Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate

The soft click of the car door signaled his return to the quiet interior. Damien settled into the backseat, the plush leather shifting slightly beneath him as he exhaled, eyes closing for a brief second. The end of the week always had a strange stillness to it—more reflective than exhausting.

Elysia sat in the front, as usual, her posture straight, both hands on the wheel. She didn't turn, didn't glance at him through the mirror, but the moment the door shut, her voice followed, calm and direct.

"Young master…..What happened?"

Damien's eyes opened, his tone dry, almost bored. "Not much. Just got injured while playing."

A brief silence.

Then he reached down and unstrapped the support brace from his leg. The synthetic buckles came undone with practiced ease, the joint clicking loose. He tugged the sleeve back and examined his leg beneath the academy uniform.

Smooth.

Unbruised.

No swelling.

No sign he'd been tackled hard enough to warrant a crutch just hours ago.

"...Already healed," he muttered, as if it annoyed him more than anything.

Elysia finally flicked her gaze up through the mirror. It lingered on his leg for a breath longer than usual. Then back to the road.

Damien shifted his weight and leaned back with a low sigh, the brace now lying uselessly beside him.

Of course it had healed.

He didn't need a system prompt to remind him anymore, but even now, the echo of it played in his mind:

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[New Passive Skill Acquired: Physique of Nature]

▶ Description: None.

▶ Effects:

• Enhanced Recovery – The host's body passively heals minor injuries at an accelerated rate.

• Universal Alchemical Compatibility – The host can now consume any alchemy-based product—potions, elixirs, tonics—without side effects, even as a non-Awakened.

• Foundation Stabilization – The host's body is preparing for full Awakening. Future enhancements will integrate more efficiently.

----------

Elysia gave a slow, acknowledging nod at the sight of his fully healed leg. She didn't ask anything else. She didn't need to. She'd long since accepted that Damien's body didn't function by conventional rules anymore—not since the awakening of his system, not since the training began.

Silence settled over them like a second skin as the car rolled forward, tires humming gently against the paved roads of the upper district. The world beyond the tinted windows passed by in shades of gold and gray—afternoon light slanting through the buildings, storefronts closing, people moving with the kind of quiet rhythm that only came at the end of a long week.

Damien leaned his head slightly against the glass, watching the city roll past.

Upper Vermillion was always clean, always manicured, always watching. The kind of place where even the filth knew how to wear perfume. Gilded corners. Marble storefronts. People in coats too expensive for the weather. And still—between it all—there were cracks.

Always cracks.

His eyes half-lidded as the blur of streets began to lull him into a kind of passive, slow quiet. That kind of stillness he only ever felt when Elysia was driving—when there was nothing to do but breathe and watch.

And then—he saw it.

It wasn't loud. Wasn't dramatic. Just a flicker in the corner of his vision.

Between two buildings—a small alley shaded by the shadows of a boutique and a narrow cafe.

A figure. Two of them.

Pressed together.

The moment flickered past in the corner of his eye, faint but sharp.

A girl with long, blonde hair, pressed against a wall, her face tilted up toward the boy leaning in close. Their posture didn't scream desperation—it was intimate, but restrained. Public only because they thought no one was watching.

Normally, Damien wouldn't have cared.

Not his business.

Not his concern.

He wasn't a voyeur, and he didn't make a habit of chasing whispers between alley walls.

But this time…

Something clicked.

His breath paused.

The boy.

He caught the profile. That jawline. That stiff, proud posture, even while trying to be subtle.

Marek.

The striker.

The same one who tried to crush Damien's leg under a wave of borrowed bravado—coated in loyalty to someone else.

And the girl?

Something about her felt… familiar. Not from up close. But from the way others looked at her during assemblies. A noble, maybe. Quietly important.

Damien's brow twitched.

No.

It wasn't about who she was.

It was about why he felt something twist in his gut.

His instinct wasn't shouting—but it didn't have to.

It whispered, and that was enough.

"…Elysia," he said suddenly.

"Yes, young master?" Her tone didn't change, but her gaze flicked to the mirror.

