Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 156

Chapter 156: Her morning (3)
“Did your master taste that good?”

The words dropped like a stone into still water.

Elysia flinched.

It wasn’t much. Just a small, fractional twitch in her posture—her fingers curling slightly around the edge of the tray, the shift of her shoulders just tight enough to be noticed by someone who knew how to look.

And Damien was looking.

She didn’t respond. Not with words. Not immediately. She kept her face as neutral as possible, gaze fixed forward, back straight, breath even.

But that single moment of stillness said more than silence ever could.

Damien laughed, low and rich as he began his descent—ropes groaning slightly as his weight slid smoothly downward.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he said as his boots touched the mat with a soft thud, his voice closer now, warmer, more dangerous in the way it curled around her like smoke. “You don’t need to act so stiff anymore.”

He stepped toward her, sweat trailing down his chest, hair damp and tousled, smile all mischief and hunger.

“Or…” he tilted his head just slightly, “are you doing it because you’re embarrassed?”

That word hit harder than it should have.

Elysia’s breath caught again, and this time she couldn’t stop it. Her posture faltered just slightly—her chin lowering, her eyes falling to the tray of food rather than meeting his gaze. Her fingers tightened imperceptibly around the edge of the silver.

There was heat in her cheeks.

She knew it.

And worse—he knew it too.

Damien chuckled again, stepping even closer now, close enough that she could feel the residual heat radiating from his body, the scent of chalk and sweat and something earthier still lingering on his skin from the morning’s training.

He didn’t touch her.

He didn’t have to.

“I wonder,” he murmured, almost thoughtfully. “If I kissed you right now… would you break again, just like you did last night?”

Elysia’s lips parted slightly—no sound.

Just breath.

And that was answer enough.

Damien tilted his head, eyes narrowed just slightly—not in scrutiny, but in enjoyment. The kind that came from watching something rare unfold.

His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. The touch was warm, familiar, yet firm enough to claim her full attention. Elysia didn’t pull away. She didn’t flinch. But her breath caught in her throat all the same.

“Now that you’re mine,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk pulled tight across steel, “I’ll taste you thoroughly. Every time.”

His fingers glided along her jaw, tilting her face toward him—gently, but inescapably.

Elysia’s eyes fluttered. Her pulse fluttered.

His lips came closer.

“You want that, don’t you?”

She stood frozen. Her thoughts scrambled. The room faded at the edges.

And what remained… was him.

The memory of his mouth. The weight of his hands. The warmth of his voice in the dark.

She did want it.

She craved it.

But the words—

They stuck in her throat like they didn’t belong to her. She didn’t know how to say things like that. She wasn’t made for desire. She wasn’t raised for it.

“Answer me,” Damien said, voice low now—commanding, but not cruel.

She swallowed.

“I… want it.”

“Couldn’t hear you.”

Her cheeks burned.

Her voice dropped lower still, trembling against her will.

“I… also want it, Master.”

Damien smiled.

Not with arrogance. Not with mockery.

But with satisfaction.

“Then I shall reward my maid.”

He leaned in.

His lips pressed to hers—warm, slow, measured. Not the devouring hunger of last night. This kiss was deliberate. Intimate. A seal. A promise. It lingered, unhurried, until she could feel it in the tips of her fingers and the space behind her ribs.

Her eyes drifted shut.

She kissed him back.

Not because he commanded it.

But because she wanted to.

When he finally pulled away, the distance felt heavier than the kiss itself.

He exhaled a soft hum, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“There. I’ve gotten my fill…” he whispered. “For now.”

Damien turned away from her with the same fluid ease he moved with in combat—without rush, without reluctance. He made his way to the table where the tray waited, lifting the linen cover and taking in the scent of seared monster meat and eggs still warm.

“Perfect, as always,” he said absently, more to himself than to her.

The knife cut cleanly through the meat. The first bite disappeared past his lips without ceremony, but the sigh that followed was pleased, content. “Mm. You’ve outdone yourself, Elysia.”

But Elysia had already begun stepping back.

Silent. Careful.

Not because she feared him.

But because she feared staying too long.

Her pulse was still unsteady, her thoughts still coiled too tightly inside her chest. His taste lingered on her lips—the kiss not wild like the night before, but far more dangerous in its softness. In its intention.

She had kissed him back.

And she wasn’t prepared for what that meant.

Turning quietly, she made her way to the door, the sharp click of her heels muffled against the padded floor. She didn’t speak. He didn’t stop her.

