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

Damien's smirk deepened, a slow, lazy pull at the corner of his lips as his fingers drummed idly against the desk. The weight of realization settled in his mind—not heavy, not oppressive. No, it was light. Amusing. A delicious little secret only he had access to.

Fate wasn't something you could just remove.

A Child of the Plane wasn't just erased. Their existence was an anchor, a fixed point the world clung to, shaping itself around their importance. Trying to outright kill them? Tch. That was idiotic. Predictable. Like trying to delete a main quest from a game's coding and expecting the engine not to crash.

No, if he wanted to break fate—if he wanted to shatter it—he had to be smart.

His gaze flicked toward Leon, who still sat rigid in his chair, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like his teeth might snap. His fists were curled, his nails digging into his palms. The fury was still there, simmering, but restrained.

'Leon Ardent… a future companion. A loyal dog for the Child of the Plane.'

Damien exhaled through his nose, his smirk widening.

'From how this works, I can't just remove him outright. Fate will fight against it, throw obstacles in my way, force things back into alignment. But…'

His eyes gleamed.

'One can weaken fate.'

If he chipped away at the Child of the Plane's pillars, at the very foundations of their strength, then what? What happened when the so-called "hero" lost the allies fate had gifted him?

The support. The resources. The relationships that made him shine.

Leon was one of those pillars. A friend. A brother-in-arms. Someone meant to stand beside the protagonist and prop him up.

'And what happens when a pillar collapses?'

Damien almost chuckled aloud.

'The structure starts to fall, piece by piece.'

Leon didn't need to die. That would be too crude. Too obvious. No, all Damien had to do was corrupt him. Erode his trust. Twist his path. Turn him into something fate never intended.

A warrior without a cause. A friend without a bond. A weapon with no master.

And Celia?

His fingers stilled.

Celia… the heroine.

The beautiful, untouchable, predestined prize waiting at the end of the road. Her presence was inevitable.

Would he take her? Bring her to his side?

His smirk disappeared.

No.

Why the hell would he?

That was the kind of shit villains in trash stories did. Snatching up the hero's love interest like a child stealing another's toy, parading it around like some grand victory.

Pathetic.

Celia was designed for the protagonist.

Which meant she had value to him.

And that? That was the real weakness.

'You don't need to steal what you can spoil.'

Celia wasn't a woman to be won. She was a flag in the story's code. An irreplaceable asset meant to fuel someone else's journey.

So why not strip her of that?

Why not render her useless?

Break the allure. Tarnish the perfection. Make her something the protagonist could no longer rely on.

A future heroine who couldn't be a heroine anymore.

Now that was a victory.

Slowly, Damien leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together as he let the possibilities unfold in his mind. He didn't have to break fate in one clean strike.

He could rot it from the inside out.

Leon.

Celia.

Every single piece fate had placed on the board.

All he had to do was make sure they fell before they could serve their purpose.

And when the hero reached for them, expecting them to be there—

He would find nothing but dust in his hands.

'But for now, let's enjoy the life we have shall we.'

****

The tension in the classroom hadn't fully settled by the time the door creaked open again.

Damien barely lifted his gaze as two familiar figures strolled inside.

Kaine and Ezra.

Ezra, the leaner of the two, had his usual amused smirk, his dark eyes flickering between Damien and Moren with quiet interest.

Kaine, on the other hand—

His expression was unreadable.

But Damien didn't need to read his face to know why they were here.

They had already heard about what happened.

Of course, they had.

Moren must have run to them the moment he had the chance, desperate to rally his so-called friends behind him.

Predictable.

The air shifted slightly as they entered. Some of the remaining students in the room instinctively lowered their voices, their gazes flickering between the new arrivals and Damien.

Moren, who had been standing stiffly near his desk, finally turned toward them, his fists still clenched at his sides.

Kaine sighed through his nose, glancing briefly at him before shifting his attention toward Damien.

Ezra was the one who spoke first.

"Man," he muttered, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. "You really know how to fuck up a room's atmosphere, don't you?"

Damien finally leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms lazily.

"I do my best."

Ezra smirked at that, but Kaine remained silent.

