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

And just like that, his cycle began.

Every morning, Damien would wake up, drag his useless, bloated body to the training hall, and drink the brew—the potion of destruction, as he had come to call it.

The next three hours would be hell.

Pain.

Excruciating, mind-consuming agony.

His muscles ate themselves with every step, every movement on the treadmill, every drop of sweat that fell to the floor. He felt his body tearing itself apart, muscles convulsing, twitching uncontrollably as the forced degradation worked through him like a disease.

But he never stopped.

He couldn't.

At the three-hour mark, when his body was screaming—screaming—for relief, he would drink the healing potion, letting it sew him back together, forcing his body into a rapid reset.

Then, he would enter the recovery baths—one scalding hot, the other freezing cold, alternating between the two to shock his muscles into rejuvenation.

And while he did this—

Elysia would bring his meal.

That was the cycle. Every day, without fail.

The first week was critical—the period where the majority of the weight had to go. There was no time for a gradual, safe approach. It had to be ripped away.

It was a brutal, inhuman process.

And yet—it was working.

His movements, though still sluggish, were beginning to change. The layers of fat that had suffocated him like a prison were shrinking, bit by bit, his body adjusting to the forced adaptation.

He was becoming lighter.

He was becoming sharper.

But then—

Elysia entered the training hall.

And her face—

Her face was not the one of calm indifference he was used to.

No.

For the first time since he had met her—

She looked shocked.

Her sharp green eyes were locked onto him, but it wasn't the usual silent observation. There was something else. A flicker of something unnamed, something raw.

And then Damien noticed.

He followed her gaze—downward—toward his own body.

And that's when he saw it.

His muscles.

Or rather—what was happening to them.

They were convulsing, twitching violently, almost as if something alive was writhing beneath his skin. His veins bulged, pulsing with unnatural strain, and beneath the sweat-soaked compression fabric, the constant destruction and regeneration had created a grotesque sight.

It looked unnatural. Inhuman.

Like a body breaking apart and putting itself back together in real time.

Damien exhaled through his nose, unfazed.

"This is fine."

"This is expected."

But Elysia—

Elysia was staring.

For the first time, she looked at him not as a master to obey, but as something… different.

Something terrifying.

*****

Elysia's hands moved with precise efficiency as she prepared the next batch of the brew, grinding the herbs with steady, measured pressure. Despite the intricate process, her mind was elsewhere, turning over the new information she had received.

Damien possessed a skill.

An impossible skill.

One that allowed him to consume alchemical products without suffering side effects, despite being unawakened.

That alone was absurd. It defied everything she knew about how the world worked. Non-Awakened individuals had no internal mana channels—without them, potions were useless. A body without mana could not process the effects of magical substances. At most, they would experience mild stimulation, but true regeneration? Impossible.

And yet…

Damien had spoken with certainty.

As if the very idea of impossibility did not concern him.

Elysia had served him for years, long enough to recognize when he was lying. This was not a bluff. He truly believed what he was saying.

Which meant that, somehow—against all logic—it was real.

'This does not change anything.'

The thought came automatically, instinctively.

But even as she tried to convince herself, a quiet voice at the back of her mind whispered otherwise.

Because it did change something.

Even if she didn't fully understand it yet, even if she could not logically accept the situation, one thing was clear: Damien was no longer a normal man.

And the more she observed him, the more undeniable that fact became.

She had seen his confidence before, but this was different. It was not arrogance built on empty self-indulgence. It was controlled. Deliberate. It carried weight.

He was not simply acting like he would succeed.

He had already decided that he would.

Elysia pressed her lips into a thin line, adding the powdered Titan's Bark to the cauldron before reaching for the Emberleaf and Frostcap Petals. Her movements were precise, but her thoughts remained scattered.

His absurd weight loss goal. His knowledge of rare herbs. His ability to consume potions as if he were an Awakened.

And then, finally—his diet.

'Only red meat and eggs. Nothing else.'

It was not the request of a man who cared about taste or indulgence. It was calculated. Specific.

A high-protein, high-fat intake with minimal carbohydrates. A diet designed to force the body into a state of constant fat-burning.

It was extreme.

It was dangerous.

It was reckless.

And yet, it was exactly what she expected of him now.

'If he truly intends to do this, he will break himself.'

Her fingers tightened briefly against the glass vial as she poured the Starfire Root extract into the cauldron. The mixture thickened slightly, the scent of herbs filling the air as the potion took form.

Would his body even withstand it?

Fifty-five kilograms in a month.

Even with extreme training, it was impossible. Even with the most dangerous of alchemical enhancements, it was suicide.

And yet, she had watched him prepare for it with such certainty that, for the first time, she found herself hesitating.

'What if he truly succeeds?'

The thought sent a strange sensation through her chest.

She had always looked down on him. She had always known him to be weak, unworthy, a man who carried power only by virtue of his last name.

She had never once acknowledged him as her master in her heart.

But now—

A tiny part of her wondered.

What if he changed?

What if he was no longer the Damien Elford she had known?

Would she be able to deny him then?

Elysia exhaled, pushing the thoughts aside as she lifted the vial of Nightshade Thistle extract. Three drops. No more, no less.

Elysia glanced at the ornate watch on her wrist.

Time.

It was time to bring Damien his meal.

Her fingers stilled over the brewing station, her mind momentarily quiet as she placed the finished potion vials in their designated slots. Routine had taken over, muscle memory guiding her through the final steps, but now—now, she had to see for herself.

She had spent the last few days observing, listening, analyzing—but she had yet to witness it directly. The so-called training. The method he was using to tear himself apart and force his body into submission.

Logically, she knew what to expect.

Sweat. Exhaustion. The pitiful remnants of a man struggling against his own limitations.

She had seen his kind before—the nobles who overestimated themselves, the weak who believed that sheer desperation could replace true effort.

That was what she expected.

And yet—

Something in the back of her mind whispered that it wouldn't be that simple.

Carrying the silver tray with his meal—steak, eggs, water, nothing more—she made her way to the training hall, her footsteps light, deliberate.

The large double doors loomed before her, polished dark wood reflecting the dim hallway lights. She pushed them open without hesitation, stepping inside—

And froze.

The air inside was thick—humid, oppressive, filled with the sharp tang of sweat and something else. Something unnatural.

Her sharp green eyes scanned the hall, taking in the scene before her.

Damien was standing in the center of the room, his breath coming in slow, controlled exhales. His body was drenched in sweat, the compression fabric clinging to him, outlining the grotesque way his muscles twitched beneath his skin.

It wasn't the exhaustion of an overworked body.

It was something else.

Something worse.

His veins were bulging, pulsing unnaturally, his skin shifting as if something alive was writhing underneath it. The constant cycle of destruction and regeneration had turned his body into a battlefield—a grotesque display of muscle fibers tearing and repairing in real-time.

It was unnatural.

It was inhuman.

And for the first time since she had met him—

Elysia felt something close to shock.

Her grip on the tray tightened, knuckles whitening as she forced herself to remain still.

'What… is this?'

This wasn't simple weight loss.

This wasn't normal training.

This was something else entirely.

Something that should not be possible.

Damien exhaled through his nose, his sharp blue eyes flicking toward her as if he had sensed her presence the moment she entered.

And then—

He smirked.

"This is fine," he said simply, his voice steady despite the visible torment his body was undergoing.

As if this was normal.

As if this was expected.

But Elysia—

She wasn't so sure anymore.