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

Chapter 285: The World

Damien shifted slightly in his seat, posture relaxed but eyes—curiously—tracking hers. For once, he wasn’t cracking a joke or letting his attention drift. That surprised her more than she wanted to admit.

Isabelle pulled up a digital chart on the screen, the surface between them responding smoothly to her commands. A map unfolded in soft lines and deep hues—a topographical projection of the old Azaria Dominion. Borders lit in pale blue, cities marked with clean pins. Overlaid text began detailing its foundational timeline.

“We’ll begin here,” she said, voice even. “The Azaria Dominion. Established in the 14th cycle post-Union. Spanned five continental shelves by its peak.”

She tapped to expand the sidebar. It revealed a timeline: Founding | Golden Rise | Fracture War | Collapse.

Damien leaned forward, a faint crease appearing on his brow. “I remember this part. But only vaguely. It collapsed from… overextension, right?”

“That was part of it.” Isabelle shifted her notes with one hand, using the other to slide in an annotated excerpt. “Resource management, political gridlock between the Upper Triumvirate, and the loss of control over tributary zones due to the Fracture War—those were the key triggers.”

“Triumvirate,” he repeated. “That’s the rotating council leadership?”

She nodded. “Correct. It was meant to ensure flexibility. But when one of the three factions broke alliance and tried to force a bloodline succession, the structure fell apart. The war lasted two decades. By the end, the Dominion had lost 60% of its military power and over half its trade lines.”

Damien gave a low whistle. “Rough.”

“Not rough. Predictable,” she said quietly. “Systems that rely too heavily on balance without enforcement mechanisms always break when trust erodes.”

He gave her a look. “That sounds personal.”

“It’s not.” She flipped to the next slide. “It’s structural.”

He chuckled. But the sound was quieter now—less teasing, more… present.

Next, she opened the geographical layout of the modern world—highlighting the major blocs: Northern Wreath Alliance, the Free South Archipelago, the Eastern Accord, and the Central Reform Basin.

“You should focus especially on the basin territories,” she said. “Last exam had three questions based on migration trends. You missed all of them.”

Damien let out a small groan, head falling briefly against the headrest.

“You’re relentless.”

“Efficient,” she corrected.

He gave her a tired glance. “Sure. That too.”

Still—he leaned in again, watching the screen closely as she began outlining the climate gradient from north to east and explaining how it drove agricultural zoning. Her voice moved cleanly through economic nodes, industrial pressures, and terrain-modified border shifts like it was second nature.

She didn’t think about it much. She just taught. Piece by piece. Clear and fast.

And Damien?

He listened.

Eyes on the map. Fingers resting near his tablet, occasionally shifting when he copied a note or added a mark.

And for a while, the air in the booth settled into something real.

Not just quiet.

But focused. Shared.

Two people at the table. One teaching. One learning.

Simple. Clean.

And somehow—new.

*****

Damien leaned back in the booth, elbows resting lightly on the armrest as the map shifted under Isabelle’s fingers. The projection redrew itself—borders flexing, colors shifting—until the continents of their world came into view.

Not Earth. Not anymore.

The screen dimmed slightly as Isabelle flipped to the next visual layer. Borders faded and shifted—warping to reflect the present day.

“This,” she said, tapping twice, “is Kaelora.”

Damien blinked. “Kaelora?”

“Our world. Eight continents, three global ocean bodies, and close to two hundred sovereign territories, not counting the minor city-states.”

He leaned in, eyes trailing the illuminated landmasses as they were labeled one by one in crisp digital font.

“Start here,” Isabelle continued. “This is the Azaric Belt. The continent where the Azaria Dominion was born—and collapsed. It’s geographically central, similar to Earth’s Europe.”

The map zoomed in.

Three countries lit up.

