Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 174

Chapter 174: Sister (2)
“But don’t expect applause from me.”

Damien’s smile returned—faint, unbothered, and oddly warm despite the weight of everything just said.

“That’s for the better,” he replied softly. “I don’t want your applause, Adeline.”

His voice held no venom. No heat. Just a strange, quiet clarity that somehow landed harder than any shout could.

“I’ll overlook your past words,” he continued, “and you should do the same.”

He stepped back, no longer facing her like an opponent, but simply acknowledging her presence—as if she was just another piece on the board, no longer the center of it.

“From now on, I’ll be changing more and more.”

Adeline raised a brow, the corner of her mouth twitching in faint disbelief. “Heh… Really?”

Damien’s grin deepened, eyes glinting with something firm—something that didn’t waver anymore.

“Yeah,” he said. “My results will show themselves.”

His gaze lingered on her for a breath longer—one last glance that didn’t accuse or threaten, but simply warned.

“By then,” he added, “I hope you don’t lose your path… like I did, back then.”

Then, he turned toward his parents.

Vivienne met his eyes first—still seated, her fingers relaxed now on her lap. There was no sadness, no hesitation in her expression. Only quiet pride.

Dominic gave a short nod. One of approval. No fanfare. Just recognition.

“I’ll take my leave now,” Damien said. “I have other things to prepare for.”

He didn’t bow.

He didn’t ask for permission.

He simply walked—his steps steady, unhurried, cutting through the heavy silence like a man passing through a threshold no one else could follow.

The doors opened before him, and Damien Elford left the room.

*****

The hallways of the Elford mansion were quiet at this hour—silent as a cathedral, polished as a museum.

Damien’s footsteps echoed softly along the marble floors, each step measured, each breath steady. He wasn’t in a rush. Not anymore.

He moved past oil portraits and carved columns, past antique vases and century-old clocks—symbols of power, of legacy. Of a house that once mocked his existence in whispers and side-eyes.

Now the walls felt different.

He wasn’t walking through his family’s halls.

He was reclaiming them.

Still, his expression remained unreadable as he walked—no smirk, no fire. Just thought. Cold and lucid.

The reason I was like that with her…

He inhaled slowly.

It wasn’t just because of the past in this life. It’s because I remember.

Adeline.

The golden heir. The prodigy. The flawless daughter.

In Shackles of Fate, she didn’t just shine—she consumed. One company at a time, she swallowed the Elford legacy piece by piece, consolidating power while the player—Damien—drowned in his own ruin.

And worse?

She didn’t even need to betray him.

Because she never pretended to be on his side to begin with.

But the real reason…

His steps slowed as he passed a wide window overlooking the outer gardens.

She was one of the heroines.

A bitter smile touched the corner of his mouth.

What kind of twisted game gives you an older sister as a love interest… only to have her side with the antagonist halfway through?

Ah. Right.

It was an NTR game.

“Shackles of Fate.”

Where betrayal wasn’t just a theme.

It was the point.

Celia. Adeline.

Two of the central heroines.

Both turned.

Both left the player behind.

One, the perfect noble fiancée.

The other, the flawless sibling rival.

And they didn’t just betray the player. They joined him. The usurper. The “protagonist” of the true story.

Damien’s expression hardened.

Only two had stayed.

His mother, Vivienne—who shielded him until the bitter end, even as the world mocked her for it.

And Elysia—his silent shadow, who followed him into hell and back, blade always at the ready.

So yeah. I’m curious, he thought.

He turned down a smaller hallway now, the air cooler here—closer to the auxiliary wing.

The future’s already shifted. The moment I broke the engagement with Celia, things split. I’m changing. I’ve changed.

He flexed one hand absentmindedly. The strength was still building. Slowly. But undeniably.

So what will Adeline do now?

When I awaken… When I stop ignoring business and start building my own empire—what then?

He had pushed everything aside until now. His sole focus had been the weight, the training, the preparation for Awakening.

But that phase was over.

And the next?

He would start with a small foothold. Quiet. Methodical.

And then he’d expand.

Not just physically. Not just spiritually.

But economically. Socially. Politically.

I wonder… when I rise in business, when I start to absorb sectors Adeline thought were hers to dominate—will she fight? Will she panic? Or will she break?

