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

The sun dipped low in the sky by the time Damien returned to Blackthorne Villa, the car's smooth arrival met with the silent efficiency that had become routine. The gates closed behind him like the seal of a fortress, cutting him off from the hollow noise of the academy.

He stepped out, still dressed in his pristine uniform—tailored perfectly to his new frame—but there was already a tension in his posture. A focused hunger.

Not for food.

For progress.

He moved without a word, passing through the grand halls of the estate and straight into the training chamber. The moment the heavy door shut behind him, the world shifted.

No pretense.

No performance.

Just grit and evolution.

And today marked a new step in that evolution.

His eyes locked onto the small sealed vial resting on the steel table. Thin glass, lined with runic script to contain its volatile nature. Inside, the air shimmered with a faint, unnatural glow—Ravenous Breath in gaseous suspension. A dose prepared by Elysia under strict precision.

Damien didn't hesitate.

He uncorked the vial and inhaled. One sharp breath, and the gas filled his lungs.

Almost immediately, it began.

A sudden heat bloomed in his chest, spreading outward like wildfire. His heart rate spiked. His skin prickled with sweat, even before the first movement. Inside, he could feel it—his body accelerating, cells firing at a pace they had no right to.

His stomach churned with sudden hunger, muscles tensed in anticipation, and a strange, almost euphoric sensation rippled through his nerves.

Ravenous Breath was working.

'Let's begin.'

And just like that, he launched into motion.

Running. Full sprint across the hall, again and again, each step louder, faster, more precise. His breath came in ragged bursts, but the gas pushed his metabolism to madness. He was burning through calories like a furnace that couldn't be fed fast enough. Every step devoured energy, every heartbeat pumped fire into his limbs.

Then—

The resistance pool.

He threw himself into the water without pause, his body already steaming before he hit the surface. The chill of the pool was a shock—but Ravenous Breath ignored it. His core temperature kept rising. His muscles screamed from the double effort—burning inside, resisting the drag of water outside.

Stroke. Breathe. Kick. Again.

The fatigue came fast. Brutal. Relentless. But that was the point.

His body was being torn down by the demands of sheer metabolic chaos. And Adaptive Evolution was watching—learning. Reacting.

He needed to eat more now. A lot more.

Back at the pool's edge, Elysia stood waiting. As always.

Without a word, she offered his next meal—one of three prepped for this session alone.

Red monster meat, high-density fats and protein. Eggs, heavy with nutrient-rich yolk. Alchemically fortified greens with just enough fiber to keep his digestion from giving out.

He grabbed the food without ceremony, biting into the meat even as water dripped from his jaw, body trembling under the aftershocks of training. The food vanished quickly—not because he wanted to eat—but because his body demanded it.

His appetite had tripled. Maybe more.

That was the cost of Ravenous Breath.

But the benefits?

They were already taking root.

Damien wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at his reflection in the rippling water.

He was getting faster. Lighter. More carved by the day.

And the weekend hadn't even started yet.

******

The chandelier overhead cast a soft, warm glow across the long table, its light glinting off the polished silverware and the decanters of wine placed at regular intervals. The servants moved quietly, their white gloves barely making a sound as they topped off glasses and refreshed plates with practiced efficiency.

Dominic Elford sat at the head of the table, back straight, fingers interlocked in front of his plate. His gaze, cool and composed, flicked between the others like a man constantly measuring the weight of every word spoken.

Across from him sat Adeline, her posture flawless, her deep blue gown matching the cool steel in her eyes. She barely touched her food, opting instead to swirl her wine slowly, the glass turning in delicate circles between her fingers.

Vivienne, radiant in a modest ivory dress that brought out the softness in her green eyes, sat near the center. Her golden hair was pulled into a loose chignon, though a few strands had slipped free, curling against her cheek as she smiled gently.

"Today's board meeting was particularly insufferable," Adeline remarked, setting down her glass. "CFO Bradford thought it wise to suggest another audit on my division. As if I hadn't already corrected his last three miscalculations."

Dominic offered a noncommittal nod. "He's thorough. But inefficient."

Adeline's eyes narrowed. "He's a fool."

Vivienne didn't interject. She delicately cut into her grilled seabass, then dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin before speaking.

"I visited the estate garden today. The camellias have bloomed earlier than usual this year. It reminded me of when Damien used to steal buds to hide in his coat pocket."

