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

"I said your face was funny," he went on, smile widening now, eyes half-lidded with that calm cruelty only he could wear so easily. "And it was. Still is, honestly."

Victoria's jaw clenched hard enough to crack her teeth, but Damien just gave her a light tap on the shoulder with the back of his knuckle, almost playful.

"Try not to scowl too hard, Victoria. You'll ruin the symmetry."

Victoria's expression darkened, but before she could fire back, Damien tilted his head slightly—his gaze flicking toward the left courtyard path.

A group of boys had begun to emerge from the walkway, their steps casual, voices light with laughter… until they saw her.

The moment their eyes landed on Victoria, the shift was immediate. Their smiles brightened, their pace quickened. One of them adjusted the lapel of his uniform jacket. Another ran a hand through his hair. The tallest among them held something behind his back—probably some stupidly expensive coffee or a boxed pastry from one of the city's elite bakeries. Damien recognized that brand.

He knew this scene.

He'd lived it, once.

This kind of dumb hope. The background dance of guys trying to get a sliver of attention from a girl who already knew she wouldn't spare them more than a smile—if that. He knew the names of half these boys. Knew how they used to gather around Celia. Knew how often he used to be one of them.

A symphony of delusion.

"You should put on a good performance for your simps," Damien said, voice light, tapping his temple once as if giving helpful advice. "Make sure to flash a few smiles. Tilt your head at the right angle. Maybe they'll work up the courage to give you those gifts they've been clutching since dawn."

Victoria didn't even glance at the boys. She kept her eyes on Damien, cold and amused. "Heh… Are you jealous?" she asked, voice low and taunting. "Contrary to someone like you, who walks around all alone, I have admirers."

Damien's lips curled.

He didn't respond immediately. Just let that smugness hang in the air for a few beats.

Then—he chuckled.

It wasn't loud.

It wasn't forced.

It was the kind of slow, genuine sound that carried weight.

Victoria blinked, something uneasy flickering beneath her practiced sneer.

"What?" she pressed. "Don't tell me you're hurt over something like that."

Damien shook his head lightly, the smile never leaving his lips.

"No," he said softly. "Not that."

He stepped forward—smooth, silent—and leaned in close.

Too close.

Her breath hitched slightly as his mouth came to rest just beside her ear, his voice dropping into a near-whisper. Velvet and venom.

"I wonder…" he murmured, "how would those simps of yours react… if they learned you had a secret boyfriend?"

Victoria froze.

Completely.

And Damien pulled back just enough to see the flicker of horror bloom behind her eyes.

She recovered quickly.

Damien had to give her that.

It took barely a second for her to rein in the fear, to swallow down the panic and patch her mask back into place. Her emerald eyes hardened. Her lips pressed into that same practiced smirk. The breath she'd caught came back steady.

Impressive.

But not unexpected.

Damien had long noticed that women—especially the ones like her—learned young how to control their expressions. How to guard themselves behind layers of polish, politeness, and razor-sharp emotional armor. Society trained them to read the room, manage perception, navigate the cruel intricacies of social warfare from the moment they could speak.

Compared to men?

They were better actors.

Victoria tilted her head, letting a soft, amused laugh pass her lips—perfectly timed. "What are you talking about?" she said, light and dismissive. "You're rambling nonsense again."

Damien didn't move, didn't respond right away. Just watched her.

Watched the slight tightening of her jaw. The way her hand adjusted the strap of her bag even though it didn't need adjusting.

She was acting.

Well.

But acting.

"Throwing accusations now?" she added, folding her arms with mock offense. "Typical. You really will say anything to get under someone's skin."

Damien smirked. Not wide. Not loud.

Just enough.

"I don't need to say anything, Victoria," he said, voice smooth as he stepped past her, heading toward the academy's inner gates. "My eyes don't lie, though."

He raised one hand behind him in a lazy wave.

"See you in class."

And just like that, he walked off—unbothered, unhurried.

Leaving her standing there in the sunlight, teeth clenched behind a flawless smile.