His gaze lingered on Damien for just a second too long before he finally turned toward Moren.

"Moren," Kaine said, his voice level, steady. "You called us. So talk."

Moren hesitated for a moment before inhaling sharply through his nose.

"It's exactly what I told you," he muttered, still glaring at Damien. "This fuck has been running his mouth all day, thinking he's some big shot just because he lost some weight. He—"

"Tolerated me," Damien cut in smoothly, mimicking Moren's earlier words with a slow smirk. "Go on. Finish the sentence."

Moren's jaw clenched.

Ezra let out a quiet hmm under his breath, glancing between the two.

Kaine remained unreadable.

Then—

He exhaled.

"Damien."

Damien's smirk didn't waver, but he tilted his head slightly.

"You're pushing too hard," Kaine said simply.

Damien let the words settle before responding.

"Am I?"

Kaine held his gaze. "You know you are."

Damien's smirk didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened, his blue eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement.

"I don't push anything," he said smoothly, tapping his fingers lightly against the desk. "I simply spoke my thoughts—just like this guy did."

His gaze flickered toward Moren, who stiffened under the attention, his fists still trembling slightly.

Damien exhaled through his nose. "It was his decision, not mine."

Kaine didn't react immediately. He simply stared, unreadable, his arms crossed over his chest.

But Damien noticed it.

The shift.

The flicker of hesitation in Kaine's gaze.

The way he was suddenly considering his words far more carefully than he usually did.

He's afraid.

Damien almost laughed.

"Do you have a problem with that, Kaine?"

Kaine's fingers twitched slightly against his arm, but his expression didn't change.

Damien tilted his head, his smirk widening. "Or do you also 'tolerate' me like this guy?"

The air in the room grew heavier.

Ezra, ever the spectator, leaned back slightly in his chair, clearly entertained but also aware that the conversation was reaching a turning point.

Moren, on the other hand, was still fuming—his anger barely contained, but now mixed with something else.

Frustration.

Because no matter what he said, no matter how much he wanted to lash out again—

He had already lost.

And now Kaine was caught in the same web.

Damien leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"Go on," he murmured, still watching Kaine. "Tell me. If you've been tolerating me this whole time, too, then say it. Speak your mind, just like Moren did."

Silence.

Kaine's jaw tightened.

Damien exhaled through his nose, the smirk on his lips fading into something colder.

More honest.

He already knew.

These two—Kaine and Ezra—were nothing more than spineless worms.

Fair-weather companions. The kind of men who would laugh with you in private and speak against you in whispers the moment your back turned.

The only reason Damien hadn't cut them off before was simple.

It had been bothersome.

Back then, Damien Elford hadn't cared enough. The old version of himself found it easier to let the fakes linger in his shadow, pretending they were allies while knowing full well they weren't.

But now?

He wasn't that man anymore.

And he had no intention of letting cowards like them cling to him.

Kaine finally broke the silence. His jaw clenched, and then he scoffed.

"You want me to say it?" he muttered. "Fine. I tolerated you."

His words weren't loud, but they were sharp.

Damien didn't even blink.

"And not just me," Kaine went on, his tone rising. "Everyone knew what you were. A joke. A punching bag with a famous name. That's what you were good for—getting stepped on, keeping your head down, and paying the tab."

Ezra let out a soft chuckle at that, no longer hiding his amusement.

"To be fair," Ezra added lazily, "you did buy a lot of drinks."

Damien's gaze didn't shift. He was quiet. Still.

And Kaine?

He wasn't done.

"You really think we respected you?" he said, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Everyone saw what happened that time at the Ebonrise Club. Celia humiliated you in front of everyone. You groveled. You begged. And we watched."

He stepped forward, heat in his voice now.

"And now—just because you've got a bit of muscle and a new attitude—you think you're above everyone? You think you're some fucking alpha?"

Damien's fingers stilled against the desk.

"You're not different, Damien. You're just louder. Blinded by whatever pride you found buried under all that fat."

The words echoed through the room, thick with venom.

Moren stood still, jaw clenched, watching it unfold with wide eyes.

Ezra just leaned back and watched like he was at a private performance, clearly pleased Kaine had finally spoken.