Adeline arched an eyebrow. "Charming," she muttered, the disdain barely veiled.

Dominic didn't comment.

Vivienne turned her gaze toward him. "Three weeks."

Dominic's eyes lifted, mildly curious. "Pardon?"

"It's been three weeks since I last saw Damien," Vivienne said softly. "I thought he would've visited by now."

The room quieted slightly. Even Adeline's fingers paused against her wine stem.

"I understand he's… busy," Vivienne continued, her tone measured. "I heard he's settling into Blackthorne Villa. But still—"

Dominic set his utensils down with slow precision, his fingers folding neatly over one another as he leaned back in his chair. The shift was subtle, but the weight behind it was immediate—a signal that the discussion was no longer casual.

"He needs space," he said, voice low, firm. "Let him have it."

Vivienne's brows lifted faintly. "Space from his family?"

"Space from comfort," Dominic clarified. "From your softness. From your tendency to shield him."

Her eyes narrowed, just slightly. "Shielding isn't the same as caring."

"Perhaps," Dominic allowed, his steel-gray gaze sharpening, "but in Damien's case, the difference has always been blurred."

Adeline let out a short, amused breath, though she didn't speak. She sipped from her glass again, clearly content to let their parents' quiet tension stretch.

Vivienne, however, wasn't so easily swayed.

"He's my son, Dominic. If he's struggling—"

"He's not." The words cut through the room like a blade—controlled, but final.

"…He's training. Attending classes."

Dominic let the words hang there, deliberately stopping just short of the full truth. His tone remained measured, unaffected—yet his thoughts churned beneath the surface, sharper than the knife beside his plate.

And causing scenes at the academy…

He didn't say it aloud, of course. Not with Vivienne watching him with those perceptive eyes of hers. If there was one thing his wife was talented at—aside from turning softness into quiet authority—it was sensing when something was being withheld. He'd learned long ago how to keep his expressions neutral around her, how to offer just enough truth to keep her from digging deeper.

But it hadn't been easy, not since the reports began trickling in.

The whispered accounts from the academy staff.

The discreet messages from those who still owed Dominic favors.

And finally—the footage.

Dominic had watched it alone in his study, curtains drawn, door locked. The room had been quiet save for the audio feed echoing from the datapad in front of him. At first, he thought it had to be doctored, but since the video came from the Damien himself….

Sharp lines in his face where once there had been bloat. A cold glint in his eyes. No slouch, no flinching, no faltering.

Dominic hadn't known whether to feel pride or unease.

The transformation had been… extreme.

Too fast.

Far beyond what should've been possible, even with intense physical training. No normal regimen, no personal discipline—not even desperation—could've reshaped his son's body that drastically in a matter of weeks.

Unless something else was at play.

And yet, when Damien had asked to leave for Blackthorne Villa, he had said only this:

"Don't interfere. No favors. No eyes. Let me do this on my own."

So Dominic hadn't sent anyone. Not a single shadow. No surveillance, no manipulation. It had gone against his instincts—against decades of controlling every variable, every risk—but something in Damien's tone that day had been different.

Resolute.

So he honored the request.

And now… this.

The young man walking the halls of that academy was no longer the burdened heir weighed down by shame and excess. He was something else.

Something dangerous.

Something awake.

And if Vivienne found out too early—if she saw him now, saw the weight he'd shed, the fire in his movements, the intent behind them—she would swarm to his side.

She would cradle him in silk, pull him back into comfort, into safety.

And undo everything.

Dominic folded his hands again, his face still a mask of cold reason.

"He's doing what he needs to," he said at last, voice smooth. "Give him time. He'll come back when he's ready."

Vivienne studied him for a moment longer. Searching. But Dominic's walls were perfect.

Eventually, she nodded once, slowly. "Very well," she murmured. "But if something happens to him, Dominic…"

Her words trailed off, but the warning in her tone was clear.

Dominic inclined his head. "Then you'll be the first to know."

He had learned the art of lying white….

Or rather, he was forced to…by his wife..

Across the table, Adeline glanced between them with faint interest, as if sensing the undercurrent but not quite grasping its depth.

The conversation shifted, drifting to safer topics—stock performance, gala invitations, the usual aristocratic noise—but Dominic's mind remained elsewhere.

He picked up his wine glass, sipping it in silence.

And beneath that stoic exterior, one thought echoed louder than the rest:

Who are you becoming, Damien?

And what the hell woke you up?