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

"I'll drive this morning."

Elysia stopped walking.

Damien felt it before she said a word—that subtle, magnetic stillness that meant her mind was already halfway through a protest. Her feet stayed rooted to the polished stone path, and when he turned, her face was expressionless. But her silence? Sharp enough to punch through alloy.

"You have not driven in traffic," she said flatly.

Damien raised an eyebrow, amused by how quickly she'd cut to the core.

"And," she added, a hair quieter but still composed, "you don't have a license yet."

He didn't deny it.

Elysia's arms folded—tight. "City driving is not a simulation. It's not a track. There are unpredictable elements. Civilian routes. Aggressive transit-runners. Looped security patrols."

"I'm aware."

"Madam Vivienne," she continued, voice tightening ever so slightly around the name, "most likely didn't give you permission to drive outside the training grid either."

That earned a smirk.

Because she was right.

Vivienne hadn't said it outright—but her last words the night before had been clear enough: "Observe the grid. Ride the city with someone experienced. Tomorrow, we phase into full cert."

Not take the car yourself and hit morning traffic like you're already registered.

Damien's smirk grew. "No. She didn't give permission."

Elysia's jaw tensed. "Then—"

"But," he interrupted smoothly, "that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

Her eyes narrowed.

Damien turned back to the car, brushing his fingers across the driver-side interface as it pulsed awake under his touch. The car blinked to life, HUD glowing across the curved windshield, systems humming through calibration.

"These things are practically half-sentient," he said, voice casual as he opened the door. "You know they have Supervisor Mode. Built-in."

She said nothing, but her eyes flicked once to the console as it ran a silent self-check.

"It's rarely used," Damien continued. "Because no one with an ego wants their car correcting them every four seconds. But it exists. The onboard AI assumes partial control, maps out optimal routing, and intervenes if the driver screws up."

He paused.

Smiled.

"I don't plan to screw up."

"That mode is for learners," Elysia said stiffly.

"I am a learner," Damien said, sliding into the seat with a fluid motion. "Just one that doesn't intend to stay one for long."

The cabin adjusted around him automatically—seat height, pedal distance, HUD orientation. All matched to his profile. Elysia stood motionless outside, one hand flexing at her side like she was deciding whether to rip the door back open and physically remove him.

Instead, she stepped around to the passenger side.

She paused, hand on the door.

"Supervisor Mode requires direct override authentication," she said quietly. "It logs everything. Every error. Every adjustment. If Madam sees it—"

"She'll see it," Damien interrupted. "And she'll know I did it anyway."

Another pause.

Then Elysia opened the door and climbed in. Not grudgingly.

Resigned.

Prepared.

But not without one final glance toward him as the door closed behind her.

Elysia didn't argue further.

She just stood there for a moment, quiet, the wind catching lightly at the edge of her uniform skirt. Then she gave a small nod—clean, composed, final.

"If that is what you wish, Master," she said. "Then there is nothing else for me to say."

Damien's smile tilted sharper, his eyes glinting as he stepped in close, hand lifting to her cheek.

"Good girl," he murmured, fingers brushing along her skin with that casual precision only he could get away with. "You were about to make me impatient…"

A breath passed between them.

Then, softly, voice edged in playful warning, "What would happen if that was the case?"

Her eyes didn't flinch. Didn't move.

"You would get a punishment."

She didn't reply.

Didn't agree. Didn't resist.

Which, of course, said everything.

The moment passed, neatly folded back into the morning routine as they turned and made their way down the path. The sun had only just broken past the horizon, casting soft lines of gold against the polished black finish of the car.

Their usual ride.

The same vehicle that took Damien to Private Vermillion School every morning since the start of the term.

He stepped in first, settling into the driver's seat. The cabin whirred in quiet response, adjusting automatically—seat realigning, HUD syncing, pedal tension easing to match his preferred resistance.

Then came the voice.

"Unauthorized personnel. Driver authentication not recognized."

