I Can Use Filthy Game Currency In The Real World
Chapter 98: Familiar One

Chapter 98: Familiar One

Before I got to College, Mike had already scoped out the playground and picked a bar to settle in. The spot he chose was practically next to the stage. The playground was surrounded by bars, and this one was right on the left side, super close to the action.

"Do we really have to sit here for three hours?" I asked.

"Might be longer," Mike said.

According to the schedule, Show was set to perform at 9 PM. But from past experience, I knew there was no way it’d start on time.

"Three hours of waiting," Jake chimed in.

"..."

After Jake said that, I couldn’t help but think about what three hours meant. If I weren’t stuck on the Tessa quest right now, I could’ve done so much in that time.

"Let’s sit for now. I’ll grab some drinks," Mike said.

"Uh... hey, I’ll have one today," I added.

"What? Out of nowhere?" Mike looked surprised.

"Yeah."

Before anyone could stop him, Mike waved me off and went to buy the drinks.

I felt a little guilty for neglecting my friends lately. With my bank account looking solid, I wasn’t worried. Buying a few bottles of booze wouldn’t even scratch the surface anymore.

’This makes it feel more real,’ I thought.

Since it wasn’t even 6 PM yet, some of the department bars weren’t open, and the College wasn’t too crowded overall. After grabbing drinks from the liquor store, we headed back to the playground. People were starting to claim seats at the bars around the area.

The bars with a clear view of the stage were the hottest spots. Rumor had it this bar’s location was picked by lottery, and whichever department snagged it hit the jackpot.

"You’re back?" Mike said as I returned.

"Yeah. What’d you get?"

"Pancakes, of course. It’s a College bar classic."

"Nice, nice."

The three of us sat down and started catching up for the first time in a while. Naturally, the conversation turned to me.

"So, what’ve you been up to lately? We’ve barely seen you this semester outside of class," Mike asked.

"Yeah, you haven’t even joined us for games," Jake added.

"Uh..."

I racked my brain for an answer that’d satisfy them and keep them from digging deeper. Even with my sharper talking skills from the quest, I couldn’t come up with a good excuse.

"Wait... you’re not actually dating someone, are you?" Mike said, narrowing his eyes.

"Huh?"

"Dude, say no!" Jake laughed.

"Huh?" I blinked, caught off guard.

"Say no," he pressed, voice spiking. Mike’d been locked down with his girl forever, so if I said yes, Jake’s be the lone single guy at the table.

"Uh... well, kinda?" I hedged, scratching my neck.

"Seriously?" Jake’s jaw dropped.

"Wow, you backstabber," Mike chimed in, grinning.

I was still figuring out how to play it when Mike tossed me a lifeline—a perfect pivot. Not a full-on relationship, but close enough to dodge the heat.

"What’s ’kinda’ mean? Like, half-dating?" Mike prodded, eyes lighting up.

"Hmm. Details are hush-hush," I said, smirking.

"Hey, spill it!" Jake snapped, already sipping his drink alone.

"Ha," I laughed. We’d never banned dating, so why the drama?

"So..." Mike started, fishing for more.

"Uh," I mumbled, distracted. A familiar figure caught my eye—long, straight hair swaying, white shirt, black vest, tight black miniskirt. Emma.

"So... uh, it’s Emma," I said, nodding her way.

Mike followed my stare and spotted her quick. Emma—Emma—was the College’s star for a reason. Hard to miss.

"Uh, wait, she’s coming over here?" Mike hissed, voice dropping low.

Even without him saying it, I felt her eyes on me. She was heading straight for the bar where we sat.

"Emma, over here!" a girl at the next table called.

"Yeah," Emma replied, smooth as ever.

"What? Why’re you so late?" another chimed in.

"Oh," she shrugged, sliding into their group like she belonged.

"Hey, been a while, but you’re looking good," Mike said, loud enough for me to hear.

"So..." Jake muttered, sipping again.

I zoned out, their chatter fading as my mind drifted. Flashbacks hit—snapping pics of Emma’s underwear, that one time I’d fucked her. Hot, messy memories.

"Ugh," I groaned under my breath. My head was drowning in sex lately—couldn’t shake the dirty thoughts.

....

After clocking Emma at the next table, my focus kept slipping over there. The bar was loud—too loud to catch their words—but her group was all laughs and chatter, three girls having a blast.

"Wow, it’s only 8?" Jake grumbled, checking his phone.

"They said it’s a three-hour set," Mike sighed.

"Knew it’d drag, but..." Jake trailed off, bored stiff.

A few singers had hit the stage already, but none of us cared. The playground was packed now, every department’s bar overflowing with festival hype. Everyone else was buzzing—our table? Dead quiet.