Damien’s steps slowed.

But then a different thought followed.

…Or will she take my side?

He paused at a corner, one hand brushing lightly against the wall as if grounding himself. The corridor here was colder, quieter. The kind of silence that let reflection creep in like mist through stone.

The game wasn’t kind to her, either, he thought.

In Shackles of Fate, the script had been merciless. The choices limited. Damien—the player—was little more than a vessel of humiliation, left to spiral. There wasn’t much autonomy. Not much control.

And from her perspective?

He was a waste. From start to finish.

Spoiled. Obnoxious. Entitled. Pitiful. The kind of heir who had everything and turned it into ash without even understanding how.

If I were in her shoes, I probably would’ve cut me off too.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing—not in resentment, but in realization.

It wasn’t cruelty. Not entirely.

It was survival.

Adeline had always been proud, yes. Arrogant. Ruthless when she needed to be.

But she hadn’t used him.

Not like Celia.

Celia had fed him lies with syrup on her tongue. Had held his hand with one glove while picking his pockets with the other. She wore love like perfume—sweet from afar, suffocating up close.

Adeline?

She was cold. Blunt. Brutal, even.

But she didn’t lie.

She didn’t coddle him. She didn’t exploit him.

She just… gave up on him.

And honestly?

That’s not evil. That’s human.

He resumed walking.

There’s still time. Still space for change. For her, too.

Adeline wasn’t innocent—but she wasn’t damned, either.

Not like Celia.

She hadn’t orchestrated his downfall.

She had just stopped trying to prevent it.

And maybe, with enough strength, enough presence—he could make her see that the brother she discarded wasn’t just alive.

He was inevitable.

So what will you do, sister?

Will you compete with me?

Or will you choose to stand with me, this time?

His gaze sharpened, forward now—focused on the branching paths ahead.

Either way…

I’ll be ready.

Just as Damien reached the end of the hall, the shadows beside him stirred.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t need to.

He’d felt her there a moment before she spoke. That familiar presence—poised, composed, always a step behind, yet never truly beneath him.

“Master,” came Elysia’s voice—low, refined, and laced with the cool cadence of court-trained discipline. “May I ask a question?”

He slowed his stride, casting her a sidelong glance.

She stepped into view—graceful, as always. Her uniform immaculate, not a crease out of place, her dark hair pinned in its usual precise arrangement. But her eyes—those glinting emeralds—were fixed on him with something deeper than curiosity.

“Yes?” Damien asked, already knowing what was coming.

Elysia studied him a moment longer before speaking again.

“Will you truly be taking the Cradle of the Primordials, Master?”

There was no dramatic gasp. No raised voice. Just that same even, deliberate tone—polite and unreadable.

But beneath it, he could sense the tension.

And why wouldn’t there be?

He hadn’t told her.

Damien didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” he said, voice firm. Certain.

Elysia didn’t react right away.

She just looked at him. Eyes flicking across his face, measuring not just his words, but the weight behind them. The resolve. The conviction.

Then—

A slow breath left her lips, almost imperceptibly.

And she gave the faintest nod.

“If it is you, Master,” she said softly, “I am certain you will complete it.”

Her voice didn’t tremble. It didn’t need to.

Because her belief in him was absolute.

Damien’s gaze warmed. The corners of his lips curled—not with pride, but with something gentler. Deeper.

He tilted his head slightly. “Come closer, Elysia.”

She blinked once but obeyed without hesitation, stepping into his space, the air between them folding inward like gravity had shifted.

He reached up.

One hand rested lightly against her cheek, guiding her forward.

And then—

He kissed her.

Briefly. Softly.

Just acknowledgment.

Of her presence.

Of her loyalty.

Of them.

When he pulled back, his voice was low—almost playful, but steady.

“It is your master, after all.”

For just a heartbeat, Elysia’s formal mask slipped—her breath catching, her cheeks touched with the faintest hue of warmth.

But she said nothing.

She only lowered her eyes in quiet assent.

Damien turned, his coat swaying behind him as he made his way down the corridor.

Through the towering doors.

And toward the courtyard, where the Elford sedan already waited—sleek, black, and humming softly with power.