Damien didn't even blink. He turned toward Elysia, one brow raised.

She answered with a small exhale through her nose—equal parts exasperation and ritual—then reached out with her gloved hand, pressing her fingertip to the embedded core just beneath the dashboard.

"Override accepted. Damien Elford registered as provisional operator."

The light blinked green.

Damien flexed his hands once on the wheel. "Cooperative today, aren't you?"

"I have no desire to see you argue with an AI, young master," Elysia said blandly, settling into the passenger seat.

He smirked. "Fair."

Then, with a flick of his fingers across the interface, he navigated to the hidden layer beneath the standard operating modes.

Driving Mode > Learning Protocols > Supervisor AI Parameters.

He scrolled past "Instructor," skipped "Passive Observation," and selected the third option.

Lenient Supervising Mode: Active.

A soft ping sounded.

This mode wouldn't nag him. Wouldn't slow him down for minor errors. It would watch the traffic. Monitor hazards. And intervene only if something critical approached—just enough to ensure safety, not enough to insult his growth.

Damien shifted the car into gear.

"Let's see how this thing handles."

The car responded with a low, polished hum as the engine came to life—softer than the Varkos, smoother, more refined. The HUD shimmered gently across the curved dash, gold-on-black, its interface far sleeker than the industrial grit of the training track's machine.

Brand: Selvenhardt.

The emblem blinked into existence on the center display—an angular crest that hinted at old-world nobility, reimagined through mana-tech. The Selvenhardt was a luxury commuter model, high-tiered and quiet, built more for prestige than speed. It didn't purr—it glided.

Damien let his hands settle on the wheel, fingers testing the finish. Fine-thread leather, stitched by some artisan with too much time and not enough sense. The kind of touch meant to impress visiting dignitaries. It felt expensive, but a little dull.

Still, it would do for now.

"This thing's like piloting a sofa with a steering wheel," he muttered.

Elysia glanced at him. "It has full stabilization, four-zone mana-cushioning, adaptive cabin seals, and integrated defense protocols. Most clients call that comfort."

"I call it slow," Damien replied, a small grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.

He tapped through the console with idle precision. No manual override. Of course not. Selvenhardt didn't build these for gearheads. It was automatic by design—seamless acceleration, anticipatory braking, mood-sync interior settings.

A luxury bubble pretending to be a car.

But that was fine.

Because Damien wasn't looking for thrill this morning.

He was looking for control.

He eased his foot onto the throttle.

The car slid forward without a shudder, the response smooth—predictive. The system's AI adjusted the mana-thrust ratio to the incline of the estate path, the pressure equalized so perfectly that it almost felt like the road bowed to meet the tires.

They began their descent from Blackthorne Villa, the early morning traffic of Vermillion glimmering in the distance beyond the estate's private perimeter.

Elysia's eyes remained forward, posture straight, hands folded loosely in her lap—but he could feel her awareness. She was watching the traffic flow ahead. Watching him.

He didn't mind.

The brakes were responsive. Soft, but with just enough bite when needed. No need for heel-toe or clutch play. No downshift control. Just quiet compliance.

The Selvenhardt wasn't a beast.

It was a gentleman's ride.

Tame. Polished. Too elegant to feel dangerous.

But that didn't matter. Damien's real ride would come soon enough.

He already had the specs in mind.

Light frame. Mana-dense chassis. Hybrid control mode with manual override. Something that could dance with him instead of trying to coddle him.

The Selvenhardt? It was just a placeholder.

An expensive cradle for the road ahead.

He merged cleanly into the outer traffic lane, the AI's guidance subtly visible in the margins of the HUD—projected pathing, threat markers, and passive scan pings. No alarms. No tensing of the wheel. The Supervising Mode let him lead.

But it watched.

And so did Elysia.

He could feel both.

Damien smiled, eyes on the road.

This wasn't freedom.

But everything was supposed to start in one way.