"...How’s your love life these days?" I asked Mike, grasping for something.

"Me? Same old, same old," he said, shrugging.

Nothing to ask Jake either—our convo well was dry. An hour till Honey Dream at 9, and we’d run out of drinks and steam.

"More drinks?" I suggested.

"Uh... I’ll grab ’em this time," Mike offered.

"No! I’m out!" I barked, jumping up fast. Wallet and phone in hand, I bolted from the bar.

Why the rush? Emma was up too. Their table was dry, and she was the one heading for refills—I’d caught it out of the corner of my eye.

"Just a quick chat... oh, wait...?" I muttered, eyes glued to her. That miniskirt hugged her ass—perfect, unreal. My brain spun, picturing her legs spread, dripping wet. Then it clicked.

I knew Emma modeled underwear. Suddenly, it was like a quest kicked in—my head racing, sizing up the scene, plotting the fastest way to my goal. I knew her kinks, her vibe. Humiliation play—she loved it back then. Probably sharper at it now, but that core? Still there.

"Then..." I grinned. Was it the booze pumping me up? Didn’t matter—I moved the second the thought hit.

....

Emma’s skin felt warm, buzzing under her clothes. Couldn’t just be the drinks, though—she knew it.

"Haa... I’m really wearing it..." she thought, smirking to herself. Under that miniskirt? No regular panties today. Exams were done, the festival vibe was loose, and she’d gone bold. No safety net—just a white string thong, barely there. First piece she’d modeled way back, a t-shirt and this. She’d been half-thrilled stepping out like that.

One slip, and anyone could clock the thong peeking out. Screwed if it showed, but the risk had her buzzing.

"Hey!" a voice called behind her.

"...Yeah?" She spun around on reflex, mid-stride toward the drink stand. Eyes were on her—festival crowd buzzing—but this was direct.

A guy stood there, plain, average, nothing standout. Not hot, not ugly—just familiar somehow. Her gut pinged with a weird, cozy feeling she couldn’t place.

"Something..." she muttered, squinting at him as he closed the gap.

Emma squinted at the guy, racking her brain. Did she know him? Nothing clicked—no trace of him in her memory.

"There’s something on your skirt. Hang on," he said, calm and quick.

"Uh... what!?" she yelped, startled.

Before she could even process it, he dropped to a crouch and started messing with the hem of her miniskirt.

Rustle. His eyes hovered near the edge of the black fabric. Emma’s mind raced—he wasn’t just looking at the skirt, was he? He had to be zeroing in on the thong underneath, peeking out. She froze, caught in a wild fantasy.

He brushed his fingers along the hem, pretending to wipe something off, acting like there was really a spot there.

"Can he see it...?" she wondered, heart pounding. But she didn’t stop him—just watched, stuck in place.

A random guy squatting in the middle of the street, fussing with her skirt? Bold as hell.

"Hmm..." A tiny hum slipped out. The urge hit her hard—lift the skirt, flash him the thong, let him see it all. It’d be perfect.

The buzz of alcohol, the loud festival chaos around them, this quiet side street—it all lined up with the risky thong she’d picked today. Everything clicked.

Gulp. Her hand drifted to her skirt without thinking. Just a little tug, smoothing it out, and he’d catch everything—the thong digging tight between her lips, her bare ass on full display.

Swish. Right as she started to give in and lift it, he popped back up.

"It’s good now," he said, brushing his hands off.

"Ah..." she breathed, a pang of regret hitting her.

"Well, cool," he added, casual as anything.

Emma nodded, swallowing a sigh. If she’d moved faster, gone for it...

"You’re Emma, right?" he asked, tilting his head.

"...You know me?" she blinked, surprised.

"Of course. College’s promo model? Everyone knows you," he grinned.

"Oh..." she mumbled. Was it the drinks? Something about him felt familiar—too familiar. First time seeing him, for sure, but he had this bare, easy vibe she couldn’t shake.

"Thanks, then. Guess something splashed on me while I was drinking," she said, playing it off.

"Probably. It was all over her hands," he replied, nodding toward some imaginary mess.

"Oh! Uh, I’ll grab you some wet wipes! Hang on..." She fumbled with her bag, digging fast, but no luck—no wipes today. She always kept them handy, too.

"Nah, it’s fine. Just hit the bathroom, wash up. You’re getting drinks, right?" he said, unfazed.

"Oh. Yeah. That too...?" she trailed off, caught off guard again.

"Yeah. Wanna walk together?" he offered, like it was nothing.

"Oh..." Emma hesitated. She couldn’t say no—didn’t want to. Had to be the alcohol, right? Messing with her head.