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

Damien sat at the grand dining table, his posture relaxed, his fingers curled loosely around the handle of a porcelain teacup. The rich aroma of black tea curled in the air, its warmth spreading through his fingertips as he took a slow, deliberate sip.

The silence stretched.

The servants moved about the dining hall with quiet efficiency, laying out the morning's meal, but Damien knew their thoughts.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Not this early. Not in this state.

The old Damien would have been dragging himself out of bed at an unreasonable hour, groggy, disheveled, barely conscious as he demanded food with the entitlement of a man who had never once been denied.

But today?

Today, he was here first. Sitting. Waiting. Composed.

And then—

The doors opened.

The moment they did, Damien could feel it.

The air shifted.

Even without looking, he knew who it was.

Dominic Elford strode into the dining hall, his steps measured, his presence sharp as ever. The head of the Elford family, a man of absolute control. The kind of man who rarely showed surprise.

Yet the moment his steel-gray eyes landed on Damien, his footsteps slowed.

For the first time in a long, long while—Dominic hesitated.

Just a fraction of a second.

But Damien caught it.

Dominic's eyes narrowed slightly, scanning his son as if to confirm what he was seeing.

Seated properly at the table. Not slouching. Not whining about hunger. Not half-asleep with a ridiculous yawn stretching across his face.

Instead, Damien simply took another sip of tea, unbothered, as if this was normal.

As if it had always been this way.

Slowly, Dominic walked forward, his every movement precise. He pulled out his chair and sat, still watching Damien with that piercing stare.

The silence stretched between them.

Damien let it.

He placed his cup down with a quiet clink and finally, finally, met his father's gaze with a smirk.

"Good morning, Father," he said smoothly.

Dominic didn't reply immediately.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair, his sharp gaze assessing Damien as if trying to read between the lines of what was in front of him.

After a moment—

"You're early."

Not a question. A statement.

Damien tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening. "Should I not be?"

Dominic's fingers tapped once against the table. A slow, measured movement.

"Unexpected," was all he said.

Damien chuckled, lifting his teacup once more, but this time, he didn't drink. He simply let the warmth seep into his fingers, his gaze never leaving his father's.

"Yesterday's conversation must still be on your mind," he mused.

Dominic didn't react, didn't confirm or deny. He simply sat there, composed, waiting.

Damien smirked. "You're wondering if this is some temporary burst of motivation. A fleeting moment before I inevitably return to old habits."

A pause.

Then, Dominic finally spoke.

"I do not make assumptions," he said coolly. "I deal in results."

Damien let out a low hum, eyes gleaming with amusement.

Spoken like a true businessman.

No expectations. No faith. Just results.

He set his cup down and leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow against the table. "Then I suppose you'll be watching closely, won't you?"

Dominic's gray eyes remained sharp, unreadable. "I always do."

Before Damien could say anything else, the doors to the dining hall swung open once more.

The soft clicking of heels against the marble floor signaled her arrival.

Vivienne Elford stepped in with effortless grace, her elegant black gown flowing behind her, golden hair cascading over her shoulders in perfectly arranged waves.

But the usual composed elegance in her features wavered the moment her green eyes landed on Damien.

She froze.

For a split second, her lips parted—ever so slightly. Her expression was one of clear surprise, something rarely seen from the refined and ever-poised Madam Elford.

And then—

"Damien?"

Her voice held something almost disbelieving.

Damien smirked slightly as he turned toward her. "Good morning, Mother."

Vivienne blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, slowly, an understanding smile spread across her lips.

"Well, this is unexpected," she murmured, stepping closer. "You're awake. On time." She tilted her head, eyes glinting with something warm, yet teasing. "And not half-asleep with bed hair."

Damien chuckled softly, gesturing toward the open seat across from him. "I thought I'd start a new habit."

Vivienne's smile widened as she took her seat, placing her napkin on her lap with the same refined grace she always carried.

