The crowd refocuses on him instantly.
"We've secured a safe route to the boss room, minimizing combat," he explains. "The boss is a 4-5 meter beastman, resembling SAO's first-floor boss, Illfang the Kobold Lord. DBO's creators, successors to Kayaba Akihiko, likely included it as a tribute. A natural assumption, right?"
"Then we have a shot," Dyawolf interjects. "Diavel's gathered intel on Illfang's tactics—sourced anonymously, but likely from a Returner."
I blink, stunned. I told Diavel about Illfang being SAO's first boss, but not its tactics—I never fought it. I only know its appearance from Argo's snapshot collection. If Diavel's got detailed strategies, he's connected to another Returner and kept it from me. Not that I'm jealous—information brokers don't spill their sources easily, even among friends.
"We'll share the boss details soon," Dyawolf says. "You get it, right? We've got a real chance! The boss is tough, but not invincible. If we unite, I'm certain we'll win without losing a single soul!"
"Exactly!" Diavel adds. "Let's show that madman our strength and prove to despairing players we won't break! We'll return to reality!"
Their words ignite the plaza, the fervor almost suffocating, like a dragon's flame. I'm no good with this idol-concert, presidential-speech energy.
Time to play the villain. Worst timing, but that's the point.
"Hold it right there!" I shout, standing amid applause and whistles, leaping onto the stage with exaggerated flair.
I lock eyes with Dyawolf and Diavel. My first big performance begins—hope they're ready to back me up.
"Got a problem?" Dyawolf asks.
"Any opinion's welcome," Diavel adds gently, sticking to the script. "But could you introduce yourself first?"
My nerves must be obvious, but with my back to the crowd, I'm safe for now. Diavel's kind tone helps me relax. I catch Tsubame-chan's pitying look—don't stare at me like I tripped in a race! I'm capable, okay?
"Uh, I-I'm… Ku, that's what they call me!" I stammer. "Just a nickname, y'know!"
"Take it easy," Diavel says. "You jumped up here for a reason, right?"
"We're ready to answer any concerns," Dyawolf adds.
They're too poised for this rigged charade. Or maybe I'm just a mess. Get it together, Ku—you're an actor now. Even a bad one's got charm.
I steady my breath, scanning the crowd with deliberate malice, goading them.
"Uniting to fight the boss? Fine, no complaints there," I say. "But shouldn't some people apologize to the nearly 2,000 dead players first?"
"Ku, you mean beta testers?" Diavel asks softly, right on cue.
I swallow hard, recalling last night's memorized lines.
"Y-Yeah! Those dead players included top VRMMO pros with a shot at clearing this death game…" I falter, almost adding "I think."
Dyawolf's sharp gaze stops me. Thanks, man.
"There's gotta be some here!" I roar. "Beta tester scum who let rookies die! They should grovel and apologize right now, or we can't trust them to fight alongside us!"
Nailed it. Now Diavel and Dyawolf just need to tear me apart.
"I hear you," Diavel starts.
"You're damn right!" a voice interrupts.
A player in the front rows stands, clapping. About my age, clad in plate armor, a helmet with bird-feather accents beside him, and a 1.3-meter two-handed sword on his back.
"Beta testers let countless rookies die," he sneers. "Fight with them? They could stab us in the back. They've already abandoned rookies before. You all agree, right?"
His syrupy tone, like mud tainting wine, scans the crowd. This isn't good.
"What about you, then?" Diavel asks, his face hardening.
I can't help—the script has me as the accuser. Not that my clumsy tongue would help anyway. The armored player raises a finger, grinning like he's cracked the code.
"Simple. They hand over all their items and col, we split it among rookies. Then their weapons—beta testers have top gear, right? Trade them over. In DBO, player skill matters more than stats. A weaker weapon won't hurt them."
"Wait," I blurt. "Even beta testers need decent weapons to—"
"Doesn't matter!" he snaps. "It's insurance, in-sur-ance. We'll return them later. One raid, that's all. Clear their name, earn trust—cheap price, no?"
He shuts down a dissenting voice with venomous logic. The crowd's murmurs shift—not hope, but dark, calculating suspicion. This guy's a chaos agent, thriving on derailing discussions. I didn't expect this in a life-or-death strategy meeting.
"They abandoned us once," a player mutters.
"Online posts said beta testers hogged last-attack bonuses in SAO…"
"Hiding's just cowardly."
"Why not just us and ZOO? They beat the Southern boss."
This is bad—really bad. I glance at Diavel and Dyawolf, but they're only calling for calm, no counterargument ready. Of course—this was scripted for me to lose, not for the raid to collapse. I can't think of a way to defend beta testers either, and the crowd's falling for this guy's poison.
He's grinning, savoring the chaos. If this derails the raid, it screws him too. Is he escaping reality? Some players here might be strong in-game but weak mentally. In DBO, PKing's already common after just a month and a half.
"Enough," a cool voice cuts through.
Sinon steps forward, glaring at the armored player, breaking the beta testers' silence to face his malice head-on.
"Hand over items and col? Trade weapons? Don't make me laugh. These are mine, earned risking my life with my team. I'm not giving them to anyone."
"Oh? The great Wildcat of Magic Bullets is a coward?" he taunts. "Self-defense looks ugly, you know."
"And you're not?" Sinon retorts. "Pretty cowardly yourself, Linebars."
A critical smirk. She names him.
I'm baffled. DBO lets players hide names in profiles, except to party members. There are skills to pierce that, but Sinon doesn't have them. How'd she know?
"What the—?!" Linebars stammers.
"That helmet," Sinon says. "Marquis Barandma's Guard Helm, right? A rare early-game item with an STR bonus. Even among beta testers, its event trigger was barely known. But I knew—because I PK'd its original owner, a two-handed sword user in heavy armor. I remember the drop well."
"No way… you're that one?!" Linebars points, trembling.
His outburst is a confession. The crowd's cold stares and his allies' flustered reactions hit him hard. A beta tester accusing beta testers—ironic and disastrous for their reputation.
"Uh, look," I say, scrambling. "I just wanted an apology, not items or col… I'm good. Diavel, Dyawolf, we cool?"
"Yeah, got it," Dyawolf replies mechanically, dazed by the chaos.
What am I, the mediator now? Ridiculous, but it works.
"Linebars," Diavel says sternly. "We'll let this slide. But disrupt with malice again, and you know what happens."
His glare also warns the crowd against piling on Linebars. Humiliated, Linebars slumps into his seat, but a kind teammate pats his shoulder. He's got a shot at redemption—unlike me, he's not a social wreck and has friends.
Back at my seat, Sinon's already there, smirking smugly.
"Well, Wildcat of Magic Bullets," I tease. "Mind if I sit?"
"Next to a beta tester? Be my guest," she shoots back.
I sit, grumbling. "Thanks for the save."
"Thanks for playing the fool," she quips.
"Sarcasm? I was practically invisible at the end."
"Sarcasm, yes. But I'm grateful. That's my choice. Got a problem?"
"Nah. Gotta say, nice improv. You spotted that helmet last-second, right? No way you saw it from back there."
"Life's one big improv," she says lightly. "Nothing complicated."
We banter quietly, watching the meeting get back on track. Sinon's all smiles now, a far cry from her earlier scowl. Maybe my little act wasn't so bad after all.