Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 88: Blood and sweat, again

The sleek black car pulled through the iron gates of Blackthorne Villa, the estate's looming silhouette standing stark against the dim evening sky. The moment the tires crunched against the stone-paved driveway, Damien wasted no time.

The second the car came to a stop, he stepped out, rolling his shoulders, the faint ache in his jaw barely a nuisance anymore. It was a minor injury, but he had no interest in letting it linger.

Without a word, he strode through the grand entrance, his steps measured, his pace unhurried—but his mind was already moving ahead.

The villa was silent, save for the occasional flicker of candlelight reflecting off the polished floors, casting long shadows against the towering walls. It was a place of wealth, of cold, detached luxury, a house that exuded power but lacked warmth.

Just the way it had always been.

Elysia followed behind, ever silent, ever composed.

Damien made his way to his personal quarters, pushing open the heavy doors before immediately reaching for one of the small potion vials on his nightstand. A simple health potion, low-grade—barely more than a minor regeneration boost. But for him?

It was instantaneous.

He uncorked the vial, bringing it to his lips and downing it in a single motion. The familiar burn of alchemical energy surged through him, his muscles tingling as the bruising along his jaw faded within seconds. He flexed his fingers, feeling the last remnants of discomfort melt away.

Good.

Now, onto something more important.

He turned his head slightly, catching Elysia's sharp gaze lingering on him. A small, almost imperceptible tilt of her head—the closest thing she ever gave to an unspoken question.

Damien smirked. "I'm going to start training again."

Elysia didn't react, but he could already predict what she wanted to say. So soon? Again? Is it necessary?

Of course, it was.

But this time, things would be different.

He leaned back against the dresser, crossing his arms lazily. "I've revised my training program." His smirk deepened. "No more just the treadmill. It's time to move forward."

His body was different now. Lighter. Faster. More efficient.

And that meant the training had to evolve as well.

He wasn't just going to run anymore. He would push his endurance to the absolute brink.

The resistance pool.

The weight of the water would force his muscles to work harder with every movement. It would build his core strength, force his lungs to operate under increased strain. His agility, his speed, his endurance—all of it would sharpen in the water.

And, of course—

The mixture.

The same brutal concoction that tore his body apart. The potion of destruction.

He would drink it again. He would break his body again. He would endure the agony again.

Because that was how he grew.

And so—

The cycle would continue.

But this time?

This time, it would be even harder.

******

Mornings at Blackthorne Villa followed an unbroken rhythm. A cycle of routine, precision, and discipline—one that Elysia had never once failed to uphold.

She rose before the first light of dawn, her internal clock more reliable than any alarm. The estate was silent, the air crisp and undisturbed as she moved through the corridors with effortless efficiency.

The first task of the day: preparing Damien's breakfast.

This, too, had changed.

At first, his diet had been simple—steak, eggs, water. But as the days passed and she observed his progress, she had begun to refine it. If Damien's body could withstand potions without suffering side effects, then logically, she could push his intake further.

And that was when she had introduced the monster meat.

Low-ranked, G-class creatures—barely above the level of wild animals, their mana concentration weak enough that even a non-Awakened should, in theory, be able to consume them without issue.

In theory.

She had tested it first.

Small portions.

Carefully monitored.

Every day, she observed him—watched his breathing, his heartbeat, his muscle responses, checking for even the faintest sign of mana poisoning. A non-Awakened body lacked the natural ability to regulate excess mana, making it dangerously susceptible to buildup. If he showed even a hint of rejection—fatigue beyond normal exertion, irregular heart rhythms, unexplained nausea—she would halt the experiment immediately.

But Damien never reacted.

Not once.

The monster meat integrated into his diet seamlessly, just as she had suspected it might. His body accepted it as if it were no different from ordinary food.

If anything, his condition was improving even faster than before.

'Of course.'

It made sense. Even at their weakest, monsters were superior to mundane livestock. Their flesh contained traces of natural energy—small amounts, but still present. While an Awakened could process it fully, a normal human shouldn't have been able to utilize it at all.

But Damien was different.

His body absorbed the benefits without suffering the drawbacks.

'Just how far does his ability extend?'

That question lingered in her mind as she plated his meal, the scent of seared monster steak filling the air. The meat of a low-tier Ironhide Boar—tender, rich in protein, and dense in natural muscle-enhancing compounds. She paired it with lightly seasoned eggs and a side of clean, filtered water, ensuring every aspect of his intake remained controlled.

