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

The black luxury car pulled out of the school gates, its smooth hum filling the quiet interior. The tinted windows blurred the world outside, reducing the sprawling cityscape to muted streaks of light and shadow. Damien leaned back against the seat, ice pack still pressed against his jaw, though the ache had already begun to fade.

Elysia sat beside him, composed as ever, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She hadn't spoken since they entered the car, but that was nothing unusual. She rarely did unless necessary.

The drive to Blackthorne Villa wasn't long, but the silence didn't last.

His phone buzzed.

Damien glanced down at the caller ID.

Father.

A slow smirk curled at the edges of his lips. Right on time.

He swiped to accept the call, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Damien."

His father's voice was deep, measured, carrying the weight of a man accustomed to control.

"Father."

A pause.

A long, quiet pause.

Damien let it stretch, waiting, listening to the subtle inhale on the other end.

'He's seen it.'

His smirk widened.

"Did you see the video, Father?" he asked, his voice calm, almost amused.

A measured exhale came from the other end of the call.

"I did."

Damien could hear the faintest trace of something in his father's voice—not concern, but calculation. A weighing of facts, an assessment of the situation. Dominic Elford was not a man who reacted emotionally. He did not rush to anger, nor did he fawn over injuries like some doting parent.

"Are you alright?"

It was a simple question, neutral in tone. Not worry, not sympathy—just an inquiry, as if he were assessing damage on an investment.

Damien let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders slightly for effect, even though his father couldn't see it.

"It hurt." His voice was steady, but there was a slight tightness to it, carefully placed. "I won't lie, Father, for a second, I thought my jaw might've fractured. The force behind the punch…" He trailed off, letting the weight of his words sink in.

Elysia turned her head slightly at that, the faintest flicker of acknowledgment crossing her expression. She knew better. She knew that his healing was already in progress, that his Physique of Nature had dulled the damage more than anyone could guess.

But Damien wasn't above a little exaggeration.

'Why shouldn't I?'

Leon had thrown a punch in front of an entire audience. A fool's reaction, a reckless burst of emotion—but Damien had no reason not to milk it for all it was worth.

"Hmm." His father's hum was low, unreadable.

Then—

"I assume the school handled it?"

Damien let out a short, quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Not at all. If anything, they treated me like I was the one who caused trouble." He clicked his tongue, tilting his head back against the seat.

Damien let out a slow breath, shifting slightly in his seat, his fingers tapping idly against his thigh. He let a pause stretch between them before speaking, lowering his voice into something that carried just the right amount of irritation.

"It wasn't just a punch, Father." His tone was carefully measured, the subtle frustration creeping in naturally. "Leon Ardent just appeared out of nowhere, swung at me without warning, and in front of everyone." He exhaled, shaking his head. "There was no provocation, no warning—he just decided that it was acceptable to lay his hands on me. As if he had the right to."

Silence.

The kind of silence that didn't mean inattention—but deliberation.

Dominic Elford was a man who did not tolerate disrespect. Not toward himself, and certainly not toward his family's name.

"He disrespected us," Damien continued, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "Didn't even hesitate. And, naturally, the school did nothing."

That was all it took.

His father's voice came through, low and cold, carrying an edge of finality.

"I'll handle it."

Damien's lips curled slightly. He expected nothing less.

'Good. Now let's set the mood a little more.'

He adjusted his expression, shifting in his seat with deliberate sluggishness, tilting his head against the backrest as though exhaustion was creeping in. He let out a slow, drawn-out sigh, exhaling as if it took effort.

"Honestly, Father… I don't think I should go back tomorrow."

Dominic didn't respond immediately, so Damien pressed on. "My head still feels off. If the punch had landed even slightly worse, I could have ended up with a concussion. I don't think I'll be able to focus properly in class."

Another brief pause.

"Fine." His father's voice carried no resistance. "Two days. No more."

Damien held back a smirk. Two days? That wasn't enough. He didn't want just two days—he wanted control. Control over his own schedule, control over when he returned, if he returned. And if there was anyone who could make that happen, it wasn't his father.

It was his mother.

He exhaled softly, adjusting his tone just slightly. Lighter. Thoughtful. As if he were merely considering something.

"I suppose that works," he mused. "Though, if my recovery doesn't go well… I could always bring this up to Mother."

Silence.

A new kind of silence.

A heavier one.

Damien almost laughed. There it is.

Dominic Elford was a man of power, a man of control. Ruthless, cold, calculating. But Vivienne Elford?

She was something else entirely.

Where Dominic was methodical, Vivienne was unpredictable. Where he played the long game, she struck without hesitation. And when it came to her son—her child?

She became untouchable.

Damien didn't need to elaborate. He didn't need to say that if his mother saw the video, there would be an immediate storm, one that even Dominic wouldn't be able to rein in. He didn't need to remind him that Vivienne had little patience for these kinds of matters—she acted.

And she acted loudly.

The tension in the call stretched for just a second too long.

Then—

"There's no need for that."

Damien's smirk widened. Checkmate.

"Then I'll leave it to you, Father," he said smoothly, letting satisfaction creep into his voice. "But I'd rather not rush my recovery. If I'm not feeling well, I'll decide when to return. No more than a week, of course."

A slow, controlled inhale from the other end of the line.

Then, Dominic spoke.

"Fine."

One word. A reluctant concession.

Damien leaned back, utterly at ease. Just like that.

"Rest well, Damien."

With that, the call ended.

The moment the line disconnected, he exhaled slowly, tilting his head toward Elysia, who had been sitting silently beside him the entire time.

Damien turned his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes settling on Elysia. As expected, her face remained neutral—calm, unreadable, untouched by any unnecessary emotion.

But Damien had grown used to her by now.

To most, she was nothing more than a perfectly disciplined servant, cold and efficient. But to him? He had learned to notice the small things. The subtle shifts in her posture. The faint flicker in her gaze. The near-imperceptible pause before she spoke.

And right now?

She was amused.

His smirk deepened.

"If you have something to say, you are allowed," he said lazily, tilting his head against the seat.

A brief silence stretched between them.

Then, in that same cool, measured voice, she finally responded.

"…Young Master likes to play with fire."

Damien chuckled, low and quiet.

"Oh, Elysia," he murmured, tapping his fingers against the car's leather armrest. "By this point, you should have understood already."

He will say, as he will look into her eyes.

"I am the fire."

Elysia's gaze lingered on him for just a second longer before she turned away, looking out the window.

Damien's smirk didn't fade.

She didn't say anything else.

She didn't have to.

He had already won today.