He didn’t need to.

Because she could feel it—etched into the kiss, in the brush of his fingers, in the way his voice had wrapped around the word mine.

Yesterday wasn’t a fleeting indulgence.

It wasn’t a heat-of-the-moment mistake.

It wasn’t a passing curiosity that would be forgotten with morning light.

He didn’t want her for just one night.

He wanted her.

Wholly.

Elysia’s footsteps echoed softly down the hallway beyond the training chamber as she left, her expression neutral—but inside, something unfamiliar twisted in her chest.

She had heard stories like this, whispered behind servant doors. Stories of young heirs who took an interest in their maids—briefly. Lust mistaken for affection. Flings that ended in heartbreak or silence. Some maids were reassigned. Others disappeared. Sometimes, the man simply moved on, returning to nobility where real matches were made.

But this wasn’t like those stories.

Damien hadn’t taken her because he could.

He had claimed her because she had let him.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Or better.

She didn’t know.

There was still a sliver of unease threading through her—barely there, more a shadow than a fear. A whisper that reminded her how easily power could shift. She was his shadow. His blade. His servant.

She had always known she would follow him until death.

But to follow him like this?

That was different.

That was terrifying.

And yet…

As she passed the corridor windows and the morning sun spilled across her skin, Elysia slowed just slightly. The warmth felt softer than usual. Lighter.

She was scared.

But she was also…

Happy.

*****

The steel bar crashed against the floor with a thunderous clang that echoed through the empty hall.

Damien stood over it, chest heaving, sweat dripping from every inch of his bare skin. His towel had long since been discarded, replaced with black training shorts that now clung to his waist like a second skin. His hands—wrapped and chalked—were trembling, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer residual tension still crackling through his limbs.

He had just finished his final superset: deadlifts into pull-ups into front squats, each movement chained into the next with barely a breath between them. Compound punishment. The kind that usually left him crawling.

But not today.

“Holy shit…” he muttered, breathless.

He staggered a step back, then straightened—and caught his reflection in the mirrored wall.

Even through the sweat, even beneath the overhead lights casting deep shadows across his body—he saw it.

His torso was tighter. His obliques more visible. The thick, stubborn fat at his lower abdomen had thinned, enough for the natural ridge of muscle beneath to begin revealing itself. Not perfect. Not yet. But undeniably less.

His arms weren’t bigger—but they were sharper. Veins pressed beneath the skin with every clench of his fists. His shoulders sat higher, more defined, delts rising in subtle curves like armor forming beneath flesh.

And the most shocking part?

His weight loss had stalled just two days ago. Plateaued, despite the insane workload.

But now?

Now he could feel it again. The burn wasn’t just inside—it was visible. Tangible.

‘This isn’t just water weight. This is real.’

He dragged a hand down his torso, feeling the change—not just in size, but in texture. Denser. Smoother. Compressed. Everything drawing inward, pulling tighter.

Natural Compression.

Footsteps.

Soft, measured—yet somehow more deliberate than usual.

Damien turned, still rolling out the tension in his shoulders, when the door to the training hall slid open.

Elysia stepped inside, clad once again in her dark training vest and leggings. Her dampeners were locked in place, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and her hair—tight in its ponytail—swayed slightly with each step. In one hand, she carried his meal tray. In the other, her own.

But it wasn’t the food that caught his attention.

It was her eyes.

That subtle, familiar green was sharper today. Alive. There was a glint—something just beneath the surface. A charge. A spark of anticipation.

Damien smirked.

“Heh…”

Not that he minded it.

Not at all.

If anything, seeing her like this—alive in motion, ready to train, focused and quiet but present—only stirred that fire in his chest further.

She approached with no wasted movement, placing the tray down at the edge of the mat. No words. Just that same silent look, scanning him top to bottom.

And something in her expression faltered for just a second.

Her eyes lingered on his torso.

On the way the sweat clung to his skin, how his obliques were cutting sharper now, how his chest no longer looked like it belonged to someone half-finished.

She didn’t comment.

She didn’t need to.

Her silence was enough.

Damien walked over, grabbed the tray, and began to eat—ravenous, mechanical. Fuel for the next round. Elysia sat beside him, her movements still precise, but her breaths were deeper than usual.

More controlled.

Like she’d been warming up.

And that glint in her eyes?

It wasn’t going away.

After they finished eating, Damien stood again, cracking his neck and rolling his wrists.

“So,” he said, meeting her gaze, “what’s next?”