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

For a long moment, Elysia simply stared at him.

Her sharp green eyes, usually unreadable, flickered with something rare—hesitation.

Damien could see it clearly. The split-second conflict in her mind. The urge, the desire, to call his mother immediately.

Tch.

Of course, she did.

To any rational person, this was insanity. His body convulsing, muscles spasming unnaturally beneath his sweat-drenched skin, veins bulging as if something inside him was trying to crawl out—anyone else would think he was on the verge of death.

And yet—

He smirked.

'She needs to get used to this.'

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" His voice was hoarse, rough from the sheer exertion, but it carried its usual amusement. "About calling my mother."

Elysia's fingers tightened against the tray ever so slightly, the only outward sign of her internal thoughts.

He chuckled, low and dry. "Forget it."

Elysia's eyes snapped back to him, sharp, analyzing.

"This is going to be normal from now on," he continued, his voice steady despite the visible torment his body was enduring. "You should get used to the sight."

A pause.

Then, finally—

Elysia spoke.

"This is not normal."

Her voice was flat, controlled, but there was something beneath it—something that, had he been anyone else, he wouldn't have caught.

Tension.

Not fear. Not concern.

But something close.

Damien exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight slightly, rolling his shoulders despite the protest of his muscles. His body screamed, but he ignored it, pushing through the pain like it was nothing more than background noise.

"Normal is irrelevant," he said simply. "Only results matter."

Elysia's lips parted slightly—just a fraction, as if about to respond—before she stopped herself.

She didn't argue.

Elysia's lips parted slightly, but this time, she did not stop herself.

"It is my duty to protect you," she said, her voice calm but firm. "To ensure your safety, your well-being. If I determine that your actions are self-destructive, it is within my responsibility to intervene."

Damien stilled.

Then—

He laughed.

Low, hoarse, but undeniably amused. He tilted his head slightly, sharp blue eyes locking onto hers with something between mockery and curiosity.

"Now caring about me, are we?" he mused, his smirk curling at the edges.

Elysia scoffed—a rare expression of open disbelief from her. "This is—"

"Elysia."

The single utterance of her name was like ice.

Elysia froze, her posture still straight, but there was a shift—a recognition of the shift in his tone.

Damien's smirk was gone.

His eyes, so often filled with playful cruelty, sharpened into something colder.

He took a step forward, his gaze pressing into hers, unrelenting. The weight of his authority settled in the space between them.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

His voice wasn't raised.

But it didn't need to be.

Because his presence—his will—was enough to make the air feel heavier.

His eyes burned—not with rage, not with madness—but with something unshakable.

A force that was both clear and dangerous.

Something unchangeable.

"This is not a negotiation."

"This is a command."

"Do as I say."

For a moment, Elysia did not move, did not blink.

Then—

She slowly lowered her gaze, her grip on the tray tightening briefly before she gave a slight nod.

"...Understood."

Good.

Damien exhaled through his nose, his smirk returning just slightly.

"She's starting to get it."

*****

Damien's breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale a battle against the fire in his lungs. His body was on the verge of collapse—no, it had already collapsed. The only thing keeping him upright was sheer fucking will. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest, his muscles fraying apart like overused ropes threatening to snap at any moment.

And yet—

Step.

Pain.

Step.

Agony.

His fingers dug into the treadmill's rails, his grip ironclad as if letting go would mean surrender. The room blurred around him, sweat dripping from his chin in heavy drops. His vision swam, the edges of the world darkening as his body begged, pleaded, demanded him to stop.

Then, the system's voice cut through the haze.

[WARNING: Host is experiencing severe muscular degradation.]

[WARNING: Internal damage exceeding safe thresholds.]

[WARNING: Critical condition imminent.]

Damien forced out a sharp exhale, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat. "Shut up."

He wasn't done yet. Not until he decided he was done.

His legs trembled. His knees buckled. The treadmill belt dragged his foot back for half a second, and for the first time since he started—

He stumbled.

[WARNING: SYSTEM INTERVENTION REQUIRED.]

[REQURING IMMEDIATE CESSATION OF ACTIVITY.]

Damien's breath hitched, his chest heaving as the burning in his limbs reached unbearable levels. His muscles screamed, his joints ached, and his bones felt like they were grinding against each other—but he didn't stop.

Couldn't.

His body was a machine, and right now, it was running at its peak—the moment where the suffering reached its most efficient, where the burn meant he was carving away at every excess kilogram with ruthless precision.

He knew this part.

He had studied the game's mechanics, memorized the way the system calculated fat loss, the brutal optimization behind every second of training. This window—this last fucking stretch—was where the true results were made.

Stopping now was failure.

So he pushed harder.

Step. Pain. Step. Agony.

The system flared with another set of alerts, its voice a cold, detached observer of his destruction.

[WARNING: SYSTEM INTERVENTION REQUIRED.]

[REQUESTING IMMEDIATE CESSATION OF ACTIVITY.]

He clenched his jaw. "No."

His vision swam. His pulse pounded against his skull. Every breath was like swallowing fire, his body demanding relief, begging for reprieve. But he didn't listen.

Because right now, his body was more than just a vessel.

It was a furnace.

His stomach twisted with hunger, an unnatural emptiness consuming him as his body burned through everything—fat, energy, muscle—like a wildfire starving for fuel. His heart slammed against his ribs at an inhuman pace, each beat like a war drum inside his chest, pumping what little remained of his reserves into his trembling limbs.

And still—he kept going.

[Trait: [Does Not Bend] is active.]

[ERROR: SYSTEM INTERVENTION FAILED!]

A sharp grin pulled at his lips, even as the pain tried to rip him apart. "That's right."

The system could try to stop him. It could throw every warning, every restriction, every failsafe it had. But none of it mattered. Because it didn't control him.

His body was reaching its absolute limit now, on the verge of total collapse. His stomach was a hollow pit, his limbs leaden, his entire form trembling like a dying engine running on fumes.

Then—

His heart throbbed.

A deep, visceral ache that pulsed through his entire body like an explosion. His vision darkened at the edges, his knees locked, and for a single terrifying second—

It felt like his heart was about to fail.

His fingers slammed down on the emergency stop button.

The treadmill jerked to a halt, and Damien staggered back, barely catching himself before his legs gave out completely. He braced against the machine, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face as his heartbeat pounded against his ears like thunder.

[WARNING: Host is at critical exhaustion.]

[Heart rate at unstable levels.]

He didn't care.

His shaking fingers fumbled for the potion vial he had prepared in advance. The moment he uncorked it, he downed the liquid in one brutal gulp.

The effect was instantaneous.

Heat surged through him, rushing down his throat and igniting through every cell in his body. His muscles, shredded and torn apart beyond recognition, flared with fresh, agonizing sensation—only this time, it wasn't pain.

It was restoration.

His body reknitted itself at an unnatural speed, fibers pulling back together, nerves rewiring, his heart rate stabilizing as the raw power of alchemical enhancement flooded his system.

And then—

[Passive Skill: [Physique of Nature] is active.]

[ERROR: Potion effects have exceeded projected output.]

[ERROR: System unable to regulate host's regeneration.]

Damien let out a slow breath, his fingers flexing as he felt the difference immediately. His strength wasn't just returning. It was multiplying.

The potion should have simply repaired him. But this? This was more. The [Physique of Nature] trait was amplifying the effect, pushing his body past its normal boundaries, making every sip of the potion more potent than it had any right to be.

His lips curled. "Good."

No hesitation. No waiting. His body was still trembling, his muscles still aching from the aftershocks, but he moved.

Straight to the recovery pools.