Once everything was set, she prepared the tray and moved toward the training hall.

It was time to continue the cycle.

The same ruthless training.

The same impossible goal.

And yet—each day, Damien pushed further.

Each day, he proved—

The moment she stepped into the training hall, the scent hit her.

Sweat. Thick, heavy, saturating the air.

But beneath it—something else.

That distinct, sharp undertone of alchemy, the lingering traces of potions working through the body, forcing unnatural regeneration, carving through flesh and rebuilding it again in an endless, agonizing cycle.

"Huff… one more…"

Her sharp green eyes flicked toward the center of the room.

"Huff… more…"

Damien.

His breath came in harsh exhales, his entire body drenched in sweat, his black compression shirt clinging to him like a second skin, outlining the shifting muscles beneath.

He wasn't running today.

No.

This time, he was pushing weights.

Heavy ones.

A fully loaded barbell rested across his back, his knees bending as he lowered himself into a deep squat. Every fiber of his being trembled, his body struggling against the sheer weight pressing down on him.

Then—

With a steady, controlled motion—he rose.

His legs locked, his arms moved, and in one fluid sequence, the barbell lifted from his back, his entire form shifting as he pushed it overhead in a press.

Not stopping there—

He lowered the barbell, letting it crash against the ground, the weight rattling against the reinforced flooring.

Immediately, he dropped—

Five push-ups. Quick. Sharp. Efficient.

And then, without hesitation—

He grabbed the barbell again.

A snatch—swift, powerful, dragging the weight off the floor, lifting it over his head in a controlled motion before settling it back onto his shoulders.

Then another squat.

The cycle continued.

Over and over.

No pauses. No hesitations. No wasted movements.

Elysia remained silent, her sharp eyes absorbing every detail, taking in the way his body responded.

'This is… different.'

She had seen him push himself before—seen him throw himself into brutal, reckless training.

But this was something else.

This was precision. This was control.

This was a body adapting, learning, optimizing itself in real time.

His movements were no longer sluggish. They were not perfect—far from it—but they were sharper, faster, cleaner than before.

And most importantly—

He was enduring it.

The weight. The pain. The punishment.

'How is this even possible?'

His body should have collapsed by now. His muscles should have failed him. He had not taken a single moment of true rest, yet he was still moving, still pushing.

And even as his body screamed in agony, even as his arms trembled from overuse—

His expression never wavered.

He gritted his teeth. His eyes burned with sharp, unwavering focus.

He was going to finish the set.

He had already decided that much.

And as she watched—

Elysia felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

"AARGHK!"

Damien roared, his voice raw, torn from deep within his chest as he drove everything—every ounce of his will, every fiber of his body—into one final push.

His muscles convulsed violently, the mixture coursing through his veins, fueling both destruction and renewal in equal measure. His flesh writhed beneath his sweat-drenched skin, tearing itself apart, regenerating in real time, repeating the cycle over and over again—yet he did not stop.

BAM!

With a final, explosive burst of power, he drove the barbell upward, locking his arms, his entire frame trembling from the sheer force behind the movement. And then—he let go. The bar crashed onto the ground with a deafening impact, metal against reinforced flooring, the weight rattling through the room.

And Damien—

Collapsed.

"Huff… huff… huff…"

He lay on the cold floor, his chest heaving, his breath ragged, body drenched in exhaustion and agony alike.

"Arghk—!" A strangled groan of pain tore from his throat, his hands clenching into tight fists.

Elysia was already moving.

"Young Master."

She was at his side in an instant, her movements swift, precise. Without hesitation, she uncorked the small potion vial and pressed it to his lips. Damien's fingers curled around it instinctively, his grip weak but determined as he tilted his head back, gulping it down in a single motion.

Gulp.

A sharp exhale.

A moment of silence.

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Then—

"Haaaah… haaaah…"

His body, which had been violently twitching moments before, began to settle. The unnatural spasms slowed. The veins that had bulged unnaturally started to relax beneath his skin.

Elysia watched, her sharp eyes scanning his form, tracking every micro-movement, ensuring that the potion was taking effect.

It had worked.

Again.

Just as it had the day before. Just as it had the day before that.

This brutal, inhuman cycle—this process of breaking and rebuilding, of tearing himself apart and forcing his body to adapt—was working.

But at what cost?

Elysia did not ask.