"Pull over. Now."

The car eased to a stop at the corner, smooth and silent.

He leaned forward, eyes still locked on the mouth of that alley—now vanishing behind them as the vehicle idled in place.

"You saw them?"

"Yes," she replied without delay.

"I want footage. Full. Visual angles. Audio if you can manage it."

She didn't question him. She never did. Because she wasn't just his maid.

Elysia was his shadow.

An Awakened operative. A trained combat maid.

Her efficiency wasn't just for show. Her training in infiltration, information gathering, and elimination had once made her a whisper in the ears of generals.

And now?

She moved only for him.

Elysia reached into the glove box, retrieving a thin, card-sized device. It shimmered faintly, a covert spell-array embedded into the surface—self-recording, self-encrypting.

"There are two other men nearby," Damien said. "North wall. Both bulky."

She nodded once. "I'll stay unseen."

"I'll wait here."

She didn't respond.

She didn't need to.

The car door clicked open. And in the space between seconds, Elysia stepped into the alley-bound street and vanished behind the swell of pedestrians.

No one looked at her twice.

Not when she didn't want them to.

Damien remained in the backseat, calm, composed. The brace still lay beside him, unneeded. His eyes locked on the side mirror, reflecting the alley's mouth from just the right angle.

The door opened again with a whisper-soft click.

Elysia stepped in, smooth and soundless, a single breath of wind following her as she returned to the driver's seat. No words. No wasted movement. She slid the thin data card into the dashboard console—Damien's personal link interface activated automatically, syncing with the embedded crystal on his wrist.

The screen materialized in the air beside him—thin, translucent, like glass suspended on light.

"Clear visual. Clean audio," Elysia said quietly.

Then she started the car.

The engine purred back to life as the vehicle eased into the flow of traffic, subtle and unnoticed.

Damien didn't speak immediately. His fingers moved across the interface, skimming back a few seconds, pausing, and then letting the feed play.

There it was.

The alley.

The two figures.

At first, it was just the kiss.

The way Marek leaned in—confident, practiced. The way the girl tilted her chin, received it without hesitation. Her hands resting lightly against his chest. Her posture relaxed. Familiar.

Too familiar.

He leaned in, narrowing his eyes slightly as the image resolved.

The face came into view.

Blonde hair catching the alley light.

Red eyes half-lidded with amusement.

Damien's smirk curled slow and sharp.

"My, my…" he murmured, voice low and dry. "What do we have here?"

Victoria Langley.

Clear as day.

So this was the full picture. The mocking little tongue that never stopped lashing, the holier-than-thou attitude, the pride and poison all dressed up in etiquette—

And behind closed walls, in an alleyway?

She melted into Marek's touch like it was scripted.

"So, he was your boyfriend?" Damien said under his breath, not needing to say it loud. His tone was pure amusement. No bitterness. No spite. Just the cold, crisp satisfaction of knowing something no one else had planned to reveal.

He leaned back in his seat, tapping his finger against the armrest lightly.

Damien stared at the screen a moment longer, the image frozen on Victoria's flushed face, her lips parted just after the kiss—soft, pliant, unrecognizable from the venom-tongued noble girl who'd spent the last week trying to rip chunks from him in front of the entire class.

She looked… ordinary.

And that made it perfect.

He leaned back, hand resting lightly on his chin, index finger tapping just beneath his lower lip.

Marek. Moren. Victoria.

All three had painted targets on his back—arrogantly, loudly. As if they'd never have to answer for it. As if they thought he'd just sit there and take it.

'You really thought I'd forget, huh?'

He shifted in his seat, eyes flicking across the buildings outside as the car turned a quiet corner.

And then—

The idea bloomed. Slow. Satisfying.

"Why not?" he murmured aloud.

Elysia's eyes flicked up in the mirror. "Young master?"

He didn't answer right away. He was still spinning it—measuring the weight of it.

"Yeah...Let's swap the roles…..Watch this, Righteous_one….I will let you experience what happened to you, from the perspective that you will not comprehend."