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

The hour was late, but Dominic Elford was wide awake.

The warm glow of the study’s chandelier cast deep shadows across the shelves of ancient books and bound records, their gilded spines gleaming faintly in the low light. Outside, the estate grounds lay cloaked in stillness, but inside this room, the air was alive with quiet tension.

Dominic stood by the tall window, a glass of brandy untouched in his hand, his sharp eyes reflecting the flickering light from the datapad resting on his desk.

The room smelled faintly of leather and aged paper, the quiet hum of encrypted servers tucked behind the wood-paneled walls the only sound besides the occasional crack of the fire.

He turned away from the window and returned to the desk, setting the brandy aside. The datapad blinked once, prompting for his authorization. With a flick of his finger, the display expanded into a holographic interface—columns of reports, transaction summaries, and regional influence charts spilling across the air like a web of light.

Dominic narrowed his gaze and scrolled through the latest intel reports from the Azaria Dominion and Vermillion City. For the past week, things had been unusually quiet in the household—no fresh arguments, no confrontations, no sudden shifts in Damien’s volatile trajectory. A kind of uneasy peace had taken hold among the Elford family.

But peace was often a lie.

And tonight, Dominic felt its edges fraying.

“Something is strange,” he murmured, tapping a specific report line.

His eyes scanned the summary—an increase in capital movement through Azaria’s lesser-tracked trade routes, shell companies rising and vanishing, all tied back to a mid-tier family that had, until recently, remained in the shadows.

The Kesselrin Family.

Unremarkable. Unthreatening. A name that hadn’t shown up on his radar in more than a decade.

But now?

They were pushing.

Extending their influence through seemingly disconnected channels. Minor banking acquisitions in Vermillion City. Political donations in the Azaria Dominion’s fringe councils. A recent “philanthropic investment” into the infrastructure of the Academy’s outer campus—barely worth notice on paper, but cleverly timed.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed further as he tapped into a visual overlay. Lines of influence lit up, red threads webbing outward from the Kesselrin insignia like veins from a wound.

Too much, too fast.

Calculated.

And yet, they hadn’t tripped any alarms. Not formally. Not enough for the City Council to raise concern.

Because it was all quiet.

Soft moves. Measured pressure. As if they knew how to move just under the threshold of notice.

A soft knock on the heavy oak door broke the silence, followed by the quiet hiss of it opening. Owen, the Elford family’s chief butler, stepped inside with the smooth, unhurried grace that had become his signature over the decades. His dark suit was immaculate despite the late hour, and his presence carried no intrusion—only efficiency.

“Sir,” he said, bowing slightly. “I thought you might still be awake.”

Dominic didn’t turn. “I am.”

Owen’s gaze drifted to the flickering data displays suspended above the desk. He approached without being asked, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp beneath the subtle gray at his temples.

“You’ve seen the Kesselrin reports,” he said quietly.

“I have.”

Owen gave a short nod. “They aren’t the only ones.”

Dominic turned now, one brow raised. “Go on.”

“Subtle moves from the Astirell family in the eastern textile chains. Interference from two Borezan holdings in the microtech sectors. And most notably—five of our recent overseas acquisition attempts were outbid at the last minute.” He paused. “Three of those were under your daughter’s jurisdiction.”

Dominic’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent for a moment, processing.

“They’re testing us,” Owen added. “Not openly. But the patterns are clear.”

Dominic swiped the display, pulling up the recent auction results and Adeline’s submitted reports. The data aligned grimly—key industries long dominated by the Elford name had begun bleeding slowly. Not enough to cause panic. But enough to signal a slow, precise encroachment.

“It’s a feeding circle,” Dominic muttered, scrolling through the graphs. “They’ve smelled blood.”

Owen’s voice was even, but edged with concern. “They believe the house is in a state of flux. That the power dynamics have shifted.”

Dominic scoffed softly. “They’re not entirely wrong.”

Damien’s return had cast long shadows—ones their enemies were quick to interpret as fractures. And Adeline, despite her competence, had grown too used to fighting uphill battles alone. Now that the tides were shifting, even her grip was being tested.

“They’re trying to isolate her,” Dominic said, his tone sharper now. “Undermining her bids. Pressuring the subsidiaries under her name. If they can fracture our fronts through her, the rest will follow.”

He leaned back, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

Dominic leaned back farther in his chair, his fingers steepled, gaze burning into the web of glowing red influence lines that danced across the air above his desk.

His voice, when it came, was low—coiled with restrained fury.

“Who even dares to cross the Elford family like this?”

He wasn’t asking Owen.

He was asking the room.

The air.

The silence.

A rhetorical thundercloud gathering behind his eyes.

His tone sharpened as he rose from his chair, the datapad flickering in response to his movement. “Do they truly believe we’ve grown that soft? That we’re no longer watching? That we won’t bite back the moment they overstep?”

He turned to Owen, voice rising ever so slightly. “Who do they think they are?”

Owen did not respond immediately. He simply stood in stillness—allowing his master the space to let that fury sharpen itself into purpose.

Dominic’s eyes cut toward him, the heat of command finally peaking. “Get Adeline.”

Owen inclined his head. “At once.”

The door closed behind Owen with a hushed finality, leaving Dominic alone with the crackling fire and the soft whir of the display.

But not for long.

Seventeen minutes later, the door opened again—precisely, efficiently. Adeline stepped inside, her stride brisk, her navy coat still hanging from one shoulder. Despite the hour, she was immaculate as ever—heels sharp, posture sharper, the scent of cold night air clinging faintly to her presence.

“Father,” she said by way of greeting, her voice clear and businesslike. “Owen said it was urgent.”

Dominic didn’t bother with pleasantries. He motioned to the projection still hovering above the desk—red lines, charts, dossiers, names.

“They’re moving against you,” he said.

Adeline’s expression didn’t flicker. She stepped closer, eyes scanning the reports. “I noticed.”

“You should’ve said something,” Dominic said flatly.

She tilted her head slightly, unreadable. “I didn’t think it warranted escalation yet. Not until tonight.”

“Tonight?” Dominic’s tone sharpened. “Something new?”

Adeline gave a curt nod. “I attended the final bidding round for the Rhenium Processing Consortium. A key supplier line that feeds into our South Azaria logistics chain.”

“I’m aware,” Dominic said.

She looked directly at him now. “We were outbid.”

Dominic’s lips thinned.

“They came in late. Quiet. With triple the valuation cap,” she continued. “And they didn’t flinch. Not once. As if they knew exactly how much we were willing to commit—and how little I could move without triggering internal audits.”

She reached into her coat and produced a slim datachip, sliding it across the desk toward her father.

“I recorded the exchange. Not the numbers. The posture. Their confidence. It wasn’t arrogance, Father. It was certainty. Someone’s backing them.”

Dominic stared at the chip but didn’t reach for it yet.

“A bigger fish,” he muttered.

Adeline nodded. “And one that’s making itself invisible. The Kesselrins are only the tip—they’re too small to throw numbers like that alone. Same with Astirell. Their books have always been tight. And the Borezans? They don’t even operate in the sector they just outbid us in.”

Dominic narrowed his eyes, walking slowly around the desk.

“Someone is stitching them together,” he said. “Giving them shared direction. Shared capital.”

Adeline folded her arms. “And shielding them from scrutiny.”

Dominic stopped in front of the glowing map. The red lines pulsed faintly, spidering out toward all directions.

His voice, when it came again, was colder.

“Then it’s time we stopped pulling punches.”

Source: .com, updated by novlove.com