I Can Extract Game Items

Rachel rubbed her temples, trying to shake off the exhaustion creeping in. Her phone vibrated beside her, and she glanced down to see a message from Ji Yun.

Ezran: You still at work?

Rachel smirked and typed back a quick response.

Lilo: Obviously. Some of us have bills to pay, Yun.

Before she could send a witty follow-up, the landline on her desk buzzed. She frowned and picked it up.

"Rachel speaking," she said tiredly.

The gruff voice of Mr. Grayson, her overweight, balding superior, came through the receiver. "Rachel, bring me the Sutton file. Now."

Rachel sighed again, barely concealing her irritation. "Yes, sir. Right away."

Hanging up the phone, she grabbed the thick folder from the stack and made her way down the dim hallway to Mr. Grayson's office.

The plush carpet muffled her footsteps, but she could hear the faint sounds of the city outside—the distant honks of cars and murmurs of night owls roaming the streets.

As she reached the heavy wooden door, she hesitated for a moment before knocking lightly.

"Come in," Mr. Grayson's voice rumbled from inside.

Taking a deep breath, Rachel pushed the door open and stepped into the office.

The scent of cheap cologne and cigar smoke waffed into her nostrils immediately. Grayson, a rotund man in his mid-50s with thinning hair and a greedy smile, sat behind his mahogany desk.

His small beady eyes scanned her from head to toe as she approached.

"Here's the Sutton file, sir," Rachel kept her voice professional as she extended the file toward him.

Instead of taking it, Grayson's thick fingers wrapped around her wrist, gripping her tightly.

Rachel froze. "Sir...?"

Without warning, he yanked her forward and spun her around before pressing his bloated frame against her back.

Rachel's breath hitched as she felt his warm, greasy hands snake up her thighs, slipping under her skirt with ease.

"You know, Rachel," Grayson whispered as his hot disgusting breath brushed against her ear. "You can't quit on me. Not until you pay back what you owe."

Rachel grimaced while gritting her teeth as her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to shove him off, but she knew better. This wasn't the first time he'd done this, and if she pushed back too hard, she knew the consequences.

"I... I'm working hard to pay it back, Mr. Grayson," she responded with a strained voice.
Stay tuned to My Virtual Library Empire

He chuckled darkly as his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on her hip. "I think we both know there's easier ways to settle debts, sweetheart."

Rachel's stomach churned with disgust. She clenched her fists at her sides, immediately understanding what he meant.

If she made a scene now, she could lose everything. This job, as much as she hated it, was her lifeline besides the game.

"Please, sir," her voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm here to work. Nothing more."

Grayson sighed while dragging his lips close to her ear. "Tsk. Always so stubborn. That's why I like you, Rachel. You've got fight in you... I can't deny the urge to pin you to this table and taste that honey pot you guard so jealously..." His grip loosened just enough for her to step forward and out of his grasp.

Rachel took a deep breath and turned around before holding the file between them like a shield. "Here's the Sutton file, sir," she repeated while meeting his eyes with a cold glare.

Grayson stared at her for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair with a smirk as he took the file. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood tonight," he stated while flipping through the pages.

Rachel didn't respond. She turned and walked briskly toward the door as her pulse hammered in her ears. As she reached the threshold, his voice called out again.

"Don't forget, Rachel," he said with a sickening smile. "You belong here until I say otherwise."

She didn't look back.

Her knuckles were white as snow as she pushed the door open and stepped back into the hallway.

Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to keep walking, past the empty cubicles, past the judgmental stares of the janitor wiping the floor, and finally back to her desk.

Dropping into her chair, she exhaled shakily.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her phone.

Ezran: Still alive?

Rachel stared at the screen for a moment before typing back:

Lilo: Yeah. Just living the dream.

She swallowed hard and leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. The debts, the powerlessness, the pressure and everything she kept hidden from her friends in Enders Light... It all felt suffocating.

But she wasn't going to break.

Not yet.

...

...

The bustling streets of Tagharium were more alive than ever, buzzing with excitement over the upcoming tournament.

