero Fs.

Matter of fact—

I swear he looked cleaner and prouder afterward.

And here's the part that still hurts.

The man waited until the FINAL wheel.

The final one.

One more second and I would've been hanging up the wand and walking away victorious.

Mission accomplished.

Instead—

I got pressure-washed into spiritual enlightenment.

And when the soap bubbles settled...

I simply sat there.

Soaked.

Defeated.

Staring at Baloo.

Absolutely... no dignity left to recover.

Just silence.

The woman, sensing the awkwardness and perhaps realizing she had just witnessed a grown man's dignity leave his body, made a tactical retreat.

Promptly.

And Baloo?

Baloo sat there cleaner than he'd been in months.

Victorious.

And, I suspect—

sleeping better because of it.

I should've stayed mad.

Really, I should have.

But then—

I started him up.

And that familiar low rumble echoed through the stall.

Damn him.

I forgave him right then and there.

Moral?

We live.

We learn.

And sometimes...

we get sucker punched by soapy betrayal from the things we love most.