Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 93: Hatred (2)

"Damien Elford. He sullied our name."

There was a beat of silence.

Victor’s gaze remained steady, unreadable.

"Hmm?" His tone was mild, almost uninterested.

But Celia knew her father.

He was waiting for an explanation.

She forced herself to steady her breathing, to push past the sheer rage still boiling inside her.

Briefly, coldly, she explained.

How Damien had humiliated her. How he had spit at her feet, mocked her in front of the entire school. How he had been the one to announce the broken engagement first, stripping her of the chance to control the narrative.

How he had called her worthless.

By the time she finished, her father was silent.

His sharp eyes studied her, as if analyzing every word, every hidden layer beneath her fury.

Then—he nodded.

"So," he murmured, voice thoughtful. "Damien Elford is no longer an option."

Celia stiffened slightly.

Hearing it out loud, from him, made it real.

Her father, who had always seen Damien as a means to an end, who had pushed for this engagement, who had used the Elford wealth to fund their research—

He was letting it go.

A part of her should have been relieved.

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But all she felt—was rage.

Damien had forced their hand.

Celia’s emerald-green eyes darkened.

"Then what do we do now?" she demanded, voice sharp, cutting. "If we can’t use him, then—"

Victor Everwyn merely smiled.

A slow, calculated, cold smile.

"There are always other options."

And just like that—

A new plan began to take shape.

Victor Everwyn was not a man who forgot.

He sat down in one of the reinforced steel chairs of the training facility, fingers steepled in thought as he processed Celia’s words. The sharp scent of mana still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint hum of energy dissipating from the training dummies she had obliterated.

Damien Elford had sullied their name.

That much was true.

But in the grand scheme of things, that was secondary.

Right now, they had bigger problems.

Victor leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze shifting from the flickering mana lights overhead to his daughter, who stood before him, still seething. The tension in her body was palpable, her emerald-green eyes burning with a fury that refused to die down. She wanted vengeance.

And normally, he would indulge it.

But right now?

"Forget about Damien," he said smoothly, watching as Celia’s expression tightened at the words. "For now."

Celia inhaled sharply, biting back whatever retort had been forming on her tongue. Victor knew she wanted blood. She wanted to crush Damien, to make him kneel, to make him suffer for what he had done today.

But that wasn’t the priority.

Not yet.

Their research—that was the priority.

They had been working on this for years. Pushing the boundaries of mana technology, refining their experiments, inching closer and closer to a breakthrough that would change everything.

They couldn’t let that go.

And they sure as hell couldn’t let it fail.

Victor’s fingers tapped against his knee, his mind already working through the next steps. "The Elford sponsorship is gone," he stated, his voice even, composed. "But our research has progressed too far for that to matter." His gaze flickered, sharp and calculating. "We will find another investor."

Celia’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Because she knew.

Knew that their research was at a critical stage, that abandoning it now would mean losing everything they had built.

But—

The Elford Family.

Victor’s gaze darkened slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.

They had been useful.

For years, Dominic Elford’s investments had kept their work afloat. Of course, it had always been a lopsided arrangement—Victor knew that the Elford patriarch had expected more from them. More results. More progress.

And Victor had stalled. Pushed the boundaries, demanded more time, knowing that so long as Celia’s engagement held, they had leverage.

But now?

That leverage was gone.

Victor let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening slightly.

’So, this is how you wish to play it, Dominic?’

Very well.

He wasn’t a fool.

He knew that the Elford Family was among the most influential in the Dominion. Cutting ties with them meant walking a dangerous line—one that could easily lead to ruin.

But Victor Everwyn did not forget.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

For now, they would focus on survival. They would secure another sponsor. The Everwyn name would not fall.

But one way or another—

The Elford Family would pay for this.

*****

The next morning arrived swiftly, the early dawn stretching across Blackthorne Villa in a quiet glow. The world outside was still half-asleep, the sky caught between night and morning, but Damien?

Damien was already moving.

His first cycle of the day had begun.

