Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 170: You really did it?

"…You really did it."

Damien didn't move for a moment. He just stood there, letting her lean against him. Then—quietly—he brought both arms up and wrapped them around her shoulders.

Vivienne stayed there for a moment longer, pressed against Damien's chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat. It felt strange—he felt strange. His body was no longer the soft warmth she once tucked under coats and blankets during winter strolls. This chest was solid now. Grounded. It carried weight—not just in muscle, but in presence.

She shut her eyes and breathed him in.

She wouldn't speak of this.

Not to her friends.

Not even to Dominic.

Because this moment wasn't for pride.

It was hers.

And though she had always loved Damien, always shielded him from the harsh expectations of the Elford name, deep down… there had been something unspoken. Something tucked away like a fragile hope in the back of her heart.

She wanted him to win.

She wanted him to stand beside the sons of nobles and rulers and visionaries and say, "I belong here."

She wanted to brag about him.

Like the other wives did. With voices bright and eyes gleaming. "Oh, my son is an S-Class Awakened." "My boy just secured a directorship in the capital." "My son was invited to the Oracle's banquet."

She had bragged about Adeline, yes. And truthfully, she was proud of her daughter. Ruthless, beautiful, brilliant—Adeline was everything the Elford bloodline demanded. And Vivienne had played her part, smiling through dinners and parties, praising her daughter's cold elegance.

But she had wanted this.

She had wanted him.

Damien.

Her son.

To shine. To rise.

And now, with her face against his chest and tears drying at the corners of her lashes, she realized—

He had.

Without her pushing.

Without her begging.

Without anyone dragging him.

He had changed.

Because he chose to.

Vivienne smiled against him, silent and aching, heart full in a way it hadn't been in years.

And then—

The sound of polished leather against marble.

Measured steps.

The breeze in the courtyard was gentle, the sky above them streaked in soft shades of gold and ivory as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance. The estate grounds—so often cold and distant in Damien's memories—felt almost serene.

Vivienne remained in his arms a moment longer, unwilling to let go of this proof, this miracle that had taken shape before her eyes. But then—

The sound of footsteps.

Steady. Polished. Familiar.

Dominic.

Vivienne didn't even glance at Dominic when she heard the familiar sound of his approach.

She didn't need to.

There was no fear in her—not of his presence, not of his expectations. She had never bowed to his cold logic, never let his rigid standards shape the way she loved her children. And certainly not the way she spoiled them.

So when she turned back to Damien, eyes still a little glassy but bright with mischief now, she didn't hesitate for even a second.

Her fingers shot up and ruffled his hair again—thoroughly this time, like she was brushing off all remnants of the man he was trying to become, just so she could glimpse the boy underneath.

"This is indeed my son," she said with a proud little hum, her voice swelling with emotion she wasn't even bothering to hide anymore.

Then—

Without warning—

She reached up and pinched both of his cheeks.

Damien blinked, his expression frozen for half a second as her fingers stretched the skin with maternal ruthlessness.

"Even if you've lost all this weight," she teased, voice light, "you're still my cute little boy. In your mother's eyes, you'll always be that. Just a taller, more muscular version."

"Mother…" Damien muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching in restrained agony as he endured it, unmoving. "Please."

Vivienne just grinned, finally letting go but not stepping back. She adjusted the fold of his shirt at the collar and smoothed it like he was heading off to his first day at the academy.

She turned then—finally—to acknowledge Dominic.

Her gaze was radiant. Drenched in warmth and victory.

"See, Dominic. My son really changed," she said, her voice light, but proud.

Damien's lips curved into a subtle smirk. "Took me long enough."

Then, Dominic stepped beside them.

He didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, arms behind his back, steel-gray eyes settling on Damien with the precision of a man used to reading ledgers, contracts, and battlefields alike.

He didn't speak, but his eyes moved.

From the sharp cut of Damien's jaw to the width of his shoulders. Down to the way his shirt fit—taut but clean, without the sag of excess weight. His stance: firm. Balanced. There was a tension in the way he carried himself now. A quiet command.

