Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 176

Chapter 176: Shop (2)
He flicked back to it with a mental twitch, and two entries held his gaze like anchors.

▶ [Predatory Focus] – 800 SP

Single target. Tunnel vision. Kill switch.

→ Boosts combat efficiency against one enemy.

→ Reduces environmental distraction.

▶ [Tactile Perception] – 600 SP

Every touch maps intention. Anticipate muscle tension, movement patterns, and spatial pressure.

→ Increases accuracy in close combat.

→ Weak points become more apparent.

He didn’t even need to ask.

The synergy was obvious.

Predatory Focus was the engine—full commitment, no hesitation, pressure applied like a scalpel pressed to a heartbeat.

Tactile Perception was the compass—every twitch, every breath, every shift in balance mapped in real-time. Reflexes didn’t fire in fear—they struck with certainty.

Together?

Together they made a butcher.

Or a surgeon, depending on how pretty he wanted the kill to look.

Damien’s eyes gleamed.

He could already feel the techniques adapting in his head. Not just learning how to fight—but how to read the fight. How to dictate it.

How to crush single opponents before they realized they were prey.

And if he paired that with [Broken Fang]—

A chaotic, improvisational art that thrived on unpredictability, now supported by two passives that turned awareness and focus into blade and shield?

“System,” he murmured, voice calm, certain now, “Add both skills to queue. [Predatory Focus]. [Tactile Perception].”

Ding.

[Confirmed.]

SP deducted: 1400. Remaining: 1345

He exhaled through his nose. Not out of relief.

Out of anticipation.

This wasn’t a loadout. This wasn’t min-maxing stats.

This was alignment.

Matching mindset to body. Reflex to worldview. Precision to pathology.

He hadn’t even touched Awakening yet, and already—

He was becoming something dangerous.

But the system wasn’t done offering.

Because just below the passive tab, another soft glow beckoned.

[UTILITY ITEMS]

Damien tapped it open again, slower this time.

And his eyes immediately landed on the option that had burned in the back of his mind since the first glance.

▶ [Evolve Passive] – 1200 SP

Choose one eligible passive skill. Upgrade its function.

→ Side effects may occur.

→ Available upgrades: [Physique of Nature], [Neural Synchronicity]

His gaze lingered on [Physique of Nature], remembering the first time it had activated during training. The subtle rearrangement of his body. How every muscle group now compressed instead of bloating. How fat seemed to evaporate with purpose, not starvation.

His eyes lingered on [Evolve Passive], the thought of improving [Physique of Nature] crackling like dry tinder in his mind. It wasn’t just a skill. It was transformation—alive and working inside him like silent fire.

But then something else caught his attention.

Lower in the Utility Items list.

A quiet glint.

▶ [Lucky Bastard’s Lottery Ticket – Tier I] – 1000 SP

Roll the dice. Could be trash. Could be treasure.

→ Results will favor current traits.

His brow lifted.

“…System,” he murmured, tapping it open, “elaborate.”

A beat passed. Then:

[This is a Tier I Random Ticket.]

[Functionally identical to the one granted at the beginning of your reconfiguration.]

[It draws from a system-curated pool tailored to the host’s active traits and current development.]

Damien’s smirk twitched at the edge.

“Like the one that gave me [Physique of Nature], huh?”

[Correct.]

[It was this ticket that unlocked the Passive Skill tree.]

[It triggered the internal recalibration leading to your current progression.]

So this little piece of digital chance wasn’t a gimmick.

It was a genesis.

The moment his old shell had cracked open.

He glanced down at the icon again.

The name pulsed faintly—Lucky Bastard’s Ticket.

A mocking title, if ever there was one.

“Limited stock?” he asked absently, already knowing the answer.

[Affirmative.]

[This variant will expire soon. It will be replaced by the general pool: Random Lottery Ticket – Tier I.]

[Future tickets will have reduced affinity matching and increased variance.]

Damien exhaled a breath between his teeth.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Can’t let the bastard win too cleanly.”

Still…

The system was telling him something.

This was a chance. A final hand offered to the version of him that hadn’t yet Awakened. One last throw before the game changed.

And Damien?

He was never one to ignore stacked odds—especially when they leaned in his favor.

“System,” he said calmly, “I’ll take the ticket.”

Ding.

[Purchase Confirmed.]

SP deducted: 1000. Remaining: 345

[Lucky Bastard’s Ticket – Tier I] acquired.]

He could feel it immediately.

A shift—not in the air, but in him. A soft tension building, like something inside the system was rolling dice behind his eyes.

And just then—

The hum of the sedan slowed. Tires crackled over gravel.

Elysia’s voice came through the quiet.

“Master,” she said, precise as ever, “we’ve arrived.”

Damien blinked once. Then glanced up through the tinted window.

The iron gates of Blackthorne Villa stood open before him.

A faint breeze brushed his face as he stepped out of the sedan, coat shifting around him like smoke. The towering iron gates of Blackthorne Villa loomed ahead—ornate, quiet, far removed from the polished cruelty of the Elford estate.

It wasn’t warmth that greeted him.

It was silence.

Privacy.

Control.

His boots clicked against the marble walkway as he advanced, but Damien barely noticed. His mind wasn’t here.

Not yet.

It was still inside the shop.

345 SP.

Too little for anything major. Too much to be wasted.

But that wasn’t what haunted the edges of his thoughts.

It was the ticket.

[Lucky Bastard’s Ticket – Tier I]

Glowing faintly in the corner of his interface. Waiting.

Waiting to do what the first one had done.

Change everything.

He moved through the villa without a word, Elysia following a step behind. She said nothing—she didn’t have to. She knew the mood. Knew that silence suited him better than conversation ever could.

The front doors opened with a low groan, and Damien stepped into the grand atrium.

The stillness inside was a different breed. Not cold, but clean. The air tasted unfiltered, untouched by anyone else’s presence. No servants. No echo of footsteps. No judgment.

This place was his.

He didn’t linger.

He climbed the stairs, passed the closed hallways, and entered his room—its design sparse but sharp: obsidian-black furniture, silver trims, dark satin sheets, no unnecessary flair. Nothing here was indulgent.

Except the intent.

He tossed his coat across the nearest chair, loosened his collar, and sat on the edge of the bed.

Then, slowly—deliberately—he leaned back.

The mattress dipped under his weight, swallowing the tension in his limbs.

And still—his eyes never left the glow in his vision.

That golden ticket.

The first one had shattered the chains of the script.

Had burned open the door to everything he was now.

This second one?

It wasn’t just a gamble.

It was history trying to repeat itself—or evolve.

His fingers flicked in the air.

“System.”

A pulse. Warm. Immediate.

[Confirm Ticket Usage?]

[Lucky Bastard’s Ticket – Tier I]

Result: Tailored draw based on current traits, passives, and actions.]

Damien didn’t hesitate.

“Use it.”

Ding.

[Rolling…]

The room dimmed—not literally, but perceptually. The edges of his awareness blurred. Like reality had drawn breath and was waiting to exhale.

A dozen phantom reels spun in his mind’s eye, then collapsed into one.

The golden glow intensified.

And then—

[Error!]

The familiar sound came…