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

Chapter 304: Kid (2)

The world was quiet.

Damien slept, breath slow, limbs loose against the silk sheets. No tension, no murmur from the system, no lingering burn of mana or training strain. Just stillness.

And then—

Dark.

Not black. Not void. Just absence.

Everything was gone. No bed. No room. No sky. Just Damien, standing barefoot on a surface that didn’t exist, surrounded by a silence that hummed too loudly.

And across from him—

A figure.

It wasn’t clear what it was. Human in outline, yes. But tall—impossibly so. Looming not just in size, but in presence. Its form seemed to shimmer at the edges, like the world couldn’t decide how to shape it. A coat of shadow, a crown of broken light.

The figure didn’t look at Damien.

It spoke.

Not loud. Not soft. Just… inevitable.

“The arranged fates are differed,” it said, voice like chimes buried in thunder. “This shall not go on.”

The words weren’t meant for him.

They were confessions.

Declarations.

Then the figure lifted a hand.

And the world responded.

The nothingness began to twist, to churn—like the entire fabric of space and time had been caught in a slow backward spin. Damien felt the pull, the shift, the world unweaving at its seams.

But him?

He didn’t move.

Didn’t spin.

Didn’t rewind.

“What is th—?”

The question caught in his throat.

Not from fear. From instinct.

Because whatever this was, it wasn’t just a dream.

The figure turned—finally—its face still indistinct, but now angled toward him.

And then—

A lurch.

A tearing.

Like something had reached into the dream and yanked.

Damien felt it.

A sudden force ripping through him like a thread snapped from a needle.

And with a gasp—

He woke.

The ceiling above him. Real. Solid. Moonlight crawling across the floor.

His chest rose fast, breath caught halfway.

Stillness returned.

Damien sat up slowly, the sheets rustling like whispers in the dark. His chest still rose and fell too quickly, but not from panic.

From understanding.

He rubbed a hand over his face, fingers dragging through his hair as his mind raced. That wasn’t a dream. Not the normal kind. That presence—that pull—it wasn’t memory or fear or hallucination.

It was interference.

And then—

Ding.

A subtle shimmer bloomed in the air before him.

[System Alert]

Notice: External conceptual force has attempted to alter Host’s fate-path.

Result: Interference failed.

Host Traits Activated:

— [Reforged One]

— [Does Not Bend]

Outcome: Fate alteration denied. Host timeline remains intact.

Damien exhaled through his nose, slow and steady.

So it happened.

He leaned back against the headboard, gaze fixed on the soft glow of moonlight brushing across the floor. The world hadn’t shifted, but something had tried. Something immense.

’Just like the game,’ he thought.

In the story—the original one—there was always a reset. Some hidden force that rewound the world once the “fated protagonist” strayed too far. A loop. A failsafe.

But that wasn’t happening now.

Not to him.

’As if to say,’ Damien mused, jaw tightening, ’the world couldn’t identify me at the start… but now it can.’

And the reason?

His eyes narrowed.

’The Sanguis Bath.’

He’d known something had changed after that. The bath hadn’t just enhanced him. It had marked him. Clarified his presence to whatever authority watched over this reality. Before, he was noise. A ghost in the code. A variable out of place.

But the system had protected him. Or rather—his traits had.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Looks like they have noticed it, yet they can’t completely find me.’

Damien just shook his head, the remnants of tension bleeding out of his shoulders with each breath.

They noticed.

But they still couldn’t reach him fully. Not yet.

He reached lazily toward the nightstand, hand halfway to the interface panel to check the time—

Then stopped.

Mid-motion.

His fingers curled, his muscles stilled.

He felt it.

’I guess it is the time.’

*****

At the break of dawn, the estate was still cloaked in a dim hush, its corridors silent save for the soft clicks of booted steps against stone.

Dominic and Vivienne walked side by side through the east wing, robes drawn over travel wear. Neither spoke. There was nothing left to say that hadn’t already been thought, felt, or endured in silence.

They reached the chamber door.

Dominic knocked once, firmly. Then opened it.

Inside, the lights were low—but not dark.

Damien was already awake.

He stood by the window, not in full posture, but upright. Calm. His robe half-loosened from the collar, hair slightly damp—clearly just freshened up.

His eyes were on them before the door even creaked.

“Morning,” he said.

Vivienne’s brows pulled together sharply. “You’re awake already?”

“I was sleeping,” Damien replied smoothly. “Just woke up.”

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed, skeptical.

She stepped inside, eyeing the faint flush in his cheeks, the slight tautness in his limbs, the coolness still radiating from the bath chamber behind him.

“You better have rested,” she muttered, eyes narrowing further.

Damien didn’t flinch. He just gave a small, too-casual shrug.

“Relax, Mother. I’m not that reckless.”

Vivienne’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Dominic, standing just behind her, caught the edge of her expression—and chose not to intervene. Not yet. Damien’s composure was intact. And if he was lying, it was with a steadiness that only proved how ready he truly was.

Vivienne stepped closer, her arms folded but not defensive—more like she was holding herself back.

“Damien,” she said softly, and her voice shifted—lost its sharpness, dropped the businesslike cadence. What remained was simply maternal.

“Are you sure?”

Damien tilted his head slightly. “You’re really asking that now?”

“I am,” she said, more firmly. “Because once you go through that gate, it won’t matter how confident you sound. Or how much training you’ve taken. It’s not about skill anymore.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Vivienne stepped in, her hands brushing down his arms before gripping his forearms lightly. Her voice dropped.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” she whispered. “Not to your father. Not to me. Not to anyone. You understand that, right?”

Damien looked at her. And for once, the sharpness in his expression gave way—not to vulnerability, but something gentler. Grounded.

“I know,” he said.

Vivienne hesitated. Her jaw worked as if there was more she wanted to say—perhaps even more she wanted to beg for.

But she didn’t.

She just nodded once. And then she wrapped her arms around him. Not hard. Not delicate. Just… present.

Damien stood still for a moment.

Then, slowly, he lifted his arms and returned the embrace.

No words passed between them. But the silence carried weight.

When they separated, Dominic stepped forward.

“It’s time,” he said.

Damien gave one final nod to his mother, then turned and followed his father toward the gate. Toward the Cradle.