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

Damien tilted his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes locked onto the girl before him.

She was angry.

Not just irritated. Not just frustrated. Angry.

And that was… interesting.

Her jaw was tight, her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her posture rigid in a way that suggested she was barely containing herself.

He could almost hear the words echoing in his head.

"You're pathetic."

He had heard those exact words before.

From Celia.

And yet… this was different.

When Celia had said it, there had been nothing but disgust in her voice. She had thrown those words at him like a weapon, a way to cut him down and make herself feel better.

A way to step on his pride. To degrade him. To remind him of his place beneath her.

But Isabelle…

Isabelle Moreau had no reason to do the same.

She had no connection to him outside of this classroom. No personal history, no emotional ties. To her, he was nothing more than another student.

So why was she so angry?

Why did she care?

Damien studied her expression, the flicker of something in her eyes—something like regret, like she hadn't meant to say the words but couldn't take them back.

And that told him everything.

She didn't say it to humiliate him.

She said it because the sight of him, the previous Damien, was unbearable to her.

Because to someone like Isabelle Moreau—someone who had fought for everything she had, who had clawed her way to the top through sheer effort and determination—the existence of a person like him was an insult.

To work endlessly for the most basic human needs while watching someone waste every single advantage life had given them…

It was infuriating.

Damien knew it very well.

Too well.

Damien exhaled softly, his smirk lingering as he studied the girl before him.

This was different.

Celia had spoken those words to break him, to elevate herself by stepping on his pride. But Isabelle?

There was something genuine in her anger.

Even if her words had been sharp, even if frustration had fueled them in the moment, the core of her irritation wasn't about crushing him. It wasn't about putting him beneath her.

It was about him.

She wanted him to get his shit together.

That was the difference between manipulators and genuine people.

And because of that…

He respected her.

A slow, inward smile formed within him.

Because she reminded him of someone. A girl from his past—his real past. Back in high school, before everything had spiraled into that rotting pit of self-destruction.

Someone who had once looked at him with the same piercing frustration, the same unwillingness to accept his wasted potential.

And that recognition sparked something deeper.

I want her.

Not just in a simple, fleeting, lustful way. No, this wasn't just about dragging her into bed.

This was something more.

He wanted to conquer her.

To make this strong, disciplined, unshakable girl his.

Because a woman like Isabelle Moreau—someone who had clawed her way to the top, someone who fought for everything in her life—would make a fine partner.

She was the kind of woman who could stand beside him without faltering.

And that…

That was worth having.

Then—

DING!

A sharp chime echoed in his mind, breaking through his thoughts.

Damien's smirk twitched.

Ah.

So this was enough to trigger the system?

His vision flickered, and a translucent window appeared before his eyes.

—----------------------------------

[System Notification]

Host's desires have evoked a System Quest.

New Quest Generated: Conquer Isabelle Moreau.

Quest Description:

A strong woman, one who stands tall through her own efforts, unyielding to the world's expectations. You have set your sights on her. You want her. Then take her.

Quest Objective:

Make Isabelle Moreau yours.

Reward:

???

???

Failure Penalty:

System confidence penalty.

Loss of ???

—----------------------------------

Damien's smirk widened ever so slightly.

Oh, now this was interesting.

Isabelle exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a brief moment before meeting his gaze once more. The fire in her expression hadn't faded, but there was something else now—something more measured.

"…I apologize," she said, her voice even.

Damien raised an eyebrow.

"For what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"For my outburst," she clarified, her posture straightening. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

A pause.

Then—

"But I stand by what I said."

Damien chuckled, low and amused.

'Of course, you do.'

He had expected nothing less from her.

But then—

Something unexpected happened.

A feeling surged within him, something restless, something uncontrollable—

And before he even realized it, he was smiling.

No, not just smiling. Grinning.

The kind of grin that he hadn't worn in a long, long time.

A real one.

And before Isabelle could process it—

He moved.

He took a step forward.

Isabelle, for the first time, hesitated.

Her body tensed, and instinctively—she stepped back.

Just one step.

But it was enough.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face as Damien closed the distance, his height looming over her. At 182 cm, he towered over her, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, that had an effect.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she demanded, but there was a slight edge to her voice now.

Not fear.

But something.

Something she probably didn't even realize herself.

Damien's smirk widened as he leaned in slightly, placing his hand against the wall beside her head.

A wall slam.

The famous kabedon.

He could practically hear the sharp inhale she took, though to her credit, she kept her expression composed—mostly.

"If you're trying to intimidate me," she said, her voice regaining its strength, "you should know it won't work."

Damien chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Dear Class Rep…" he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his blue eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"…Wanna make a bet with me?"

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, skepticism flickering in her sharp brown eyes.

"A bet?"

"Yes, a bet," Damien confirmed, his smirk never wavering.

He leaned in just slightly, his gaze locking onto hers.

"You said I was scared," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. "That I was running away. That I gave up before I even tried."

Isabelle didn't look away. "I did."

"Then let's put that to the test," Damien said, his smirk widening. "Three weeks from now—at the end of the month—we'll have our first round of exams, won't we?"

Isabelle's expression didn't change, but he could tell she was already following his train of thought.

Isabelle crossed her arms, her sharp gaze never leaving his. "And what exactly do you want the conditions to be?"

Damien's smirk didn't falter. Instead, he shrugged slightly, his confidence unwavering. "I'll let you decide," he said. "Choose a rank for me to reach by the end of the month."

She narrowed her eyes, studying him carefully. "Top 25," she said after a moment. "At the very least."

Damien tilted his head, considering. "Hmm… sounds fair. But let's make this fun, shall we?"

Isabelle frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"If I win," Damien murmured, his smirk widening.

Then, before she could react—

His hand moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

His fingers brushed through her dark black hair, just for a moment, the touch light yet lingering.

A flicker of surprise crossed Isabelle's face before her expression immediately hardened.

Slap!

Her hand struck his away, her glare sharp and cutting. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Damien just chuckled.

"Relax, Class Rep," he said smoothly, shaking out his hand as if her slap had actually hurt. "It's just a little incentive."

"Incentive for what?" she snapped.

Damien leaned in again, just slightly, his voice dropping to something lower.

"If I win," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable, "you'll be my girlfriend."

Isabelle froze.

For the first time, her controlled composure cracked—just for a split second.

Then, just as quickly, she recovered.

"You can't be serious," she said, her voice colder now.

Damien chuckled again, stepping back slightly but still watching her reaction with amusement. "Oh, I'm very serious."

She inhaled sharply, trying to rein in her irritation. "And if you lose?"

Damien's smirk lingered. "Then I'll admit I'm wasting my potential. And…" He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "I'll follow whatever you say in school. No complaints, no resistance. I'll listen to you."

Another pause.

Isabelle's fingers twitched.

Damien could see her calculating, analyzing, weighing the possibilities.

And that was what made it so much fun.