I Can Extract Game Items-Chapter 223: Sneaky Misunderstanding

Author’s Note: Do Not Unlock.

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Wright clasped his hands. "All right. We regroup here tomorrow evening for final checks. After that—" he exhaled "—no turning back."

The team filed out one by one, shadows stretching under the hall lights as they left AM Coven. Wright gave August a final nod before exiting last, leaving August alone in the shop.

The moment the door clicked shut, the entire space felt strangely quiet.

Heavy.

As if the world itself was inhaling.

Logging Back Into Enders Light

August walked to the back room, switched off the tactical interface, and took a long peaceful breath. Then he sat into his game pod.

He had promised Derrick he’d help him tonight.

The pod closed with its soft hydraulic hiss, and his consciousness descended into the virtual world of Enders Light.

The moment Aleman’s avatar phased into existence in the forested beginner region, he saw Derrick’s avatar—currently named "BrickFist"—swinging his weapon at a low-level wolf while panicking violently.

"HEY—HEY ALEMAN—IT’S GOT TEETH—IT HAS SO MANY TEETH—HELP—"

Aleman pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Derrick. It’s level four."

"I KNOW WHAT LEVEL IT IS BUT IT’S STILL TRYING TO EAT ME—"

Aleman blurred forward, one clean shadow-step slicing through the wolf with his dagger, followed by a flick of mana that froze it in place before it shattered into pixels.

Derrick exhaled, hands on his knees.

"Bro... I swear this game was made by demons..."

"You’ll get used to it," Aleman replied, stepping past him to check his quest log. "You’re almost level eight. Two more and you can leave this settlement."

"Good," Derrick wheezed. "Because this place feels like a kindergarten where all the kids have fangs."

Aleman chuckled under his breath.

They spent the next couple of hours clearing quests, doing small dungeon runs, and explaining game mechanics. Derrick was visibly improving, little by little. The guy was dedicated—partly out of fear, partly out of newfound ambition.

After all, he was doing this to protect his wife and unborn child.

August respected that.

When Derrick finally logged off for the night, Aleman returned to the nearest city, sorted his inventory, checked his guild offers (which he ignored), and prepared his spell rotations for his next grinding session.

Midnight approached.

He logged out.

Nightfall

August stepped out of the pod with stiff joints and an empty stomach. He microwaved the dinner Sophia had left for him, ate slowly while scrolling through the day’s Oni surveillance updates on his tablet, then washed the plate and prepared to head to bed.

His mind swirled with the upcoming operation.

The countdown had begun.

He lay down, fully expecting sleep to take him quickly after the long day.

But it didn’t.

Instead—

He heard it.

A sharp, metallic clink

outside his window.

Not a random night sound.

Not a car.

Not a stray animal.

A deliberate noise.

Made by someone—or something—that didn’t belong there.

August froze.

Eyes open in the darkness.

Heart steady, but senses immediately sharpened.

Then it came again—

Clink.

Soft.

Intentional.

Too close.

Someone was outside.

Watching.

Or worse—

Trying to get in.

---sss

Chapter — THE NIGHT BEFORE THE STORM

The quiet in August’s apartment complex was the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Midnight shadows draped across the hallway as though they were alive, shifting, watching. He moved silently, muscles tense, eyes narrowed. Every step he took absorbed sound instead of making it. He didn’t bother turning on the corridor lights; his vision had always been good in the dark—way too good according to Sophia.

A faint shuffle echoed again.

There.

Someone was out there.

August’s body moved automatically into a low stance. His fingers curled into his palms, mapping out points of attack, measuring the angle, calculating the speed he’d need to incapacitate whoever dared to lurk around at this hour. After everything he’d been through—both in the real world and in Ender’s Light—he didn’t take chances.

He followed the sound, each step quieter than a whisper. The hallway stretched long and dim, the only light coming from the occasional flicker of an old wall lamp. He rounded the corner—

Just as a figure in dark clothes tip-toed past apartment 2B.

August swung forward, ready to grab the intruder—

"HEY—HEY—HEY! AUGUST! IT’S ME, IT’S ME!"

The man threw up both hands, eyes wide, nearly dropping the plastic bag he held. August froze mid-attack, blinking once, twice.

"...Mr. Balogun?"

The balding, pot-bellied neighbor wearing office clothes and mismatched shoes stared at him like a guilty child caught stealing biscuits.

"Ah—yes—uh—good evening," Mr. Balogun whispered loudly, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "You didn’t see me."

August lowered his shoulders, straightened, and sighed. "What are you doing sneaking around like a thief at 12:30 AM?"

Mr. Balogun swallowed. "Trying to get home before my wife wakes up... or notices that... well..." He lifted the plastic bag revealing a half-empty bottle of whisky and roasted meat skewers. "...that I went out with the boys."

August stared at him.

"I see."

"I am innocent," Mr. Balogun said, even though no one had accused him of anything.

Before August could respond, a door down the corridor creaked open.

A woman’s voice—sharp and swift as a guillotine—rang through the hallway.

"JIDE!"

Mr. Balogun flinched, shrinking instantly like a scolded puppy. "Oh no."

Mrs. Balogun emerged wearing a wrapper and hair bonnet, her expression flat, deadly, and deeply disappointed. "So this is how you want to live your life? Sneaking around like Mission Impossible?"

Other doors began opening one by one. Sleepy faces poked out, squinting. Murmurs began.

"What’s happening?"

"Is someone fighting?"

"It’s always Balogun’s family..."

August lifted both hands and stepped back. "Everyone relax. It’s just a misunderstanding."

But Mrs. Balogun had locked onto her target.

"Give me that bag," she demanded.

Mr. Balogun, trembling, held it out.

"And tonight," she added coldly, "you sleep on the couch."

The neighbors collectively winced.

Mr. Balogun accepted his fate like a soldier stepping into gunfire. "Yes, ma."

The wives around the hallway nodded approvingly. The husbands—every single one—looked away.

The mini-chaos eventually simmered down. Doors shut again. Lights turned off.

August finally returned to his apartment with a long exhale, shaking his head.

All that tension over a man trying to smuggle himself home.

He locked his door, tossed his hoodie aside, and dropped into bed.

Tomorrow would be a big day. And the day after tomorrow even bigger.

Sleep came slowly.

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