Azaria Dominion – A techno-corporate state run by elite dynasties and board alliances. Built on ambition, salvaged tech, and a hunger for influence. Kingdom of Valtheria – Tucked along the western ridgelines, Valtheria sprawled like a medieval relic. Massive castles, fortified cities, and knights who believed in divine lineage. They clung to nobility, traditions, and arranged unions like a lifeline. Krovos Union – A block of steel and stone in the northeast. All gridded streets and fortified borders. Their flag bore no symbols—just a crimson slash over black. Supreme Chancellor Orlov ruled by decree and watched his people like a hawk does prey.

“And that—” Isabelle flicked her finger— “is Zenith. Technically part of the Azaric continent, but it’s isolated on a floating archipelago. Economically free, militarily neutral. A haven for corporate shells and private negotiations.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “A libertarian bank with its own zip code.”

“Exactly.”

She shifted the map outward. “Next, we move to the larger players.”

North Halvane—a sprawling landmass to the northwest. Comparable in influence and scale to North America. Known for the Allied Tech Consortium and its decisive role in the Last Continental War.

United Federation of Halvane: Federal republic, deeply invested in international diplomacy, cyber-defense, and hybrid warfare.

New Dreven States: Former colonies turned rival territories. Constant friction, but massive industrial output.

Serean Expanse—the massive continent to the east.

Zhen-Shi Authority: A rising superpower, culturally unified but bureaucratically complex. State-guided capitalism. Tactical expansion through trade and tech.

Targesa Khanate: A fractured nomad-turned-urban coalition built around old clan loyalties and new oil wealth.

Vuldan Ridge—mountainous and dry. Home to the Volcara Pact, a set of culturally rich, resource-dense states with a deep mistrust of Azaria and Halvane interference.

Egrissel—cold, remote, shaped like a claw curled around the southern pole. Mostly autonomous research zones, but home to St. Teralis, a theocratic enclave whose religious doctrine fuels a continent-wide network of underground influence.

The Riven Archipelago—countless islands scattered through equatorial waters. The “Free South Archipelago” is both paradise and powder keg—endless proxy wars between mining cartels, eco-factions, and private militaries.

Tesharun—akin to Australia. One dominant country: The Sovereign Domain of Thera. Environmentally regulated, heavily urbanized, with one of the highest living standards on the planet. Isolationist in policy, but influential in global health and climate accords.

Isabelle folded her hands.

“All of these blocs have stakes in Azaria’s direction,” she said. “We’re small in size—but central in position. Trade, information, military routes. Whoever controls the Azaric Belt… shapes everything else.”

Damien gave a slow nod, eyes still skimming the glowing layout of Kaelora. The Azaric Belt—compact, central, tangled in old history and current ambition—looked less like a continent and more like a keystone.

He’d known Azaria was important. Anyone who’d spent five minutes in Shackles of Fate knew that.

But not like this.

Not geopolitics, not continental balances, not trade chokepoints mapped in glowing blue veins across the projection.

In the game, you were a wandering enforcer out of Vermillion City—free to roam its rain-slicked alleys, pick up contracts, brawl through cybernetic mobs in neon-lit bars. That world had always felt alive. Gritty. Real enough.

But even then… the borders were mostly just background noise. Pretty dressing. The Azaria Dominion was a backdrop, not a framework.

No mention of the Triumvirate’s breakdown.

No maps of Valtheria’s fortified ridges or Krovos’s military grid.

Just atmosphere.

Just flavor.

And yet now, staring at the spread of Kaelora under Isabelle’s clean, practiced guidance, Damien could feel it—the machinery beneath the skin.

He leaned back slightly, thumb tapping idle rhythm against the edge of his tablet, watching her work through the next slide—migration corridors, pressure zones, treaty enclaves—unfolding like a second language.

He’d have to learn all of this eventually.

But hearing it from her like this?

Yeah.

He didn’t mind.

Not at all.

A quiet hum passed between them. Not silence—just the kind of stillness that came when things were clicking. When a part of you that had been drifting started rooting into something real.

Then—

The door hissed.

Both of them glanced up as the seal slid open.

A serving drone wheeled in with a soft whir of magnets on polished tile, its smooth chrome arms extending two steaming trays onto the center surface.

“Your order,” it announced politely in neutral synth-tone.