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

The drive to the clinic was smooth, the hum of the car's engine blending into the quiet luxury of the interior. Damien sat with one leg crossed over the other, his expression unreadable as he gazed out the window, watching the city blur past.

Elysia sat beside him, silent as always. She hadn't questioned anything—not his decision, not his outfit, not even his unspoken anticipation. She simply understood.

Blackthorne Villa was a fortress, isolated from the rest of society, but the clinic was nestled within one of the city's most exclusive districts. A place where money dictated survival, where only the most elite had access to services deemed unnecessary by the average citizen.

The moment the car rolled to a stop, the doors were already being opened.

"Welcome to Orpheus Medical Center," a warm, practiced voice greeted them.

The receptionist—a young woman dressed in a sleek white uniform—offered a professional smile as Damien stepped out of the car, Elysia following a half-step behind. The receptionist's gaze flickered between them, lingering for just a fraction of a second longer on Damien than she had likely intended.

His presence, even concealed beneath baggy clothing, still carried weight.

"Mr. Elford, we've been expecting you." Her tone was polite, but there was an unmistakable undertone of deference.

Of course, they had been expecting him. This wasn't a standard clinic, and Damien wasn't just any patient. He had selected Orpheus Medical for a reason—because it was the best.

"Right this way," she gestured smoothly, already turning on her heel to guide them.

Damien followed without a word, his steps measured as he took in the pristine environment. Everything was polished to perfection—marble floors reflecting soft white light, walls lined with subtle gold accents, the faint scent of antiseptic mixed with something more refined, almost floral.

This was a place for the privileged.

A place for those who didn't just want the best, but demanded it.

The receptionist led them down a private corridor, the hushed atmosphere almost eerie in its precision.

"The procedure room has already been prepared," she informed him as they reached a set of sleek, silver doors. "Dr. Laurent will be overseeing your operation personally. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

Damien merely nodded, his gaze cool as the doors slid open automatically, revealing the state-of-the-art medical suite within.

Elysia, still at his side, remained silent. Watching. Waiting.

Dr. Laurent was already waiting inside, standing beside the sleek, metallic operating table. He was an older man, sharp-eyed despite his graying hair, his tailored white coat hanging perfectly against his lean frame. A surgeon of the highest caliber—one of the few in the country trusted to perform procedures that blurred the lines between medicine and aesthetic perfection.

But as Damien stepped inside, something flickered across the doctor's face.

Surprise.

It was subtle, barely there, but Damien caught it. The brief widening of his eyes, the way his professional demeanor momentarily cracked before he quickly composed himself.

Ah.

So he knew.

Damien smirked inwardly, though his expression remained cool, detached. He must have seen me before, or at least been given information about my prior state. This was a clinic for the elite, and clients were always handled with meticulous discretion. Dr. Laurent had probably expected to see Damien Elford, the overweight, sluggish embarrassment of the Elford family.

Instead, what stood before him was something different.

Still unfinished, still in progress, but undeniably transformed.

"Mr. Elford," Dr. Laurent greeted, his voice regaining its composure. He extended a gloved hand, nodding slightly. "I must say, you're looking… quite different from the last time I reviewed your files."

Damien shrugged, stepping forward. "People change, Doctor." His voice was casual, uninterested, as if none of this mattered. "Can we get started?"

The doctor observed him for a moment longer before nodding. "Of course. Right this way."

Elysia remained by the door, silent but watchful, as Damien followed the doctor toward the preparation area. A team of expert nurses was already waiting, their movements precise and efficient as they guided him through the pre-surgery steps—checking his vitals, marking the areas for removal, reviewing the procedure one last time.

"This will be a relatively straightforward operation," Dr. Laurent explained as he examined Damien's torso, his gaze assessing. "Primarily, we'll be removing the excess skin from your abdomen, arms, and lower back. However, given your rapid weight loss, we'll also be addressing the residual fatty tissue in your chest. I suspect you had a case of gynecomastia, correct?"

Damien smirked slightly. "Tch. Do I look like someone who'd let something like that stay?"

Dr. Laurent chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, I suppose not. In any case, the procedure will ensure that your chest is fully sculpted, eliminating any remaining fat deposits. This should bring your physique in line with your current muscle development."

Damien barely acknowledged the explanation. He had already read through all of this beforehand. He knew what he wanted, and he had no patience for unnecessary conversation.

"Side effects?" he asked simply.

"A brief recovery period," the doctor replied. "Nothing extensive, but you'll need to avoid any excessive strain on your torso for at least a few weeks. Your healing factor is impressive, but even so, give your body the time it needs."

Damien exhaled lightly. A few weeks? That wasn't happening. He had training to do.

Still, he said nothing, merely nodding.

"Now, let's begin."

The nurses moved quickly, guiding him onto the operating table as the anesthesiologist prepared the sedative. Damien lay back, his gaze flickering briefly to the ceiling as the bright overhead lights reflected in his eyes.

The doctor's voice was calm, practiced.

"Count backward from ten."

Damien smirked, barely even bothering. "Ten, nine, eigh—"

Darkness.

When Damien opened his eyes again, the world was hazy, distant. His body felt heavy, sluggish, though there was no real pain—just a dull numbness. The aftereffects of the anesthesia still clung to him, making his thoughts swim.

A familiar voice reached his ears first.

"Young Master."

Elysia.

His vision cleared slowly, and he found himself staring at the pristine ceiling of a private recovery room. The lighting was softer here, the atmosphere carefully controlled to encourage comfort.

He shifted slightly—and immediately felt the tightness around his torso.

A compression wrap had been secured around his midsection and chest, keeping everything in place. He could feel the difference already. Lighter. Tighter. Corrected.

Dr. Laurent stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed as he watched Damien with a professional gaze. "You're awake earlier than expected," he noted.

Damien licked his dry lips, his voice rough. "What can I say? I adapt quickly."

The doctor chuckled. "Indeed." He stepped closer, unfolding a tablet in his hands. "The procedure was a complete success. We removed all excess skin and addressed the fatty deposits in your chest. Structurally, everything is as it should be."

Damien exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of his own transformation settle in.

No more sagging flesh. No more remnants of the past clinging to his body.

He was free.

"There are a few things you need to be mindful of," Dr. Laurent continued. "While your body is already showing remarkable recovery, you must give yourself at least one to two weeks before engaging in any intense physical activity. The sutures need time to settle, and excessive movement could disrupt the healing process."

Damien smirked lazily. "I'll think about it."

Dr. Laurent sighed. "I mean it, Mr. Elford. No excessive strain, no weight training—nothing that will stress your core or chest. Your skin needs time to adjust."

Damien tilted his head, feigning boredom. "Fine, fine. I'll behave."

Elysia, standing beside him, merely raised a brow slightly, clearly not believing a word of it.

Dr. Laurent exhaled, shaking his head. "I'll have the discharge papers prepared. You'll need to wear the compression garments for the next few weeks, but after that, you should be fully recovered."

Damien nodded absently, his fingers flexing slightly as he tested his body's responsiveness. It was still sluggish, but beneath that, he could feel it.

Lighter. Faster.

Perfect.

The doctor gave one last nod before turning to leave, the door clicking shut behind him.

The room fell into silence.