I Can Extract Game Items

Derrick's hand hesitated before gently covering the limp, cold hand of the woman—Tara, his wife. The way his large, rough hand dwarfed hers was almost symbolic of how fragile she looked. He squeezed her hand lightly as if trying to convey his strength to her through touch.

"I'm sorry, babe," Derrick whispered. His voice trembled, but he forced himself to speak. "I promised I'd take care of you. That nothing bad would ever happen to you. And look where we are."

Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at her still face, willing her to wake up, to give him any sign that she was still fighting.

"I thought I was strong enough for this," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "But I'm not. I'm breaking, Tara. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Every day I come here, and I just…" He stopped, choking on his words.

The room fell silent except for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. Derrick's gaze drifted to her belly, his fingers brushing over the curve softly. "Our baby…" he murmured. "I was so excited. We were supposed to decorate the nursery together. I had plans, you know? We had plans."

His other hand wiped at his face roughly, trying to hold back the tears, but they fell anyway, splashing onto the white sheet. "You're supposed to be here for this. To see them grow. To argue about names with me. To…" He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat.

His voice broke completely as he begged, "Please, Tara… don't leave me. Don't leave us."

---

The door to the ward creaked open, and a nurse peeked in. She was a kind-looking woman with warm brown skin and a gentle smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She had seen this scene too many times.

"Mr. Derrick," she said softly, stepping inside. "Visiting hours will be over soon."

Derrick's eyes pleaded silently for just a little more time as he looked up at her. The nurse hesitated, then nodded slightly. "I'll give you a few more minutes," she said kindly before stepping back out.

Derrick turned back to Tara, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. "I'll be back tomorrow, babe," he said, his voice steadying slightly. "And the day after that. And the day after that. I'm not giving up on you, okay? So you can't give up either."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against her hand. "I love you," he whispered. "Both of you."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor continued as Derrick sat there, holding onto hope as tightly as he held her hand.

The room remained heavy with silence, as Derrick prayed internally for some sort of divine intervention.

He never let anyone at the factory know about his circumstance, not even August because he wasn't the type to burden others with his problems but his walls were starting to crumble.

He had contemplated calling August a few times just to speak to someone who could lighten his mood and tell him everything was going to be fine but whenever he thought about August's situation with his little sister, he hesitated.

After spending a few more minutes staring at Tara silently, he got up and walked out of the ward.

...

..

The next morning, August stood in the center of his room with his hands hovering over his inventory interface.

He had just logged out of the game. His room was cluttered, with piles of notes, a gaming pod in the corner, and a small desk stacked with items related to his budding ventures.

The pop sound of the system interface reverberated in his ears as he selected the helmet he had acquired in Disco City.

[ Would you like to extract: Tech-Grade Dread Sentinel Helmet? ]

[ Yes ] × [ No ]

He tapped yes, and a purple glow filled the room as the helmet materialized before him. It shimmered into existence, hovering for a moment before clinking softly onto his bed.

The helmet was even more impressive in real life than in the game. Silky smooth with a matte black finish and glowing streaks of blue light running along its edges. It looked like a futuristic artifact. The visor was tinted with a holographic sheen, and intricate circuitry patterns faintly pulsed across the surface.

"Wow," August murmured, picking it up and inspecting it. "This is next-level."

He slipped it over his head, and the interior lit up with a digitalized display that seamlessly integrated into his vision. A soft, calming voice echoed in his ears:

[ Activating Tech-Grade Dread Sentinel Helmet... Systems online... ]

The room around him shifted slightly as the visor calibrated to his environment. He could see every detail with enhanced clarity. His eyes darted to his bookshelf, and as he focused, the helmet's interface zoomed in on the titles of the books. He grinned.

"Zoom function? Check," he muttered to himself, twisting his head toward the window. The helmet adjusted to the natural light, dimming slightly to protect his eyes.

He tested the voice modulator next, navigating through the settings displayed on the visor.

His voice shifted from a deep, gravelly tone to a high-pitched, robotic one, then to an authoritative baritone that sounded like it belonged to a sci-fi movie villain.

"Testing, testing," he said in a comical high-pitched squeak, before laughing and settling on a smooth, neutral tone that sounded completely different from his real voice. "Perfect. No one's recognizing me with this."

He removed the helmet and ran his fingers over its smooth surface with a sense of satisfaction. This was exactly what he needed for his public appearances as Aleman. No more scarves, no more worrying about being identified.

Setting the helmet aside, he glanced at the clock. "Alright, time to get to work."

---

August grabbed his phone and sat at his desk, scrolling through a list of interior designers he had bookmarked. He needed someone with a vision—someone who could bring his dream for 'AM Coven' to life. His fingers hovered over a name, Lena Cruz, whose portfolio boasted of futuristic designs. Perfect for the high-tech, gaming-inspired vibe he envisioned.

He dialed the number, and after a few rings, a confident female voice answered. "Lena Cruz, how can I help you?"

"Hi, Lena. My name is Aleman," he began while leaning back in his chair. "I recently acquired a commercial space, and I'm looking for someone to handle the interior design. Your portfolio caught my attention."

"Thank you," Elena replied with a professional and warm tone. "What kind of space are we talking about?"

"It's a ten-story building, but I've got the top floor. I'm starting a business related to gaming—specifically a lounge for players to buy and sell game items."

Elena paused, intrigued. "That's... unique. And exciting. Do you have a specific style in mind?"

"Modern with a hint of futurism. Think holographic displays, custom lighting, and dedicated sections for high-value items," August explained while pacing the room. "The branding is 'AM Coven' so I want it to have a subtle, mystical vibe without going overboard."

"I like where this is going," Elena said. "When can I see the space?"

"Today, if possible."

There was a brief pause, followed by her enthusiastic response. "I'll move some things around. Text me the address, and I'll meet you there at two."

"Great. Thanks, Lena."

After the call ended, August felt a sense of accomplishment. One step closer to making his vision a reality.

---

The afternoon sun hung low, casting warm golden rays across the ten-story building that August now owned the top floor of.

He stepped out of the cab wearing a perfectly tailored business suit. The fabric hugged his lean frame with an elegance that screamed success. His dark blazer was paired with a crisp white shirt, a slim tie, and polished black shoes.

However, what truly made him stand out was the helmet from Disco City, perched securely on his head, concealing his identity entirely.

The glowing blue streaks across its matte black surface gave him an air of mystery, and the faint beeping sounds of its internal systems added to the futuristic aura.

As he approached the building, he saw a black car parked outside. A woman was stepping out with a tablet in hand. She was strikingly professional—her dark, wavy hair fell neatly over her shoulders, and her tailored beige blazer paired with high-waisted black trousers and heeled boots exuded authority.

Her sharp brown eyes scanned the building, and when she spotted him, there was a flicker of intrigue on her face.

"You must be Aleman," she said while extending a manicured hand. Her tone was confident but polite, with just a hint of curiosity about his helmet.

August nodded, his modulated voice deep and smooth as he responded. "That's right. And you must be Lena."

"Indeed," Lena replied with a small smile, shaking his hand firmly. "This is the space you mentioned?"

"Yes. The top floor is ours for this project," August gestured toward the entrance. "Shall we?"

Lena's sharp heels clicked against the tiled floor as they stepped into the lobby. She glanced at him sideways, clearly intrigued by his unconventional appearance but professional enough not to comment.