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

The doors to the study swung open with a quiet creak, revealing the imposing presence of Dominic Elford seated at his grand mahogany desk. The room was dimly lit, the warm glow of the chandelier above casting soft shadows across the polished wood and the collection of rare books that lined the shelves behind him.

Damien stepped forward, his gaze meeting his father's cold, unreadable one.

Unlike the dining hall, where Dominic exuded calculated indifference, the study felt different. It was his territory, the place where the real decisions were made. Where negotiations were sealed, where power was exercised, where judgment was passed.

And tonight, Damien was the one being summoned.

"Take a seat," Dominic gestured, his voice steady, commanding.

Damien moved toward the chair opposite his father, his posture relaxed, but the moment he sat down, he immediately noticed the discomfort.

The chair was too small.

Or rather—his body was too large for it.

His stomach pressed against the armrests, the excess weight making his seating position awkward, uncomfortable. A physical reminder of the old Damien's indulgences, of his wasted years drowning in luxury and weakness.

But Damien didn't react.

He simply adjusted himself, crossing one leg over the other, resting an arm against the chair with a casual ease that masked the discomfort entirely.

Dominic's sharp gray eyes observed him for a moment before he spoke.

"I spoke with Victor Everwyn," he said, his tone measured. "As I told you, I informed him that the engagement is nullified."

A pause.

"As expected, they want answers."

Damien nodded, unbothered.

Of course, they did.

This wasn't just about a broken engagement—this was about power, status, and leverage.

The Everwyns had spent years ensuring their daughter was tied to the Elford family, siphoning favors, resources, and political security through the engagement.

And now?

With one swift decision, all of that was gone.

"Did Celia contact you?" Dominic asked next, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Damien immediately understood.

This wasn't just a casual inquiry.

His father wasn't merely curious.

He was testing him.

Dominic feared that this was a moment's decision, that Damien—the old Damien—would bend the moment Celia reached out.

That he would fall for her words, let her sink her hooks in once again, and allow the Everwyn family to rip more benefits from them.

Damien's smirk deepened slightly.

His father's insight was truly something else.

But Dominic had nothing to worry about.

"She could have tried," Damien mused, voice smooth. "But she can't."

Dominic's brows furrowed slightly. "Hmm?"

Damien leaned back slightly in his seat, resting his chin on his palm.

"I blocked her number."

Silence.

For the first time that evening, Dominic's gaze shifted slightly—not in shock, not in relief, but in something almost close to intrigue.

Damien could tell.

That was not the answer his father had expected.

Dominic's gray eyes remained locked onto Damien, unreadable as ever.

But there was something else now—curiosity.

His son, the same pathetic fool who had thrown himself at Celia's feet for years, had not only chosen to end the engagement on his own but had gone as far as to cut her off completely.

And Dominic wasn't the kind of man to ignore something like that.

"Why?" His voice was calm, yet firm. "What reason do you have to block her?"

Damien tilted his head slightly, smirking.

"No reason to waste my time on a useless bitch like Celia."

The words left his mouth smoothly, with no hesitation.

Silence.

The room shifted.

Owen let out a quiet cough, his posture stiffening ever so slightly.

Dominic's eyes narrowed.

It wasn't the statement that made his father pause.

It was the word choice.

The Elford family had rules—rules that Dominic had enforced without exception.

And one of them?

He did not tolerate vulgarity in his presence.

Damien, of course, knew that.

Which is exactly why he had done it.

His smirk widened.

"What is it, Father?" he mused, voice laced with amusement. "Should I have used a different word?"

He leaned back slightly, tapping a finger against the armrest of the chair.

"Fine. If you prefer something more… eloquent—"

He took a brief, deliberate pause before continuing in a perfectly formal, polished tone.

"A woman who leverages her physical appeal as a means of personal gain, entertaining the affections of those she does not truly desire in order to extract material benefits, all while keeping the illusion of exclusivity to maintain a higher perceived value."

Silence.

A textbook definition—one that perfectly described Celia Everwyn.

Damien tilted his head, grinning.

"Does that sound better, Father?"

Dominic's fingers tapped once against his desk—a slow, measured movement.

"Though they meant the same thing. To me, she is just a whore."

Silence.

A measured pause—the kind that only happened when expectations had been shattered.

Damien watched as his father's fingers stilled against the desk, the slightest twitch in his otherwise unreadable expression.

Dominic Elford was not an emotional man.

He did not raise his voice.

He did not lose composure.

And yet…

For just a fraction of a second, something flickered behind those steel-gray eyes.

Annoyance? Amusement?

Whatever it was, it was gone before Damien could place it.

"If that is what you want," Dominic finally said, exhaling slowly, "then so be it."

No arguments. No reprimands.

It seemed his father knew when to pick his battles.

But before the conversation could shift—

Damien leaned forward, his smirk deepening.

"I also wanted to see you, Father."

Dominic's gaze lifted slightly, one eyebrow raising in mild curiosity.

Across the room, Owen also turned his attention fully toward Damien, though his expression remained as unreadable as ever.

Damien never sought out his father.

Not unless he needed something.

"Is that so?" Dominic leaned back slightly in his chair. "And what is it that you wish to talk about?"

Damien tilted his head, a slow grin stretching across his lips.

"Father," he said smoothly.

"I want to Awaken myself."

Silence.

This time, true silence.

Owen's usually impassive eyes widened ever so slightly.

Dominic, for the first time in the conversation, reacted visibly.

His posture straightened, his gaze sharpening as he stared at Damien like he had misheard him.

"What?"

Damien's grin widened at their reactions.

Awakening.

A process that marked the beginning of cultivation, of power, of potential.

It was the fundamental divide between those who ruled and those who were ruled over.

Yet, in all the years of his life, Damien Elford had never wanted to Awaken.

The reason?

It required discipline, effort, and an unrelenting will.

It was painful, the process of breaking one's natural limits and forging something greater.

And Damien?

The Damien of the past?

He had despised it.

He had chosen laziness, indulgence, comfort over growth.

And Dominic had long accepted that his son would never pursue the path of power.

But now—

"Awakening?" Dominic repeated, his voice quieter, searching. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Damien said without hesitation.

His father studied him for a long moment.

Then—

A smile.

Not a smirk. Not a condescending curve of the lips.

But something genuine.

"Very well," Dominic said, his tone lighter, almost pleased. "If that is what you wish."

Owen, standing silently at the side, glanced at Dominic.

There was relief in the butler's gaze.

The heir of the Elford family had finally chosen to take the first step toward true strength.

But then—

Damien's next words made Dominic's expression darken instantly.

"I want to use [Cradle of the Primordials]."

Silence.

A completely different kind.

Dominic's smile disappeared, his gaze turning sharp as a blade.

Owen, meanwhile, inhaled sharply, his head snapping toward Damien with something dangerously close to shock.

Because Damien had just spoken the name of the most dangerous Awakening method in existence.

A place where one could Awaken with the highest possible talent—but also the highest possible risk.

Dominic's fingers pressed together, his jaw tightening.

"Absolutely not."