Kirito San, in the throes of a private, intimate ritual, finds solace in his own touch. His room, bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, becomes his sanctuary. He undresses slowly, each article of clothing discarded with deliberate care, until he's left in nothing but his boxers. His hand slips inside, grasping his hardening length, as he begins to stroke. His movements are rhythmic, almost hypnotic, as he loses himself in the sensation. His breathing hitches as he nears his peak, his body tensing as he finally lets go, his release painting his abdomen.