I Can Extract Game Items

"Of course I did!" Tara voiced with a tone of frustration. "It goes straight to voicemail. I thought maybe he was working overtime at AM Coven, but when I called, no one had seen him since yesterday morning."

August's chest tightened. He hadn't been to AM Coven in a day so he had no idea that Derrick didn't come to work.

This wasn't just some fluke.

Derrick was missing.

And the timing was too inconspicuous.

Right before the tournament in Enders Light.

This wasn't a coincidence.

Something was happening.

"Tara, I'll find him," August stated with a tone of assurance. "I promise."

He ended the call and gripped the steering wheel of his Audi.

Whoever had taken Derrick—

They had no idea who they just messed with.

...

...

August started his search at AM Coven, questioning employees, customers, and even street vendors nearby in hopes that someone had seen Derrick after his last known errand.

A few people had seen him.

Derrick had mailed a package to GaleStorm, as requested, but he never made it home.

So where the hell did he go afterward?

The answer had to be somewhere on these streets.

Aleman's first stop had been a diner Derrick frequented—not too far from the postal service. The owner, Mrs. Callahan, was a stout woman with sharp eyes.

"Derrick? Oh yeah, I saw him two days ago, just before closing."

"Did he say anything? Maybe mention where he was going?"

She shook her head. "Not a word. He just finished his meal, paid, and left."

Aleman thanked her and continued down the streets, tracing Derrick's steps.

The deeper he dug, the clearer the picture became. Derrick hadn't disappeared randomly—he had been taken.

But by who?

---

The city lights flickered against the glossy surface of Aleman's helmet as he walked through the streets, tracking his closest friend's last known whereabouts.

Aleman had already questioned several people who might have seen him last. He had even checked with the postal service to confirm that the package meant for GaleStorm had successfully been mailed.

So where the hell did Derrick disappear to afterward?

He moved through various locations, scanning each street and alley, looking for anything unusual.

His search led him to a quiet gas station just outside the city center, where Derrick had supposedly passed through on the day he vanished.

The gas station reeked of gasoline, coffee, and cheap cigarettes. A plump middle-aged man sat behind the counter, flipping through a sports magazine.

Aleman approached.

"I need access to your outside CCTV footage for the past two days."

The gas station owner raised a brow.

"The hell do you think this is? The FBI? I can't just give—"

Aleman pulled out a thick wad of cash and placed it on the counter.

The man's lips curled into a smirk.

"...Well, maybe I can make an exception."

---

Aleman sat in a dimly lit security office, watching the grainy footage rewind at 10x speed.

Minutes passed.

Then he saw him.

Derrick was on screen, walking out of the gas station.

But just as he was about to cross the street, four figures emerged from the shadows.

Aleman leaned forward.

One of them wore a fox mask.

His heart pounded.

'Oni…'

Derrick, never one to back down, threw the first punch after what looked like a failed banter.

His fist landed clean against the tallest attacker—a burly man in a dark trench coat. The man stumbled back, clearly caught off guard.

For a second, it looked like Derrick had a chance.

But then…

The one in the fox mask moved.

Fast.

Derrick barely saw it coming before he was swept off his feet and slammed into the pavement.

The others joined in.

One flicked his wrist—Derrick's body convulsed as if struck by an invisible force.

Another stepped forward—her hands were glowing with eerie purple energy as Derrick's limbs stiffened unnaturally.

Derrick tried to resist, gritting his teeth, but the odds were overwhelming.

In the next instant, the burly man delivered a brutal strike to Derrick's stomach, knocking him out cold.

Then, without hesitation, they disappeared into the shadows, taking Derrick with them.

Aleman clenched his fists.

The Oni terrorist group was involved.

And Fox—the one who had fled their last encounter—was among them.

This was personal.

Aleman rewound the footage, watching it again.

He studied every detail—every movement, every masked face.

Fox.

The same woman he fought against when his client was abducted.

She had been defeated then, but now she was back—and this time, she had new backup.