*****

The soft breeze tugged at the hem of her blazer, lifting her golden hair just enough to catch the light. But Victoria barely noticed.

She stood frozen for a heartbeat too long, eyes fixed on the direction Damien had gone, his final words repeating like a curse etched into the back of her skull.

| "I wonder... how would those simps of yours react… if they learned you had a secret boyfriend?"

Her smile remained intact—flawless, poised, rehearsed. But beneath the surface?

Panic curled in her chest.

'Does he know?'

'How can he know?'

Her mind raced, but the mask never cracked.

And then—

"Victoria!"

"Good morning, Lady Langley!"

"You're radiant today, as always!"

They came like bees to nectar.

One with a carefully wrapped pastry box. Another with an imported bouquet—lavender and pale blue lilies. A third extended a sleek black thermos. "Your favorite blend from Mistral Café," he said eagerly. "I made sure it was fresh this time."

Victoria turned to them automatically, lips curving into that signature smile. She accepted the gifts with the same effortless grace as always, nodding her thanks like a queen receiving tributes.

But her mind wasn't here.

It was back in that moment.

The lean of Damien's body.

The whisper in her ear.

His tone—too calm, too knowing.

Her hands tightened slightly around the bouquet stems

It was last Friday, wasn't it?'

The alley behind the Langley driver's garage.

She'd said it was too open. That the cameras might catch them.

But Marek had insisted—said the guards were already bought off. That it would be fine.

And she… she hadn't fought him hard enough.

Her face flushed faintly, but not from flattery. From dread.

"How could he have seen? No one was there. No one should have been there."

Another admirer stepped forward, his voice soft. "Lady Langley, if you have a moment—"

She smiled again, this time sharper. "Thank you. You're all sweet."

One of them flushed pink. Another fumbled a compliment. They were lapping at her heels again, just like always.

And still, her mind circled that single phrase.

"If they learned…"

If.

Not because he knew.

That had been deliberate—calculated.

It was bait.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her steps slow as she moved past the crowd, the perfume of their gifts trailing her like smoke.

'No way. He's bluffing. He's just trying to get under my skin.'

'He always does this. Always acts like he's figured out the world.'

She took a breath, steadying her heart. Her smile smoothed over again, a flawless sheen of royalty.

'He's just… spouting nonsense.'

But still—

Her fingers tightened around the thermos.

Just a little.

The polished marble floors of Vermillion Academy gleamed beneath her as Victoria strode through the halls, the heels of her shoes clicking with measured precision. Her smile—calculated. Her posture—effortless. She greeted familiar faces as she passed: a tilt of the head here, a wave of delicate fingers there. Her voice was light, sweet, dipped in that practiced warmth that left others swooning without ever touching the flame.

"Morning, Lady Langley."

"Looking lovely today as always, Victoria."

"Ah, that shade—House Levasseur?"

Compliments came like currency. And she spent none of it.

She smiled, nodded, even offered a passing compliment to one girl's earrings. But her mind remained elsewhere.

Still circling his words.

"If they learned…"

She turned the corner past the west stairwell and the courtyard view flared open—a splash of trimmed hedges and soft morning light. A few first-years were clustered near the fountain, already gossiping too loud for their rank.

And then she saw him.

Marek.

Leaning against the brick archway just outside the music wing.

His uniform was immaculate, as always—tie loose in that roguish, just-rolled-out-of-bed way that made the younger girls giggle. His smile appeared the moment he saw her, blooming across his lips like a flower turned to the sun.

He nodded once—subtle. Reserved. But his eyes… his eyes were not reserved.

They drank her in with silent hunger.

Desire. Possession. Longing wrapped in reverence.

She didn't slow.

Her steps didn't stutter.

But her smile? It dimmed. Just slightly. The light behind it faltered.

Not because she didn't want him.

But because she couldn't afford to.

Not now. Not when Damien's words still curled like smoke inside her skull. Not when the paranoia clung to her skin like a second perfume.

Her gaze flicked to Marek for a single moment—long enough to acknowledge him. A polite, regal tilt of her head. Measured. Cool.

And then she looked away.

Continued walking.