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

"Contact Aegis Construction Agency. I want everything installed by tomorrow."

Owen didn't even blink at the ridiculous timeframe. He simply bowed his head. "Understood." Without another word, he turned and swiftly left the study, his movements precise and efficient.

Damien watched the butler leave before stretching his shoulders slightly. "Well, if that's all, I'll take my leave as well," he said, his tone light.

Dominic's sharp gaze lingered on him for a moment longer.

Today had been… unexpected.

Damien had challenged him. Pushed. Demanded.

And he hadn't faltered once.

Dominic knew his son too well—the old Damien wouldn't have lasted through half this conversation without breaking, without making a fool of himself.

But tonight?

Tonight, Damien had walked out of this study a completely different person.

"Hmph." Dominic exhaled quietly, leaning back in his chair. "You've certainly made things interesting, Damien."

Damien smirked but said nothing. Instead, he simply turned toward the door.

"Goodnight, Father," he said smoothly as he walked out.

Just as Damien reached for the door handle, his father's voice stopped him.

"Inform Elysia today."

Damien paused, raising an eyebrow as he turned his head slightly. "Why?"

Dominic leaned back in his chair, his sharp gray eyes still assessing him. "The girl will be living in a different place from now on." His voice was firm, yet composed. "Make sure to give her time to prepare."

Damien exhaled through his nose before giving a small nod. "Fine."

With that, he finally stepped out of the study, closing the door behind him.

As he began his walk toward his room, his mind was restless.

Everything had gone as he planned. The bet. The facilities. His move to Blackthorne Villa.

But just because things were falling into place didn't mean it would be easy.

He had given himself one month.

One month to achieve something so impossible, so insane, that even his father—who had seen the very limits of power—had only agreed to it because he expected him to fail.

Damien's steps were steady, unhurried, but his mind was anything but. A restless storm churned within him, his thoughts flickering between strategy and inevitability. The weight of the bet, the ridiculous timeframe, the sheer impossibility of it all—any rational person would call it madness.

And maybe it was.

But that was the charm, wasn't it?

He exhaled through his nose, amusement curling at the edges of his lips. The absurdity, the challenge, the expectation of failure—it was all perfect. There was no satisfaction in proving people right, in achieving what they already believed possible. No, the thrill was in the impossible. In dragging reality to its knees.

A small chime echoed in his mind.

[Host… The system's quests are issued according to your wishes, but are you sure about this?]

Damien smirked.

"Now that's a stupid question," he muttered, his voice low as he walked through the dimly lit hallway.

[The difficulty is beyond standard limits,] the system responded, its tone eerily neutral. [The probability of failure is—]

"Irrelevant."

He cut it off without hesitation, his fingers brushing against the smooth wood of the railing as he reached the grand staircase. The marble beneath his feet was cool, solid—grounding, even as his mind soared elsewhere.

"Failure isn't an option," he murmured. "It never was."

[The human body is not designed for such drastic transformation within one month. Even with extreme conditioning, achieving this within the timeframe is—]

"Do I look like I care about human limits?" Damien chuckled under his breath. "You're misunderstanding something, System."

He tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he descended the staircase. The grand halls of the Elford estate stretched endlessly before him, but he barely registered them. His focus was elsewhere—on the game he was playing and the rules he was about to break.

"This isn't about whether it's possible," he murmured. "This is about making it possible. And I will. Because that's what I do."

A pause. The system didn't respond immediately.

Then—

[…Understood.]

Damien grinned.

That's right. Even his own system was struggling to grasp it. The sheer audacity of what he was about to do.

But that was the whole point.

"Good," he said lightly. "Now, let's get to work."

Damien pushed open the door to his room, stepping inside with the same confidence that had carried him through the night.

And there she was.

Elysia.

She stood near the window, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the glass. Her cold, expressionless face remained as unreadable as ever, her sharp green eyes staring at him with quiet scrutiny.

"You called for me, Young Master."

Her voice was as composed as always—steady, detached.

But there was something else, too.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but she seemed... mildly surprised to be summoned at this hour.

Or maybe she wasn't.

Maybe he just wanted her to be.

But did it really matter?

Damien's smirk twitched slightly as he stared at her.

Tall, toned, dressed in her usual combat maid attire, her stance perfectly poised yet ready to strike at a moment's notice—everything about her radiated deadly efficiency.

And all Damien could think was—

'Oh… I really want to eat you so bad.'

A dangerous glint flickered in his eyes.

Tie her up.

Pin her against the bed.

Watch as those ever-expressionless green eyes finally wavered—just a little.

'Tch.' He almost scoffed at himself.

Elysia wasn't the type to waver. That was what made her so fun.

No matter how much he imagined binding those strong wrists together, no matter how much he pictured her breath hitching as he whispered things she shouldn't hear—in reality, she would probably just stare at him blankly and then break his ribs.

Damien exhaled through his nose, forcing himself back to reality.

'Control yourself, Damien.'

Elysia, meanwhile, simply stood there, waiting.

Unbothered. Silent. As if she hadn't just been the center of some truly degenerate thoughts.

"...Ahem." Damien cleared his throat, schooling his expression into something more composed.

His grin returned, smooth and effortless.

"I have something to discuss with you," he said, finally addressing her properly.

Elysia didn't react, didn't blink—just nodded once. "Understood."

But Damien knew.

Behind that mask of professionalism, she was curious.

Damien took a step forward, closing the distance between them with the same slow, deliberate confidence that he carried in every movement.

Elysia didn't move, didn't react. She simply stood there, posture straight, gaze locked onto him as if waiting for her next order.

How obedient.

It was almost adorable.

But Damien wasn't in the mood to tease. Not now.

"We're leaving tomorrow," he said, his tone smooth, direct. "I'll be moving into Blackthorne Villa."

Elysia's expression remained unreadable, but he didn't miss the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly.

"Blackthorne Villa," she repeated, as if weighing the words. "That place is quite large. Will you be needing additional staff?"

Damien smirked. "No. Only you."

This time, she blinked.

A rare reaction from her. Subtle, but noticeable. "Only me?"

"Yes."

A pause.

Then, for the first time, a question.

"Why?"

Damien tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Because," he murmured, "I don't trust anyone else."

Elysia's lips parted—just a fraction, as if she had been caught off guard.

For just a second, her normally unshakable gaze wavered.

She hadn't expected that answer.

Damien, of course, had noticed immediately.

A smirk played at his lips as he stepped even closer, his presence towering over her, watching as she composed herself almost instantly.

But almost wasn't enough.

Because he had seen it.

"You will be the only one who sees everything," he continued smoothly. "When I train, when I push myself past every limit—when I do things that no one else should witness." His voice dropped lower, smoother. "And you are not to speak of them to anyone."

Elysia didn't flinch.

Her green eyes remained locked onto his, but there was something heavier in the silence between them now.

Something charged.

"Do you understand?"

She gave a slow nod. "Understood."

"Good," Damien murmured.

Then, without hesitation, he reached out—

His gloved fingers brushed against her chin, his thumb trailing lightly over her skin.

Soft.

Warmer than he expected.

Her jaw tensed slightly, but she didn't pull away.

Interesting.

"You will be the only one who knows," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Elysia didn't blink. Didn't move.

She simply stood there.

Waiting.

Watching.

"...Understood," she repeated.