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

Elise flicked off the communicator, slipping it back into the pocket of her uniform. A slow sigh escaped her lips as she gathered her clipboard and turned toward the infirmary doors.

First day of the new term, and already, someone needed medical attention? That was rare. Most injuries didn't start until at least a week in—when students got too cocky in sparring matches or pushed themselves too hard during training.

She walked briskly, her heels clicking against the polished floors. Her mind was already running through the standard protocols—possible concussions, fractures, swelling. But the moment Galen had said the student's name, her brows had furrowed.

Damien Elford?

That one took her by surprise.

She had treated him before, once or twice. And from what she remembered, the boy had been… well, pathetic.

A soft scoff left her lips as she pushed open the doors to the medical wing, stepping into the familiar sterile air.

Damien Elford. Spineless, meek, completely unremarkable in every way. A boy who, in her mind, existed solely to be pushed around by those stronger than him. She had seen it in his posture, the way he hunched slightly when spoken to, how his eyes darted away when confronted.

Not the type to end up in the infirmary because of a fight.

A headache flickered at the edges of her thoughts as she made her way toward the examination room.

What had he done this time? Tripped over his own feet? Walked into a door? Or had someone finally decided they had enough of his existence and shoved him?

She exhaled, rubbing her temple. Whatever it was, she'd patch him up, give him the usual speech about taking care of himself, and send him on his way.

Elise stood near the examination table, flipping through her clipboard as the door swung open. She didn't look up at first—she didn't need to. She already had an image in her mind.

Damien Elford. A gangly, slouched-over boy with dull eyes, weak shoulders, and an aura of quiet resignation.

So when she finally did glance up, the sight that greeted her nearly made her do a double take.

This wasn't the same Damien Elford.

The boy who stepped into the room carried himself differently—his posture straighter, more composed. His face, though still recognizable, was sharper, the remnants of baby fat gone. He had lost weight, that much was clear. But it wasn't just the weight. There was a confidence in the way he moved, a presence she had never associated with him before.

For a moment, Elise found herself at a loss.

Then—

"Dear Nurse?"

Her eyes flicked back to him, startled. His tone was light, almost amused, but there was an undeniable edge beneath it. The smirk playing at his lips sent a flicker of irritation through her.

"I'm here to be treated, remember?" he continued, tilting his head slightly. "Or should I worship you or something for you to start doing your job?"

Elise blinked.

Then, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Oh. So that's how it was.

Whatever had changed about Damien Elford, one thing was certain—he had grown a mouth.

****

Damien leaned back slightly against the examination table, arms resting at his sides as his sharp blue eyes flickered over the woman before him. Elise. The school nurse. He had seen her before, in passing, but never truly looked at her. Not like this.

She was taller than most women he knew, standing with the kind of practiced authority that only came with dealing with stubborn, reckless students for too long. Her uniform—pristine, fitted, hugging her frame just enough to hint at the curves beneath—made it all the better. Long, slender legs, a firm waist, and sharp, piercing eyes framed by a cool, neutral expression. Her features were structured, elegant, the kind of beauty that wasn't delicate but striking—something that made you pause just a second too long before realizing you were staring.

'Damn.'

His gaze trailed lazily over her body, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. 'What a waste that a woman like her is stuck in a place like this. She should be somewhere else. Somewhere that appreciates figures like that. If she had any sense, she'd be flaunting it rather than wasting her time treating ungrateful brats.'

A smirk tugged at his lips. 'Or maybe she enjoys the attention she gets here. Playing the role of the untouchable nurse, keeping these kids at arm's length while knowing full well how many eyes wander her way. A woman like her knows exactly what she's doing.'

He let out a slow breath, barely suppressing the chuckle rising in his throat. His mind had already gone ahead of him, spinning a dozen different possibilities, each one more absurd than the last. 'Maybe I should test that theory. Maybe I should—'

Elise moved.

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his jaw as she tilted his face slightly, inspecting the bruising with clinical precision.

"Stay still," she muttered, her voice clipped, professional.

Damien's smirk remained, but he obeyed, letting her hands work. Her touch was firm but not rough, her fingers cool against the warmth of his skin. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, amusement flickering in his gaze.

After a moment, she sighed. "What happened?"

His lips parted, and for a brief second, he considered making something up—something dramatic, something that would get under her skin just for the fun of it. But instead, he simply said—

"Took a punch."

Elise's eyes flicked up to his, her gaze sharp. "That much is obvious. From who?"

Damien chuckled, letting his head tilt slightly as he met her gaze with that same lazy, unreadable smirk.

"Does it matter?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly unamused.

"It does if I need to know how hard you were hit and whether or not you're concussed."

Damien's smirk didn't waver. "Then you should've asked how hard he hit me, not who hit me."

Elise exhaled through her nose, visibly restraining herself from rolling her eyes. "Fine," she said dryly. "How hard did he hit you?"

Damien pretended to think for a moment before flashing her an easy grin. "Hard enough to make you worry, apparently."

Elise didn't even hesitate. Her fingers pressed against the side of his jaw—just enough pressure to send a sharp jolt of pain through his nerves.

Damien sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Tch—!"

"Hard enough to make you shut up for a second," she muttered, clearly satisfied with the reaction.

Damien's smirk returned, but there was something darker in his gaze now, something unreadable.

'This woman…'

Elise moved with practiced efficiency, reaching for a cold compress before dabbing a cotton swab into antiseptic. Her touch was precise, methodical—completely detached from the weight of the moment. But Damien wasn't about to let her work in peace.

As she brought the cotton swab to his lip, Damien tilted his head slightly, smirking. "You know, I don't mind being touched by a beautiful woman, but usually, there's a bit more buildup before the pain part."

Elise didn't even blink. She pressed the swab firmly against his split lip, earning a sharp inhale from him.

"Flirting with the person treating your injuries," she murmured, her voice as smooth as ever. "Bold."

Damien exhaled through his nose, a lazy grin tugging at his lips despite the sting. "What can I say? If I'm going to be in pain, I'd rather have a good view while suffering."

Elise let out a small chuckle, almost to herself. It wasn't mocking—not entirely. It was the kind of laugh someone gives when indulging a child throwing a tantrum. Fond amusement.

And Damien saw it.

That slight quirk at the corner of her lips. The way her gaze softened, just a fraction, as if she found him… cute.

His smirk twitched, threatening to fade.

'Cute?'

Did she think this was a joke? That he was just some harmless, foolish boy trying his luck?

He clenched his jaw slightly, though he kept his expression easy, composed. He had changed. He was changing. And yet, here she was, still looking at him like he was something to be humored rather than desired.

Fine.

Damien exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax beneath her touch. He let his smirk settle into something smoother, something a little more deliberate. He watched her closely, taking in every small detail—the sharp lines of her face, the slight pursing of her lips as she worked, the way her gloved fingers brushed against his skin with absentminded ease.

'You think I'm just a boy playing games? That's fine.'