Dominic didn't need a scale. He didn't need measurements.

He could see it.

The weight had been lost.

But more than that, something far more important had been gained.

Presence.

Discipline.

Control.

"You really did it," Dominic finally said, his voice even, calm—but slower than usual. More deliberate.

It wasn't praise. But it wasn't coldness, either.

It was… acknowledgment.

Even without the formal weigh-in, even without the official numbers, Dominic could see the truth standing in front of him. And perhaps more than anything else, what made it real was Damien's expression.

There was no smugness in it. No desperation for approval. Just quiet certainty.

"As I said I would," Damien replied, locking eyes with his father. "If I wasn't going to make it, I wouldn't have agreed to the bet in the first place."

And then—

Vivienne's eyes narrowed.

"Bet?" she repeated, slowly. "What bet?"

Her voice wasn't raised—but it didn't need to be. The sharpness of it sliced through the fading warmth like a sudden gust of winter air. Her eyes shifted, first to Damien, then to Dominic.

Dominic sighed through his nose, already rubbing at his temple. He glanced sideways at Damien, his look dry and weary, as if saying, We agreed not to tell her, didn't we?

Damien just shrugged. Unapologetic. Unbothered. "She was bound to find out."

Vivienne's stare deepened. Her hands moved to her hips, her expression now halfway between maternal betrayal and burning curiosity.

"What. Was this bet about?" she asked, tone firm.

Dominic straightened, the lines around his eyes tightening. "Let's go inside first."

The sitting room was quiet as they settled in.

Vivienne, ever graceful even in frustration, crossed her legs and rested her elbows gently on the arm of the velvet couch. But her posture was deceptively relaxed—her gaze was anything but.

Dominic sat across from her, hands folded over one knee, spine straight as ever. Damien leaned back into the opposite couch, casual in a way that once would have seemed slovenly—but now, there was weight behind it. Confidence. A quiet sense of presence that filled the space. freewёbnoνel.com

"Well?" Vivienne asked, her voice clipped. "Let's hear it. What exactly was this bet?"

Dominic inhaled slowly through his nose. Then, evenly, he began.

"One month ago," he said, his gaze locked on Vivienne, "your son came into my study and made a proposal. He claimed he could lose fifty-five kilograms in one month."

At that, Vivienne's lips parted, a sharp breath catching in her throat. Her eyes darted to Damien.

"You… made that bet?"

"It wasn't a joke," Dominic added. "He was serious. And so I accepted."

Vivienne's brow furrowed, her voice low and cold. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

There it was—that laced fury. Quiet. Controlled. But unmistakably hers. The kind of sharp steel forged from years of managing nobles and protecting her children from a world that rarely showed them mercy.

"You hid this from me."

"It was my choice," Damien said before Dominic could respond.

Vivienne turned to him slowly.

"Why?"

He held her gaze, steady and unflinching. "Because I didn't want you to be worried."

Her expression twisted—just slightly.

"You disappeared into that villa. You cut off communication. You changed. And you think I wasn't already worried?"

Damien gave a small exhale. "I didn't want you to see me until I had results. I didn't want you thinking I was torturing myself for nothing. I had to prove it—to him, to myself. Not with words. With this."

He gestured to his body. To the new shape he'd carved from grit and pain and solitude.

Vivienne stared at him.

Then leaned back, her expression unreadable.

"So," she murmured. "You took that entire month. Locked yourself away in Blackthorne. Alone."

He nodded once. "With Elysia. She handled logistics, training, safety. No servants. No distractions."

"Not even me," she said, a touch quieter now.

There was no accusation in it. Just truth.

Damien's eyes softened.

"I couldn't afford to see you, Mother. I knew if I did… if you looked at me the way you always did, like I was still your boy—I might've stopped."

A breath passed between them.

And something shifted in Vivienne's gaze. Not anger. Not disappointment.

Something else.

Recognition.

The kind a mother has when she realizes her child is no longer a child—and never will be again.