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

Damien lay on his bed, one arm folded behind his head, the other lazily holding his phone above him. The screen's glow cast a dim halo over his face in the darkened room, the faint hum of evening silence wrapping around him like a second blanket.

"Heh…" he breathed, that smirk tugging at the corner of his lips again.

The screen still showed the last message—Victoria's furious barrage of insults, followed by his reply.

She'd contacted him.

On her own.

He tapped the edge of the phone once, thoughtful. That was all it took. A whisper here, a glance there. Not even a push. Just… suggestion. Insecurity. Doubt.

And now she was spiraling.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded.

Damien's smirk lingered as he tossed the phone onto his chest, the glow from the screen still echoing Victoria's rage in his periphery.

Ah, Langley.

So damn easy to provoke, yet too proud to retreat.

That made her quite…. Entertaining.

Predictable? Not quite. She was sharp when cornered, but the trick was keeping her on edge. Just enough leash to make her believe she had a say. Just enough silence to make her lean forward.

He reached for his water bottle, lazily twisting the cap off. The cold slid down his throat, but his mind was already warming to the thought of what came next.

Victoria Langley.

She was a kind of girl who used to flick her words like knives across lecture halls, hoping one would catch him.

And back then, maybe they had.

But now?

Now, he found himself amused.

Because she still hadn't figured it out.

Damien let the silence stretch. That weightless kind of quiet that only came when the world outside dimmed and left just him, his breath, and the glow of glass between his fingers.

'She really came to me first,' he thought, watching the reflection of his own smirk ripple faintly across the phone's screen.

The messages sat there—her fury, her indignation, her wounded pride masquerading as outrage. Beautiful little cracks, each one hinting at how much space he still occupied in her mind.

'Not bad, Langley. Not bad at all.'

He scrolled lazily through the log, thumb flicking down with idle rhythm.

| Victoria [22:27]

| Bastard!!

| Arrogant, smug bastard!

| You think this is funny?!

'Yes.'

He let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes narrowing with quiet satisfaction.

'I could fight him, you know.'

The thought came easy—clean and casual, like stating the weather.

'Her little boyfriend. The one who came at me in the last match like I spit on his bloodline.'

Damien's free hand curled once into a fist, muscle tensing beneath the skin, then relaxing again just as easily.

'I could drag him across the field. Snap his rhythm. Break his stance. And if I wanted… break something else too.'

But he didn't need to.

'That's not how you win games like this.'

Because Victoria wouldn't remember a bruise. Not for long.

But she'd remember this.

The silence. The lingering threat. The maddening uncertainty of what he knew—and what he didn't say.

'Let her twist over it. Let her stare at her phone tomorrow like it might bite her back. Let her wonder if Celia whispered something, if I picked something up. Let her feel watched.'

A glint sparked in his eyes as he stared at her name lit across the screen. The screen hadn't faded yet. Still there. Still fresh.

| Damien [22:27]

| You're adorable when you're angry.

He grinned.

'Let's see what you do tomorrow, Langley.'

Would she avoid him?

Stare too long?

Would she pretend nothing happened at all?

'Either way,' he thought, dragging the chat log closed with a flick of his thumb, 'I'll know.'

His life lately had been all regimen. Burning fat. Bruising muscle. Waking up drenched in sweat and breathing like a beast halfway through molting.

It was progress.

But it wasn't fun.

'And this… this is fun.'

With a satisfied exhale, Damien clicked the screen off and let the room fall into a deeper dark.

DING!

The sound wasn't loud.

Just a crisp chime in the back of Damien's skull—like a silver thread plucked taut inside his thoughts.

His eyes cracked open, the room still dark, the glow from the interface sliding softly into view like moonlight through mist.

[Hidden Quest Completed: Act Like a Scoundrel]

Reward: +15 SP | +20 EXP

"Emotional provocation successful. Subject agitated. Control maintained."

Damien chuckled, the sound low and amused.

The interface pulsed again. A new prompt unfurled in clean, elegant lettering.

—

[New Quest Available]

Title: Irritating Perfection

Target: Victoria Langley

Objective: Subtly provoke, unnerve, or undermine Victoria Langley across three separate instances.

Each interaction must cause visible emotional disruption.

Bonus reward for public reaction.

Progress: 0/3

Rewards:

+200 SP

+1 Mystery Reward

—

Damien let out a slow breath, the corners of his lips lifting again.

'So that's what we're doing now.'

Victoria Langley—the polished blade of social grace, the model noble girl—was a good target.

'Three times, huh?'

He exhaled once, deeply, then let his head sink back into the pillow.

The grin was still there.

'Tomorrow's going to be interesting.'

*****

The morning air was sharp.

Not biting. Just crisp—clean in that way only the earliest hours offered, before the weight of the day settled into the concrete.

Damien stepped through the academy gates, blazer slung lazily over one shoulder, hands in his pockets. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the forearm, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at what had changed beneath.

No more softness.

No more droop in his posture, no sluggish drag to his steps.

His shoulders were square, his frame pulled taut by weeks of punishing discipline. The system had carved him like stone left too long in the wind—refined muscle over bone, power tucked into each motion, coiled and ready.

Even if the clothes didn't scream it, they whispered enough.

And people noticed.

Eyes turned as he passed—some subtle, others not. A pair of third-year girls lingered by the courtyard fountain, one nudging the other with a not-so-subtle elbow as he walked by. A cluster of scholarship students near the library steps fell into a hush mid-conversation.

He caught snippets.

"Is that Damien Elford?"

"No way—look at his arms—"

"When did he—?"

He didn't slow down. Just let it soak in, that quiet hum of curiosity and recalibrated judgment.

'Huh. Not bad,' he thought, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 'So this is what it feels like when they look and don't just scoff.'

It wasn't validation.

Not really.

But it was fuel.

And then—

"Damien."

A voice.

Clear. Unshaken. Just ahead.

He didn't need to look to know.

The tone was too precise. Too poised. Like it had been practiced in the mirror and sharpened for moments exactly like this.

He came to a stop, the path ahead clearing just slightly as students instinctively shifted.

And there she was.

Blonde hair, immaculately brushed into place. Emerald eyes locked onto his like polished glass hiding something deeper. Her uniform was perfect. Not a wrinkle. Not a thread out of place.

Victoria Langley.

He blinked once, then let his eyes drag over her from head to toe before landing back on her face, a slow grin spreading across his lips.

"Oh…" he drawled, voice rich with mock warmth. "Isn't this our little Victoria."

She didn't react outwardly. Not a twitch. Not a flinch.

But her eyes?

They sharpened just a little.

And that was enough.

'Round one begins,' Damien thought.

And this time?

He'd be the one setting the tempo.