"My, my," she sighed dramatically, placing a delicate hand over her chest. "Yesterday, my son was making bold declarations. And today, he's here before anyone else? This must be a mother's dream."

Damien's eye twitched slightly. Here she goes again.

Dominic, sitting beside them, exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if preparing for another one of his wife's theatrics.

"Vivienne," he muttered.

But she was far from done.

"If this keeps up," she continued, her tone playful, "I might actually cry from happiness."

Damien sighed, shaking his head. "Mother, it's too early for dramatics."

Vivienne giggled behind her hand, clearly entertained. "But I mean it, dear," she said warmly. "I'm happy to see you like this."

Unlike before—where her tone would've been laced with disappointment, where her expectations of him had dwindled to nothing—

This time, she truly meant it.

Damien could tell.

And though he didn't say it aloud, he allowed a small, genuine smile to slip through.

"Then I'll make sure you get used to it," he murmured.

Vivienne's eyes widened slightly before her expression softened.

"I'd like that," she said.

The conversation flowed with an ease Damien hadn't felt in years—if ever. His mother's warm amusement, his father's sharp but silent scrutiny—it was all a game, a delicate balance of power and presence. And he was winning.

But of course—

The game was not over yet.

Because then—

The doors swung open once more.

The distinct rhythm of poised, deliberate footsteps filled the air—the click of heels against polished marble, crisp and calculated.

Adeline Elford entered the dining hall with the elegance of a woman who had never once been anything less than perfect.

She was dressed impeccably, as always. A fitted black blazer accentuated her slender frame, paired with tailored trousers that hugged her figure with effortless refinement. Her sleek, dark brown hair was pinned back in a way that exuded power—flawless, sharp, unyielding. She looked every bit the heir apparent. The future of Elford Enterprises.

And she was leaving.

Damien could tell immediately.

The subtle details—the absence of jewelry except for a sleek watch, the structured handbag at her side, the way her posture carried an air of quiet urgency. She was not here for breakfast.

She was prepared for business.

Prepared to walk out of this house with their father and step into the world as the perfect successor.

Her blue eyes flicked across the room, scanning, assessing.

And then—

They landed on him.

For a split second—just the briefest moment—she hesitated.

It was nearly imperceptible. A minute pause in her stride. A faint flicker of something unreadable behind her gaze. But Damien saw it.

Ah.

So even Adeline hadn't expected this.

He smirked.

"Good morning, dear sister," he said smoothly, lifting his teacup in a slow, mocking salute.

Adeline's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

She said nothing at first. Instead, she continued walking, her every movement composed, deliberate, controlled. She took her seat at the table, setting her handbag neatly beside her, exuding the quiet confidence of a woman who belonged here.

But Damien knew better.

She was thrown off.

Just a little.

And that was enough.

"You're up early," she finally said, her tone perfectly neutral.

Damien tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he set his teacup down with a quiet clink.

"Should I not be?" he mused, his voice smooth, unbothered.

Adeline exhaled through her nose, her fingers adjusting the cuff of her blazer in a subtle display of restraint. She wasn't one to lash out recklessly—no, she was too refined, too composed for that. But the sting of yesterday's humiliation still lingered beneath the surface.

And Damien could see it.

She met his gaze with that same icy sharpness she always carried, her expression poised yet cutting. "It is surprising," she said, tilting her chin ever so slightly. "Considering that, up until now, you've been nothing but a lazy, worthless excuse of an Elford."

Ah. There it was.

The retaliation. The attempt to reassert control.

Damien chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Oh, Adeline," he sighed, amusement laced in his tone. "Your insults aren't getting any better."

He leaned back, his smirk widening. "You should be more creative."

A flicker of irritation passed through her gaze, so fleeting that most wouldn't have caught it. But Damien did.

She was still trying to regain her footing. Still trying to remind him of his place.

But the problem?

He no longer had one.

Not the one she had grown so used to, anyway.