Players and NPCs alike filled the taverns, alleyways, and market squares, all speculating and scheming about how to secure their place in the mysterious event.

August walked through the streets with his dark assassin attire blending effortlessly into the night.

He could see adventurers scrambling to curry favor with the royals, desperate to obtain the elusive Tournament Qualification Token.

Inside The Golden Flask Tavern, the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the rich, intoxicating aroma of Elven Firebrew, a strong amber liquid that promised to revitalize energy while dulling pain for a short while, wafted through the air.

August sat at a corner table, swirling the glowing drink in his hand. It's faint chill spreading through his fingertips.

---

System Notification:

[ Elven Firebrew Consumed: +5% Energy Regeneration | Duration: 15 minutes ]

[ Minor Debuff: Slight Dizziness | Duration: 10 minutes ]

---

He leaned back in his chair, listening to conversations from across the room.

"I swear, the only way to get in is to earn a royal's trust," a broad-shouldered warrior in silver-plated armor boomed from the next table. "I've tried everything—favors, bribes, even poetry! Nothing works!"

His rogue companion scoffed while twirling a dagger between his fingers. "Poetry? No wonder you failed, Brann. The royals want action, not sweet words. I'm telling you, it's all about proving your worth."

A mage seated across from them leaned in conspiratorially as his purple robes glittered glamorously. "I heard," he whispered, "that some players managed to gain a token by rescuing a royal's pet dragonling. Apparently, they risked their lives to bring it back."

August smirked upon hearing the conversations; 'Good thing we already took care of that with Lord Cavriel.'

He absentmindedly scrolled through his system interface, glancing at the small golden badge tucked within his inventory.

---

Inventory:

[ Tournament Qualification Token – Acquired via Royal Favor: Lord Cavriel ]

Description: Proof of favor granted by royalty. Grants access to the tournament once the date is announced.

---

August closed the interface and sipped his drink. Across the tavern, the talk about the tournament continued to grow louder.

"I'm telling you," a lanky bard with a feathered hat proclaimed dramatically. "The rewards for this tournament are going to be legendary! I've heard whispers of secret quests tied to it... and even ancient relics hidden within the prize pool!"

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled a burly fighter beside him. "If you can even get in. I've seen guys literally polishing a duke's boots just to get noticed!"

At another table, a group of younger players were frantically whispering among themselves.

"I saw someone offer to personally escort a princess on her shopping trips," one said, shaking his head. "It's getting ridiculous."

"Ridiculous or not," another interjected, "without that token, you're not getting in. We need to figure out something before it's too late."

August couldn't help but chuckle quietly. He imagined the sheer desperation of players running errands for royals just to get a shot at the tournament.

Some would stop at nothing—he wouldn't be surprised if someone had already resorted to pretending to be a royal's long-lost relative.

As he drained the last of his Firebrew, his party chat suddenly blinked open.

---

Party Chat:

Gregorious: *"Lord Aleman! Have you heard? The whole kingdom is in an uproar over the tournament! It's all anyone talks about!"

Aleman: "I've noticed. Where are you?"

Gregorious: "Oh, just... running a few errands for a certain noble lady. I may or may not be carrying her twelve fluffy cats around town in a golden chariot."

Aleman: "Twelve... cats?"

Gregorious: "Royal favor comes in many forms, my friend!"

Ezran: "Please tell me you're joking, Greg."

Gregorious: "Not at all! I'm a man of duty. These felines have never been safer!"

---

August shook his head in amusement but he wasn't surprised. Gregorious had a way of finding the most absurd tasks and making them sound like noble quests.

Just as he was about to respond, a notification of a public announcement flashed before him.

---

System Notification:

[ Attention All Players: The Grand Tournament location has been confirmed to take place in the Kingdom of Everwyn. The date will be announced soon. Only those with a royal qualification token may enter. Seek royal favor to obtain entry. ]

---

The tavern fell into a stunned silence as the notification spread through the crowd. Murmurs quickly rose in intensity.

"Everwyn, huh?" August muttered.