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

"The reason I gathered these…"

Damien's fingers trailed over the bundled herbs as his mind wandered—back to the mechanics of Shackles of Fate, the so-called 'game' that had become his reality.

Even though the original Damien Elford had been a pathetic excuse for a protagonist—spineless, indulgent, and allergic to effort—the game itself had options.

Unconventional ones.

The kind of methods designed for cowards who refused to train, who wanted power without effort.

The lazy ways.

And, of course, the bugs.

The developers had locked conventional strength behind relentless grinding. Training sessions had been tedious, stamina drained too quickly, and the original Damien never made it far because he never tried. Even the rare players who wanted to break free of his fate had struggled against the game's rigid limitations.

One of those limitations?

Stamina.

It was a core mechanic—one of the most frustrating aspects of Shackles of Fate. Damien's stamina pool was pitifully low, and nearly every physical action drained it at an absurd rate. Running, fighting, even dodging—everything sapped his endurance to the point where just existing felt like a chore.

And the worst part?

Healing potions didn't restore stamina.

At least, not in the way they were supposed to.

Healing potions were designed to restore health—simple, straightforward. A core item in the game's mechanics. But in their rush to balance the system, the developers had overlooked something.

Because health regeneration wasn't just about wounds.

It was about recovery.

And what was stamina, if not another form of bodily exhaustion?

So when players began experimenting—when they started mixing things they shouldn't have—one particular loophole was discovered.

A loophole that only worked in the most desperate of situations.

A certain mixture. A specific formula.

When prepared the right way, it didn't just restore stamina.

It converted it.

The players who first discovered it didn't know what they had stumbled upon at first. All they knew was that, when combined in precise proportions, a strange reaction occurred. A weird type of mixture was created—one that had an effect no sane alchemist would ever deliberately design.

It turned fatigue into an injury.

In the real world, biological fatigue wasn't just about feeling tired—it was a physiological state.

Every time muscles were used, they accumulated microtears—tiny breaks in the muscle fibers that required time to heal and grow stronger. This process produced lactic acid, a temporary byproduct that caused soreness and stiffness. Over time, adenosine triphosphate (ATP), the body's energy currency, depleted, causing an inability to sustain further exertion.

Fatigue was not just running out of energy—it was damage, but on a microscopic level.

And that's where the fantasy element came in.

By forcibly accelerating that micro-damage process, the mixture tricked the body. Instead of slow, gradual fatigue, it converted exhaustion into outright muscle destruction—skipping the middle step.

The result?

Every movement after consuming it burned through the muscle fibers at an accelerated rate. The very molecules and cells composing the tissue were forcibly destroyed, as if Damien had been hit with an actual attack rather than just suffering from normal exertion.

It hurt.

It hurt like hell.

And that was the point.

Because healing potions only worked on visible, actual damage—not on something as vague as "fatigue" or "low stamina."

But once the muscles were classified as damaged, the healing potions recognized them as injuries—and worked to restore them.

And since the now-destroyed muscle fibers contained all of the built-up exhaustion, the moment they were regenerated, the stamina was replenished too.

A loophole. A cheat.

It was, in every way, an abuse of the system's logic.

But there was a reason why the original Damien Elford—and most players—barely used this method.

It was excruciating.

Even the laziest players, even the most desperate speedrunners, only attempted it once or twice before giving up. The moment the mixture took effect, the body felt as though it was being ripped apart from the inside—as if something was actively devouring the muscles at a cellular level.

And healing potions?

They worked. But they didn't numb the pain.

The original Damien Elford—the pathetic in-game version—couldn't handle it.

He was too much of a coward.

One attempt, maybe two, and that was it.

But this Damien?

His smirk lingered as his grip on the countertop tightened.

Pain?

He had already lived with pain.

Day after day, month after month, year after goddamn year.

The cancer that had once ravaged his body had not been a swift killer—it had been a slow, suffocating noose. A curse that drained him piece by piece, reducing him to little more than a breathing corpse. The treatments had been brutal. Agony carved into every cell of his being. And yet—he had endured.

He had learned to endure.

So this?

This was nothing.

He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as a quiet notification flickered in his mind.

—---

[Passive Skill: Physique of Nature]

▶ Description: None.

▶ Effects:

✔ Enhanced Recovery: The host's body passively heals minor injuries at an accelerated rate.

✔ Universal Alchemical Compatibility: The host can now consume any alchemy-based product—potions, elixirs, tonics—without side effects, even as a non-Awakened.

✔ Foundation Stabilization: The host's body is preparing for full Awakening. Future enhancements will integrate more efficiently.

—---

Damien's smirk deepened.

Well, well.

This was his advantage.

Thanks to Physique of Nature, he could consume potions without any side effects.

It was a loophole within a loophole. A cheat within a cheat.

Even though he was still technically unawakened, his body had already begun adjusting for something more.

A future transformation. A stronger foundation.

Damien ran his fingers over the bundled herbs, the pieces of his plan clicking into place.

Damien's fingers drummed lightly against the countertop before he turned his gaze to Elysia. Her ever-composed expression remained unreadable, but he could tell she had been observing him closely.

He didn't blame her.

The moment he had received that notification, the shift in his demeanor must have been obvious.

With a smirk, he leaned against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. "I suppose I should explain something to you."

Elysia said nothing, waiting.

"I have a skill—one that allows me to consume any alchemical product without restriction," he said smoothly. "Healing potions, elixirs, tonics, even raw medicinal herbs. My body can process them without issue."

For the first time since their conversation began, Elysia's eyes slightly widened. Not much—just a fraction. But coming from her, that was equivalent to anyone else dropping a glass in shock.

"That is…" She hesitated, her voice remaining even, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "That is not possible."

Damien raised an eyebrow, amused. "Not possible?"

Elysia's sharp green eyes locked onto his, as if trying to determine whether he was playing some elaborate joke. "A non-Awakened does not possess skills," she stated plainly. "Not unless they are born with a unique constitution. And even then, something like this—" She paused. "—is unheard of."

Damien chuckled under his breath. "Well, it seems I'm breaking a lot of conventions lately."

Elysia remained silent, but he could see it—the way her mind was racing behind those sharp, calculating eyes.

And he didn't blame her.

In this world, skills were the exclusive domain of the Awakened. Even among those with exceptional talent, skills were something earned—either through intense training, combat experience, or the moment of Awakening itself.

For a normal human to possess a skill?

To break the very foundation of what was considered possible?

It was absurd.

And yet—here he was.

Damien tapped a finger against the counter, watching her carefully. "Believe me or not, it doesn't change the fact that it's real," he said. "And more importantly…" His smirk returned, slow and deliberate. "It gives me an advantage no one else has."

Elysia remained still, unreadable, before finally speaking again.

"If what you say is true," she murmured, "then you are no longer normal, Young Master."

Damien exhaled through his nose, tilting his head. "I was never normal to begin with."

Silence settled between them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—

Elysia lowered her gaze slightly, as if processing everything, before finally nodding. "Understood."

Damien let out a quiet chuckle, his amusement genuine as he studied Elysia's calm acceptance. No unnecessary questions, no doubts that would waste his time—just pure, cold efficiency.

Good.

"I like that attitude," he remarked, pushing himself off the counter. His smirk widened slightly. "Now, watch carefully."