Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 172: Convincing
Vivienne's lips pressed into a thin line, but her voice never rose. It didn't have to.
"There are enemies," she said quietly. "Too many. Old ones. Powerful ones. Families who would never allow the Elford name to rise any higher."
Her gaze flicked toward Dominic, then back to Damien. "You think they'd stay silent if they learned another monster was being born in this house?"
She shook her head, her voice taut.
"No. They'd move. Quietly, quickly. Before your blood could settle. Before your bones could hold the weight of what you're becoming. They'd cut you down before you became a threat."
Damien stood still, watching her, his silence a confirmation.
Vivienne's eyes glistened.
"And that's why you kept it hidden."
He nodded once. "Yes."
A breath passed between them—tense, charged, but without confrontation now.
Vivienne looked down, her hands folded in her lap. And for a moment, she looked smaller. Not weak. Just tired.
"You really thought far ahead with this…" she murmured.
"I did," Damien said.
And then, gently—
"That's why, Mother… you can't stop me."
Silence again.
But this time—it was a different kind of silence.
Not resistance.
Not rejection.
Just… acceptance.
Vivienne exhaled, slow and quiet. Her shoulders sank a little.
"…Sigh."
She didn't say yes.
She didn't bless it.
But she stopped fighting.
That was enough.
Dominic hadn't spoken in some time.
He simply watched Damien in silence, his usual calculating air subdued by something rarer—older. When he finally did speak, his voice was lower. Almost distant. But not cold.
"I didn't expect you to do it," he admitted, eyes steady on his son. "Not from the start. Not even halfway through."
A pause.
"And even this morning, if I'm honest… I still had doubts."
Damien looked at him, unreadable.
"But now…" Dominic exhaled, folding his hands behind his back. "Now I believe it. I believe you've changed."
And then—barely audible, yet firm:
"You've made me proud, Damien."
It was not loud. Not poetic. But in the Elford household, there were few currencies more powerful than Dominic Elford's recognition.
Damien didn't respond immediately.
He didn't need to.
A slow, quiet smile curled at the corners of his lips as he turned his eyes away, half-laughing to himself.
Heh…
Hearing words like that from your father… it really never ceases to satisfy one's self, he thought.
Then—
Ding.
The system's chime rang crisply in his mind, cutting clean through the moment like a bell signaling victory.
A translucent panel unfolded before his eyes.
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[Quest Complete: Defy the Impossible]
Objective: Win the bet against Dominic Elford by reducing your weight to 95 kg within one month.
Completion: Success
Rewards: ▶ +1000 EXP
▶ +1000 SP
▶ +5 Attribute Points
Processing…
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The numbers flooded into him.
He could feel it—an undercurrent of power threading through his limbs. Like his bones had realigned, like the tension in his back had been reset, like his blood now hummed at a slightly different pitch.
And then—
Ding.
Another panel bloomed.
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[Level Up!]
Host has reached Level 5.
New Feature Unlocked: [System Shop]
The moment those words appeared, his body tensed—just slightly. His eyes sharpened.
Finally.
Damien's lips parted into a slow, quiet grin as the glowing panel hovered before his eyes.
The Shop.
Finally.
He had been waiting for this since the moment the system first manifested. Since it whispered promises of growth, evolution, dominion.
A tool forged for his rise.
Not a gift. Not charity.
Earned.
The satisfaction curled deep inside his chest, a kind of warmth far different from adrenaline or pride—this was ownership.
Still…
Now wasn't the time.
He blinked once, and the screen folded away with a whispering flicker.
He was still standing in front of his parents.
The moment hadn't ended yet.
Vivienne's voice broke the silence, soft but firm. "When?"
Damien looked at her, blinking once.
She repeated the question, steadier now. "When do you plan to take the Cradle of the Primordials?"
A brief pause.
Then Damien exhaled slowly and shook his head. "Not yet."
Vivienne's brows furrowed slightly.
"I've finished polishing my body," Damien continued, "but the Cradle isn't something you walk into with just a strong back and resolve."
He turned and walked back toward the couch, his steps measured, thoughtful. "I need time. To study. To understand the formations involved in core creation. To research cultivation methods and how best to shape my future path."
He glanced at his father. "Depending on what core I form—how I guide its growth—I could shape everything from my combat style to my long-term survivability."
Dominic nodded once. "Correct. Most who fail the Cradle do so not from lack of strength—but from ignorance."
Vivienne folded her arms, more at ease now that he wasn't diving into death headfirst. "Then you'll have everything you need. Tell me what materials you want. Who you want to consult. I'll make sure it's all arranged."
Dominic added, "I will open the central archives. Anything you need—techniques, historical records, analysis—will be made available. This takes precedence over all else."
Damien dipped his head slightly. "Thank you."
Then—
A knock at the door.
All three heads turned.
It opened a moment later.
And in stepped—
Adeline.
She paused as the door shut quietly behind her.
Her gaze was cool, as always—elegant, composed—but then it landed on Damien.
And for a moment, the mask cracked.
Her perfectly glossed lips parted slightly.
Her sharp eyes widened—not in theatrical shock, but in genuine surprise.
"...What the hell?"
Her voice wasn't angry. It wasn't mocking. It was stunned.
She blinked again, as if uncertain whether her eyes were lying.
Damien turned to face her fully, his posture relaxed, the faintest curl still on his lips.
"Hello, Dear sister," he said calmly. "Did you miss me?"
Adeline stood frozen in the doorway.
Her fingers hovered at her side, twitching slightly as if unsure whether to reach for something—to shield herself, to ground herself, or maybe just to confirm that what she was seeing was real.
"…That…" Her voice faltered, eyes narrowing, scanning him from head to toe. "That's… Damien?"
It wasn't disbelief.
It was something closer to rejection.
As if her mind refused to allow what her eyes were plainly seeing.
Damien, once bloated and hunched and sunken in defeat, now stood before her with the casual poise of someone who knew exactly how much space he took up—and didn't mind occupying it. The lounging posture, the slight cant to his head, the easy breath in his chest—it all radiated a kind of confidence she couldn't remember ever seeing in him.
The soft gut that used to hang beneath ill-fitted shirts was gone.
Now, sharp muscle pressed against the fabric of his clothes—broad shoulders stretching the collar, his sleeves resting tighter around his upper arms. His jawline, once buried beneath puffed cheeks, was now cut clean—prominent, almost aristocratic in its structure. Even his skin held a healthier tone, the pallid gray replaced with a quiet, disciplined vitality.
There was no way to rationalize it.
No surgery could produce results this clean.
No drug could sculpt willpower into bone.
And worst of all?
His eyes.
They didn't look at her with fear. Or resentment. Or even the flailing need for validation he used to wear like a second skin.
No.
They looked at her like she was irrelevant.
And that—that—sent a ripple through her chest.
"Impossible…" she muttered, half to herself.
She took a slow step forward, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, gaze locked onto Damien like she was studying a mirage—like one blink might dispel him back into the weak, soft boy she used to humiliate at every family gathering.
But the image didn't flicker.
Damien turned just slightly, letting the chandelier catch the edges of his face—highlighting the angular lines, the faint shadow beneath his cheekbone, the smooth composure of a man who no longer needed to prove anything to her.
"Surprised?" he asked, voice even, tinged with a knowing amusement. freёnovelkiss.com
Adeline stopped a few paces away, arms folded—not out of superiority, but restraint. Control. Because if she let herself speak freely, she wasn't sure what might come out.
"…What did you do to yourself?" she asked.
Damien's lips curled faintly. "Corrected a mistake."
