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

Damien watched her, soaking in the sight of her perfect composure, the way she didn't pull away, didn't react beyond that brief, almost imperceptible hesitation.

She really was something else.

His thumb lingered against her skin for a fraction longer before he pulled away, his smirk deepening.

Elysia… of course it was her.

How could it not be?

Even before everything changed—even before he was here, in this world, in this body—he had favored her.

Elysia—The Unwavering Blade of the Elford Household.

In Shackles of Fate, she had never been a heroine.

The player could interact with her, speak to her, grow familiar with her presence—but she was a character that would never progress.

No matter how many conversations were had, no matter how much time was spent trying to reach her, the result was always the same.

She remained distant. A wall that could not be climbed.

And at first, Damien—the player—hadn't thought much of it.

She was a side character. A combat maid. It was only natural that she had her role, her purpose, her limits.

But then he looked deeper.

He had scoured the forums, searching through every possible piece of lore regarding Elysia, wondering why this character—so present, so carefully written—never had a route.

And that was when he found it.

The truth about her.

She had always despised Damien.

It was never hidden. Her cold eyes, her indifferent tone, the way she had stood by his side yet looked down on him all the same—it was obvious.

She had been trained by his mother's family, molded into the perfect servant, yet she had never once respected him.

Because the Damien she served had been pathetic. Weak. Spineless. A disappointment.

She had detested being by his side.

And yet, she never left.

Even when others abandoned him.

Even when it would have been so easy to betray him.

Even when she was contacted by 'him'.

She never gave in.

And at the very end—

When Damien was meant to die, when he had no more allies, no more options—

She was the one who stood in front of him.

She had sacrificed her life protecting a man she did not respect, a master she had never once admired—but still chose to serve.

And that was why Damien knew.

This maid deserved his trust.

Elysia wasn't loyal because she liked him.

She wasn't by his side because she cared for him.

She was there because it was her duty.

And duty, unlike emotion, did not waver.

Damien tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he watched her. She remained composed, unreadable as ever, but he knew better than anyone that stillness didn't mean lack of thought.

"Are you not curious?" he asked, voice smooth, almost teasing.

Elysia met his gaze without hesitation. "Curious about what, Young Master?"

His smirk widened. "About what I intend to do in Blackthorne Villa. About why you will be the only one living there with me. And most of all…" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "About the things I said you will witness."

Any other person—anyone else—would have reacted.

A slight shift in posture. A flicker of hesitation. Maybe even the barest hint of apprehension.

But Elysia?

She simply stared at him, calm, unwavering.

Then, after a brief pause, she responded in a voice just as even as before.

"It is not my place to be curious."

Damien blinked.

Then—

He laughed.

A low, rich chuckle, full of genuine amusement.

Of course.

Of course she would say that.

He had been expecting something along those lines, but hearing it directly from her mouth? That was so very Elysia.

"Not your place to be curious?" He grinned. "Then what would make it your place?"

Elysia remained silent, offering no answer.

Damien's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "I see. How fitting."

Then, without dragging it out further, he told her.

"The bet I made with my father," he said, watching for her reaction. "I gave myself one month to reach ninety-five kilograms."

Finally—

A reaction.

A small one. Barely noticeable.

But Damien saw it.

Elysia's lips parted slightly—just a fraction—as if processing the sheer absurdity of his words.

"One month," she repeated, her voice still calm, but this time, there was something almost resembling doubt underneath. "Young Master… your current weight is—"

"One hundred and fifty, yes." Damien's smirk widened. "Fifty-five kilograms. In one month."

Elysia didn't speak immediately.

But this time, her green eyes did not remain unreadable.

For the first time tonight—

She looked at him with something close to shock.

Elysia's expression barely wavered, but Damien saw it—the briefest flicker of something sharp, something calculating beneath the surface. He had known her long enough to understand that silence from her wasn't thoughtlessness. It was assessment. A quiet, deliberate analysis of every word, every implication. And right now, she was trying to determine if what he had just said was lunacy or a challenge worth considering.

"Fifty-five kilograms in one month," she repeated, as if saying it aloud would make it any less insane. "Even with extreme measures, that level of weight loss is—"

"Impossible?" Damien cut in smoothly, his lips curling into a smirk. "That's what you want to say, isn't it?"

Elysia didn't answer. She didn't need to.

Damien chuckled, stepping past her toward the liquor cabinet near the window. He wasn't in the mood to drink, but something about the quiet ritual of it—pouring, watching the liquid swirl in the glass—helped center his thoughts. "What is it they always say?" he mused, tilting his head. "Ah. Right. A body is limited by what the mind believes is possible." He swirled the amber liquid, letting the light catch the glass's facets before placing it back down, untouched. "You don't need to believe it, Elysia. You just need to make sure I survive the process."

The maid remained where she was, her back straight, her hands clasped behind her. Not a single unnecessary motion. No reaction beyond the slow blink of her cold green eyes.

"Understood," she finally said.

Damien let out a breath, turning to face her fully. He hadn't expected argument. That wasn't her nature. If she had objections, they would come in the form of subtle resistance, calculated efficiency, unspoken precautions—not words. That was why he had chosen her.

Elysia wasn't loyal out of devotion. She wasn't the type to place blind faith in anyone, not even her so-called master. What she was, however, was efficient. Precise. If he gave her an order, she would execute it to the best of her ability, no matter how impossible it seemed.

And he needed that.

"Good," he said, his smirk widening just slightly. "Then we'll begin immediately."

A pause. Then, with that same unwavering composure, she spoke.

"I assume you have a plan."

Damien laughed. "Of course I do," he said, stepping closer, the space between them shrinking until she was forced to tilt her chin ever so slightly to keep her gaze level with his. "I always have a plan."

His voice was smooth, confident, carrying that edge of amusement that always seemed to make people either trust him or want to throttle him.

Elysia, predictably, did neither.

Instead, she just stood there, watching him, waiting.

Damien's smirk deepened. He reached up, trailing a single gloved finger along her jaw—slow, deliberate, testing.

She didn't flinch.

Damien nodded to himself, as if confirming some unspoken thought. His gloved finger lingered against Elysia's jaw for a fraction longer before he pulled away, stepping back with an air of finality. His mind was already racing ahead, mapping out the steps he needed to take. The timeline was absurd, but that was precisely why he had to begin immediately.

"Go to the eastern district tomorrow," he said smoothly, his hands slipping into his pockets. "There's an apothecary on Ashen Row—Garrick's. Get me six specific herbs I will list, and buy whole supply."

Elysia remained silent, waiting, absorbing every word without unnecessary reaction.

"Starfire Root. Nightshade Thistle. Emberleaf. Frostcap Petals. Titan's Bark." He tilted his head slightly, smirking. "And Hollow Ivy…"

Elysia's sharp green eyes met his, steady, unwavering.

She didn't ask why.

Of course she didn't.

She never asked questions that weren't necessary. If he was making this request, it was for a reason. That was enough.

Damien's smirk widened, pleased. "And one more thing," he added, his voice turning almost amused. "Buy me healing potions. One hundred of them."

This time, Elysia blinked.

Not much. Just a subtle shift in her expression—a rare thing. A flicker of something close to acknowledgment.

But, as expected, she didn't question it.

She simply gave a curt nod. "Understood."

Damien exhaled through his nose, satisfied. "Good. Then we'll begin tomorrow."

With that, he turned away, already lost in thought.

One month.

Fifty-five kilograms.

And an entire world expecting him to fail.

Perfect.