The large training hall was filled only with the sound of his breathing—measured, steady—as he pushed his body harder than ever before. Now that the greatest hurdle had been cleared, now that his body was no longer suffocating under the weight of its own useless excess, the real work could begin.

Speed. Strength. Endurance. Efficiency.

Today’s training wasn’t about simply breaking down his body. It was about reforging it.

He sprinted across the hall at full speed, the impact of his steps echoing against the reinforced flooring. His new weight allowed for sharper movements, smoother acceleration, but he wasn’t fast enough yet.

His muscles burned, his lungs strained, but he kept going, pushing harder, faster. This wasn’t just about improving his stamina—it was about forcing his body to adapt to speed at a level it had never experienced before.

Then—resistance pool training.

Damien stepped into the water, feeling the familiar weight press against his body as he sank into the artificial current. The resistance was immediate, his movements sluggish against the liquid’s force. Every stroke, every kick required double the effort, forcing his muscles to work under constant tension.

This was how he would grow.

The mixture—the potion of destruction—was still in play. He had downed it before his session, as always, letting its alchemical chaos tear through his muscles, forcing regeneration at an unnatural rate.

But something was different now.

He could feel it.

His body was adapting.

The destruction wasn’t as intense as before. His muscles weren’t breaking apart as violently as they had in the beginning. His body had started resisting the process, adjusting to the damage, dulling the effects.

Tch.

Of course, it would.

It was inevitable. The human body learned. No matter how brutal the process, no matter how unnatural the method, it would find a way to adapt.

Which meant one thing.

’Let this body rest now.’

Damien exhaled sharply, his smirk barely fading as he pulled himself out of the resistance pool. Water dripped from his form, his muscles aching—not with the usual deep, agonizing destruction, but with something lighter. The strain was still there, the exhaustion still weighing down on him, but…

It was different.

His body had adapted.

He had expected this. Partially. The way the potion of destruction worked, the way his Physique of Nature accelerated his recovery—eventually, his body would stop breaking down the same way.

And now, it had finally reached that threshold.

’That’s fine.’

This only meant that his body was ready for the next stage. But before that—

He had other things to handle.

Vladimir Academy.

The game’s scenario.

His lips curled into a sharp grin as he grabbed a towel, running it over his damp skin. This actually worked out well. Since his body was resisting further destruction, that meant it was naturally forcing him to take a break.

And if he had to rest—

Then he might as well do it at school.

Maximize the efficiency.

Damien tossed the towel onto a nearby bench before making his way toward the showers. By the time he stepped inside, the steam from the hot water curled around him, soaking into his skin. He rolled his shoulders, already thinking ahead.

*****

Damien buttoned up his academy uniform with slow, measured ease, his fingers working through the fabric with muscle memory alone.

The second uniform.

He had already outgrown the first one—not in size, but in the opposite sense. It had become too loose, too baggy, too outdated for his new form.

He had lost another fifteen kilograms in a single week.

Did he care?

Not really.

He had expected this. He would keep expecting it. His body would continue to change, and the inconvenience of ill-fitting clothes was nothing more than an afterthought.

Uniform too big? Order another one.

Shoes too loose? Get them adjusted.

People staring? Let them.

He had more important things to focus on.

Still, as he finished fastening the last button, he took a moment to glance at himself in the mirror.

His reflection had shifted yet again.

Even in the crisp, tailored lines of the academy blazer, his body had taken on a new form—leaner, sharper, more controlled. The broad weight that had once weighed him down was gone, replaced by something closer to refinement.

Not yet perfect.

Not yet where he wanted to be.

But undeniably different from what he had once been.

His lips curled slightly.

"Good."

Without another word, he grabbed his tie from the dresser, looping it around his neck with practiced ease before stepping toward the door.

Elysia was already waiting outside, standing as still and composed as ever. The moment he exited the room, she gave a slight bow.

"The car is ready, Young Master."

Damien adjusted his cufflinks, not even breaking stride as he passed her.

"Then let’s not waste time."