The tall, burly man with the trench coat? Aleman didn't recognize him, but his brute strength made him a serious threat.

The woman with the glowing hands?A supernatural ability user—most likely a telekinetic user or psychic.

And the fourth? A silent, hooded figure who barely moved.

This wasn't just a random attack.

This was a well-organized abduction.

And that meant one thing.

They wanted Derrick alive.

Aleman stood from the chair with his blood boiling.

He turned back to the gas station owner.

"I need a copy of this footage."

The man nodded and quickly copied the file onto a flash drive before handing it over.

Aleman snatched it and left without another word.

He knew where to start.

The Oni weren't invisible. They left traces, patterns, contacts.

And Aleman was about to tear through their network to get Derrick back.

The moment Aleman stepped out of the gas station, his eyes locked onto something on the side wall—a string of numbers scrawled in black ink.

A contact number.

His eyes narrowed. They left this here on purpose.

He wasted no time. He needed a burner phone.

---

An hour later, Aleman sat in the driver's seat of his Lamborghini, parked in an abandoned lot. The burner phone in his hands felt heavier than it should.

He dialed the number.

It rang twice.

Then, a cold, distorted voice answered.

"Ah… Aleman. We were wondering when you'd call."

Aleman's grip on the phone tightened.

"Where's Derrick?" His voice was controlled—but underneath it, fury simmered.

A low chuckle came through the line.

"Alive… for now. But that depends on you."

Aleman's teeth ground together. They were playing with him.

"What do you want?"

"Simple. We want you to take a little trip."

Aleman's eyes narrowed. "Where?"

There was a brief pause and then:

"A remote island. Coordinates will be sent to this number shortly. You will come alone. No authorities. No tricks. If we so much as suspect you're trying something stupid—"

There was a muffled sound on the other end. A grunt. A pained exhale.

It was Derrick.

Aleman's stomach twisted.

"I swear to God if you hurt him—"

"That's entirely up to you." The voice sounded smug and amused. "Oh, and one more thing. The moment you step on the island, you play by our rules. If you refuse… well, let's just say Derrick has a lot to lose."

The call ended.

Aleman stared at the dead phone in his hand.

His breathing was slow, measured—but inside, he was seething.

He'd have to teach these bastards a lesson... Again.

---

The tournament was one day away in real-world time—but right now, Derrick's life came first.

Without hesitation, Aleman drove straight to a private airfield.

He needed a plane—fast.

As he arrived, the area was filled with private jets and high-end charter services.

Aleman walked straight to one of the service counters with his imposing futuristic helmet and dark suit making the receptionist momentarily freeze.

"I need an immediate charter to a remote island. I'll provide the coordinates."

The receptionist who was a young woman with neatly tied blonde hair, swallowed before nodding.

"Of course, sir. We have a range of aircraft––"

Aleman slid a thick stack of cash across the counter.

"The fastest one you've got. No questions asked."

The woman's hands trembled as she took the money. She hesitated for a moment before pressing a button beneath the counter.

Within minutes, a pilot arrived.

A tall, rugged man with graying hair and a sharp gaze, dressed in a leather bomber jacket.

"You need a quick ride? I can get you there. But I gotta ask—why the rush?"

Aleman's helmet tilted slightly as he met the man's gaze.

"Just fly the plane."

The pilot smirked. "Fair enough. Let's get going."

---

Fifteen minutes later, Aleman sat in the luxurious but compact jet, strapped in as the plane roared to life.

The engines rumbled beneath him as they took off, soaring into the night sky.

He stared out the window with a bunch of thoughts running through his mind.

The Oni were not just a random terrorist group.

They were organized, dangerous super super-powered freaks that had been watching him for a long time.

They planned this.

They wanted him off the grid, away from his power base.*

And yet… they weren't trying to kill him outright.

That meant they needed something.

Just like last time...

As the plane cut through the clouds, Aleman's hand rested on the hilt of a dagger strapped to his side.

Then he accessed his inventory and stored it there.

Twhwio~

The dagger vanished.