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

Chapter 265: I am getting out

A sharp honk split the morning air.

Not the aggressive blare of a frustrated commuter, but a single, casual beep—just enough to snag her attention.

Isabelle turned her head, brows pinching, her breath fogging slightly as she scanned the road to her right.

And then she saw it.

A sleek black vehicle—low-slung, polished, unmistakably custom—idled at the curb, its engine purring like a well-fed predator. The Selvenhardt. Vermillion’s elite might’ve had taste, but few drove their own cars, and even fewer did it with this kind of presence.

The driver window rolled down.

And there he was.

Damien Elford. One arm hooked lazily over the open edge of the door, the other hand still on the wheel. His hair was slightly tousled in that deliberate way that said he’d spent exactly three seconds styling it. The morning sun caught the curve of his jaw, and the faintest smirk played at his lips as he leaned just a bit closer.

“Yo, Class Rep.”

Isabelle blinked once.

Twice.

‘What the—’

He looked absurdly pleased with himself.

She didn’t move at first. Just stood there, one hand still on the strap of her bag, trying to reconcile the sheer audacity of what she was seeing.

She was halfway through her usual route—Lynden Street, of all places—and here he was, parked like this was the front gate, like this was his territory. Like he’d somehow known.

She narrowed her eyes.

“…Why are you here?”

Damien’s eyebrows lifted in faux confusion. “What do you mean, ‘why am I here’? I’m heading to school. Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

Isabelle’s eyes narrowed even further. “That’s not what I meant.”

She stepped closer to the curb, arms crossing stiffly over her chest, her voice flattening into quiet disapproval. “Why are you in the driver’s seat? Do you even have a license? What you’re doing right now—it’s illegal.”

For a second, Damien’s smirk twitched. Just slightly. Like her accusation had pricked something. Not quite enough to dent him, but enough to draw blood.

Then he leaned back and exhaled, his grin reshaping itself into something more relaxed—cooler, less mocking.

“Class Rep,” he said, “you’re asking a lot of questions for someone standing in the middle of a sidewalk with fifteen minutes till homeroom.”

Isabelle didn’t answer.

“I’m offering you a ride,” Damien continued, his voice now lilting with the smoothness of practiced mischief. “It’s not a trap. You clearly look like you could use one. Long walk, early hour… weight of academic perfection crushing your shoulders…”

He gestured theatrically at the empty passenger seat.

“Come on. You want to ignore your study partner’s wishes already?” His grin sharpened. “Might as well save some energy. You’ve got at least three more people to verbally body-slam today.”

Isabelle inhaled slowly, her jaw tensing.

‘He’s impossible.’

But he was also… annoyingly right.

She glanced down at her shoes, then at the long stretch of sidewalk still ahead. The ache in her legs was faint but real, a leftover burn from P.E. and the volleyball match yesterday that she has had with her club.

And Damien just waited, one hand tapping lightly against the wheel, like he knew the ending to this little standoff before it began.

“…Sigh…”

She pulled open the door.

“…If you get pulled over,” Isabelle muttered as she climbed in, pulling the door shut with a sharp click, “I’m not responsible. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything.”

Damien chuckled, easing the Selvenhardt into motion with a faint hum of acceleration. “Yes, yes. Duly noted. You were kidnapped by a dangerously charming criminal, I know the story.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes—and then stopped.

Because as she glanced forward toward the passenger seat—

She saw her.

A woman was seated calmly beside Damien, legs crossed neatly, posture straight. She looked young—older than Isabelle, but only slightly. Maybe mid-twenties. Her black hair was cut short and razor-clean, the sleek ends grazing the tops of her shoulders like they’d been trimmed yesterday. Not a strand out of place.

But it was her eyes that struck the most.

Sharp, cold emerald. Not unkind—but unreadable. No warmth. No interest. Just composure. Control. Observation.

The type of gaze that belonged to someone who’d seen too much, judged too much, and didn’t waste time pretending.

Isabelle sat up straighter without meaning to.

“…I didn’t realize we had company,” she said, more formal now.

Damien glanced over briefly, as if only just remembering. “Ah. Right. Isabelle—meet Elysia.” His tone was oddly casual, but respectful. “My personal maid. Though she’s more capable than most of the instructors we’ve got.”

Isabelle blinked once, surprised by the straightforwardness of the title. Then nodded, politely, if a little stiff.

“Isabelle Moreau,” she said. “It’s a pleasure.”

Elysia turned slightly toward her, enough for the morning light to catch against the pale line of her cheek. Her face betrayed nothing—no smile, no smirk—just the slightest dip of her chin.

“Likewise, Miss Moreau,” she said, her voice precise. Smooth. Polished like glass. “I’ve heard your name before. It’s good to finally attach it to a face.”

There was no sarcasm in it. No strange undertone.

Just fact.

And somehow… that unsettled Isabelle more.

She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the quiet gravity Elysia carried—like she wasn’t watching them so much as she was keeping a ledger of everything said and done.

Maybe it was the way Damien, for all his mouth, didn’t seem to step out of line with her present.

Or maybe it was the sudden, unexpected realization that she’d just stepped into a world with rules she didn’t fully understand. A world that Damien clearly walked in, but hadn’t invited her into—until now.

Still, Isabelle met Elysia’s gaze steadily.

And Elysia, after a pause, turned her face back to the road, as if that brief moment had told her everything she needed to know.

Damien smirked faintly, clearly feeling the tension but not planning to ease it.

“Now then,” he said, tapping the console. “Let’s see if we can shave a few minutes off that commute of yours, Rep.”

The car accelerated—smooth, swift, and silent. And Isabelle found herself wondering if this was a mistake.

Or the start of something she hadn’t yet named.

“Since when,” Isabelle said after a beat, her voice calm—but a little too calm, “do you drive yourself to school?”

Damien chuckled under his breath, his fingers drumming lazily on the wheel. “Since today.”

“…Eh?” Isabelle’s brow knit.

“I’m serious.”

She blinked. “This is the first time you’re driving?”

“Not really,” he said, glancing at her with that maddening glint in his eye. “It’s my second day.”

Isabelle’s back stiffened immediately. “Second—”

Her hand shot toward the door handle.

“Nope.” Damien leaned slightly, one hand darting over to casually hit the lock. A soft click sealed the interior as the Selvenhardt hummed forward, threading between the morning traffic like a phantom. “Too late for regrets now.”

“You—!” Isabelle’s jaw clenched. “Pull over.”

“Why?” he asked, perfectly unbothered. “We’re already halfway there. I haven’t crashed. I haven’t even scratched the paint.”

“That’s not the point!”

“It kind of is,” he replied smoothly. “Look, Rep, I’ve already gotten this far. Navigated the grid, dodged the morning patrol drones, and avoided five separate AI braking traps. Do you really think I’m going to mess up the last minute of a ten-kilometer commute?”

Isabelle glared, fully prepared to argue—but something in his voice made her pause.

Because he sounded… calm.

Not cocky. Not arrogant.

Just confident.

Like someone who had taken a risk, stared it down, and found it manageable. Maybe even thrilling.

She exhaled sharply, turned her gaze back to the road, and muttered, “If you so much as touch a curb—”

“You’ll leap out and roll onto the pavement,” Damien supplied. “Duly noted.”

The Selvenhardt slid around the final turn, the looming gates of Vermillion cresting into view once again.

And Isabelle sat back, eyes narrowed, still bracing against the edge of her seat—but saying nothing more.

‘Two days,’ she thought, incredulous. ‘Two. Why am I even in this car?’

But somewhere, beneath the frustration, beneath the disbelief…

A small part of her almost smiled.

Almost.