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

The crisp morning air was sharp against Damien's skin as he stood by the sleek black car waiting for him in the grand courtyard of the Elford estate. The final step before his departure.

His mother had already bid her farewells—dramatic as expected, yet genuinely warm. She had fussed, straightened his collar, and reminded him—twice—to take care of himself. And while Damien had sighed at her motherly overindulgence, a part of him had… appreciated it.

But now, it was just him and Dominic.

His father stood a few paces away, hands clasped behind his back, his sharp gray eyes unreadable. The faint morning sunlight barely softened the austere presence he carried, his tailored black suit impeccable as always.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The estate staff bustled in the background, finishing the last of the preparations. Elysia stood by the car, waiting silently.

Finally, Dominic exhaled. "Everything is in place at Blackthorne Villa. The modifications have been completed."

Damien smirked. "You sound surprised."

Dominic didn't dignify that with an answer. Instead, he regarded Damien with that same piercing, calculating stare. "It's not too late to change your mind."

Damien chuckled under his breath. "If you were trying to test me, Father, that would've been a very poor attempt."

Dominic's expression didn't shift, but there was something in his gaze—a flicker of something assessing.

"You've made a habit of saying many things, Damien," he said. "Few of them ever held weight."

Damien tilted his head slightly, amused. "And now?"

Dominic studied him for a moment longer. "Now, we will see."

It wasn't approval. Not yet.

But it wasn't dismissal, either.

It was a challenge.

Damien met his father's gaze head-on, his smirk deepening. "Then watch closely."

Dominic exhaled through his nose. A slow, measured breath. Then, at last, he nodded.

"Go."

With that, Damien turned, stepping toward the car.

Damien slid into the car, the door shutting with a quiet click behind him. The interior smelled of polished leather and faint cologne, a subtle reminder of the luxury he had been born into. Elysia entered after him, taking her usual place beside him—silent, composed, ever-watchful.

The driver, a man Damien didn't bother to remember the name of, inclined his head respectfully from the front seat. "To Blackthorne Villa, Young Master?"

"Drive," Damien said simply, leaning back against the seat.

The car eased forward, gliding smoothly over the stone-paved driveway before turning onto the main road. As the estate faded into the distance, Damien let his gaze drift toward the passing scenery.

He didn't look back.

There was no need.

Blackthorne Villa wasn't the largest estate under the Elford name, nor was it the most extravagant. The mansion itself was a modest size compared to the sprawling Elford estate, but its true value lay in its location.

It was close enough to the city to remain connected, yet far enough to be secluded. Surrounded by dense woods and sprawling greenery, the villa sat in a space between civilization and isolation—a perfect middle ground. A place where prying eyes wouldn't linger, yet convenience wasn't entirely sacrificed.

A perfect place to train.

As the car smoothly navigated the winding roads toward Blackthorne Villa, Damien finally turned his attention to Elysia. She sat beside him, composed as ever, her hands resting lightly in her lap, her posture perfectly straight. Even here, in the quiet hum of the car's interior, she remained vigilant.

He smirked slightly. "I assume you've acquired everything I asked for?"

Elysia gave a slight nod. "Yes. Everything has been prepared."

"Any mishaps?"

"There were none, Young Master," she replied evenly. "The apothecary on Ashen Row was precisely where you said it would be. The shop was well-stocked, and the herbs were in abundance—high quality, freshly harvested. There was no need for extensive searching."

Damien chuckled under his breath. "Convenient."

"Expected," Elysia corrected, her voice cool and steady. "A shop of that reputation would not fail to maintain its supply."

Damien tilted his head slightly, amused by her practicality. "And the healing potions?"

"They have been secured as well," she said. "I ensured they were of high rank, sourced from a reputable alchemist. The potency is significantly above standard-grade stock."

He exhaled, satisfied. "Good. That should make things easier."

Elysia didn't respond to that. She didn't need to.

There was an understanding between them. She knew he wouldn't ask for these things without reason, and he knew she would carry out his requests without question.

With everything in place, Damien leaned back against the leather seat, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

The real work would begin soon.

The ride continued in silence, the rhythmic hum of the engine blending with the faint rustling of trees as they ventured deeper into the secluded outskirts of the city. The further they drove, the more the world seemed to shrink away—urban sprawl giving way to thick greenery, towering oaks and evergreens lining the private road that led to Blackthorne Villa.

Damien cracked one eye open as the car made its final turn, the massive wrought-iron gates of the villa coming into view. They stood tall and imposing, their dark metal polished to a gleam, intricate engravings of thorns twisting along the bars. At the center, the Elford family crest was subtly etched into the iron—a silent reminder of ownership, of power.

The gates creaked open as they approached, the automated mechanism silent save for the faintest groan of metal shifting. Beyond them, a cobblestone driveway stretched forward, curving around a meticulously maintained garden that surrounded the villa itself.

Blackthorne Villa stood at the heart of it all—three stories of dark stone and glass, its architecture elegant yet subdued. Unlike the grandeur of the Elford estate, this place had an air of quiet strength. It was built to be secluded, to be functional rather than ostentatious. The sleek blackwood doors at the entrance stood tall, framed by pillars of polished obsidian. Vines crept up the side of the building, carefully maintained rather than overgrown, adding to the villa's almost ethereal presence.

As the car rolled to a stop, Damien exhaled slowly, taking in the sight before him.

"Not bad," he murmured, his voice carrying an air of amusement.

Elysia, seated beside him, remained silent, though he caught the slight flicker of her gaze as she too assessed their new home.

The driver stepped out first, rounding the vehicle to open the door. Damien didn't wait. He pushed it open himself, stepping onto the cobblestone path with unhurried precision. The air here was different—clean, crisp, untouched by the suffocating weight of the city's filth. He took a slow breath, letting it settle into his lungs.

At the villa's entrance, a pair of guards stood at attention, dressed in dark tactical gear. Their presence was expected—his father wouldn't have allowed him to stay here without some form of security detail.

Damien's sharp gaze flicked over them once before he dismissed them entirely. They would remain outside. None of them would be allowed to linger within the villa itself.

He wasn't here to be watched.

The driver approached, bowing his head slightly. "The interior has been prepared according to your specifications, Young Master. If you require anything further—"

"I'll handle it from here," Damien interrupted smoothly, not bothering to meet the man's gaze. "You may leave."

The driver hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Understood."

With that, Damien turned on his heel, stepping toward the grand entrance.

Elysia followed without a word.

As he reached the doors, he pushed them open, stepping inside.

The interior was precisely as he had envisioned—sleek, modern, yet devoid of unnecessary extravagance. The floors were polished black marble, their surface gleaming under the soft glow of overhead chandeliers. Dark wooden paneling lined the walls, complementing the deep crimson and charcoal furnishings. Large windows allowed natural light to filter in, casting elongated shadows across the room.

The main hall stretched forward, leading into various adjoining rooms. A grand staircase ascended to the upper floors, its railings crafted from wrought iron and blackwood. The air inside was cool, carrying the faint scent of new polish and freshly aired space.

Damien let his gaze sweep over the room, nodding to himself. The modifications had been completed exactly as he had ordered.

Good.

No eyes would intrude here. No unnecessary personnel.

This space belonged to him now.

His sanctuary. His battlefield.