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

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

Dominic’s gaze stayed fixed on the glowing web of red light—his jaw set, his voice low.

“If they’re bold enough to orchestrate something like this—coordinated strikes, precision bidding, masked capital—then a direct confrontation is the next logical step.”

He stepped closer to the map, one hand hovering above the cluster of red nodes as if weighing the entire network in his palm.

“They want us to react. They want us to bleed resources in every direction, until we’re stretched thin enough to break.”

Adeline’s tone didn’t waver. “So we confront them?”

“Yes,” Dominic said. “But not the way they expect.”

He turned, his expression unreadable.

“We answer with pressure—measured, relentless—but we don’t show our full hand. Not yet.”

Adeline inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the tactic, but her eyes remained sharp. Calculating.

Dominic studied her for a beat longer, then his tone shifted—lower, more personal.

“This isn’t just business anymore, Adeline.”

She blinked once. Slightly.

“If they’re trying to pull us out of balance… there’s a very real chance they’ll come for the faces, not just the foundation.”

Adeline’s brows drew together faintly.

“Me.”

“And Damien,” Dominic said.

Adeline scoffed, but it lacked her usual confidence. “They wouldn’t try anything direct.”

Dominic’s gaze hardened.

“You never know,” he said, voice quiet but absolute. “That’s the point. The best attacks aren’t declared. They’re executed before anyone realizes a war has begun.”

Adeline folded her arms, her posture still proud, but the faint furrow in her brow betrayed the unease beneath.

Still, she rolled her eyes. “Damien won’t care.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow.

“He’s probably lounging in that villa of his, still pretending to be training while drinking imported wine and enjoying his little sabbatical.” She smirked faintly. “If someone did try to target him, I doubt he’d even notice until it was too late.”

Dominic didn’t reply at first.

Because truthfully?

He didn’t know.

Damien had kept his distance—by choice and by permission. That was the condition Damien had insisted on when leaving: no interference, no surveillance, no safety net. A decision Dominic had agreed to, because at the time, it was the right call.

But now?

He moved to the desk again, his fingers brushing across the interface as he opened a private comm line. The Elford encrypted network buzzed faintly, blinking with a locked signal code tied to Blackthorne Villa.

Dominic initiated the call.

A soft chime echoed once.

Then again.

Then again.

Each unanswered ping dragged a little longer than the last.

Adeline arched a brow, watching from behind. “Oh? Unresponsive? I’m shocked.”

Dominic said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, the faint irritation at the edges of his jaw tightening with each second of silence.

Finally, the signal timed out.

No response. Connection unavailable.

Dominic’s fingers tapped the desk once—controlled, but sharp.

Dominic’s jaw tensed as the comm screen dimmed to black.

No response.

No signal.

That wasn’t just unusual—it was unacceptable.

He didn’t need to glance at Adeline to feel the smugness radiating from her posture. She wasn’t speaking now, but the silence was heavy with implication.

Dominic exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders squared.

Something isn’t right.

But no—he shut the thought down before it could take shape. Damien wasn’t the type to vanish quietly—not anymore. Not after everything he had clawed back.

And most importantly, Elysia was with him.

Dominic’s fingers flicked across the panel with crisp precision, initiating a new channel—this one encrypted under a secondary tier, outside the usual household hierarchy. It was routed through a private frequency, marked with only one identifier:

[E-01 | Elysia]

He tapped the line.

It didn’t even ring once.

The connection opened immediately.

“Lord Elford,” she said, without preamble.

Dominic’s eyes locked onto the screen the moment Elysia appeared.

Her expression was unreadable—composed, as always—but behind that cold efficiency, something felt… off.

He wasted no time.

“Where is Damien?” Dominic asked, voice clipped. “I attempted to contact him. There was no response.”

Elysia didn’t answer immediately.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Her silence was not the silence of hesitation—it was the silence of calculation.

“Elysia,” he said, sharper now. “I asked you a question.”

*******

The canyon was still.

Elysia stood near the upper ridge now, the descent behind her, but she hadn’t moved far. She kept her back to the rock wall, boots planted firm in the dust, gaze fixed on the spot Damien had vanished.

She had been waiting.

Three minutes and twenty-four seconds since spatial integrity buckled. Since Damien was pulled inward—into a place not recorded, not mapped, not seen.

He should have reappeared by now.

Should have walked out of that ripple like nothing had happened, with that dry, self-satisfied smirk he wore whenever he broke the rules and got away with it.

But he hadn’t.

And so she waited.

Not with fear.

But with that sharp, practiced vigilance that years of training had carved into her bones.

Then—

A soft chime in her left ear.

Encrypted frequency.

Priority.

She tapped the receiver without hesitation.

“Lord Elford,” she said, voice calm.

The screen lit up with Dominic’s face. Stern. Frustrated. And beneath it all—concern.

“I attempted to contact Damien,” he said. “There was no response.”

She didn’t reply.

Not immediately.

Because answering Dominic Elford required calculation.

Always had.

Always would.

He wasn’t just the patriarch of House Elford.

He was the system she’d served her entire life.

The silence stretched. One beat. Then two.

She knew what he’d do next. Knew it before he even spoke.

“Elysia,” Dominic’s voice came again—this time sharper. “I asked you a question.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

‘He is worried,’ she thought. ‘But he’s not ready to admit it.’

Still, she spoke.

“Master Damien is currently… engaged.”

A pause.

“Engaged?” Dominic echoed, skeptical.

Elysia turned her gaze to the canyon mouth again. Still empty. Still quiet.

“Yes,” she said. “In something I am not permitted to interfere with.”

That made Dominic pause.

“What is he engaged with,” he said, each word clipped, deliberate, “and where is he?”

Elysia didn’t blink.

She didn’t look away from the canyon mouth.

Only her voice moved.

“I can’t answer that.”

Silence.

Not static.

Not delay.

The kind of silence that pressed against skin—one born from high places and sharper instincts. It dragged out long enough for weight to settle in the call, long enough for the air between them to thin.

Dominic’s jaw flexed.

On the screen, his expression didn’t break—but something behind his eyes changed. A calculation shifted. The weight of power—Elford power—tightened around the moment like a fist.

“Is that disobedience?” he asked quietly.

Elysia’s response came without pause.

“No.”

“Then explain it.”

“I am not allowed,” she said, her tone flat. Not defensive. Final.

“I didn’t ask what you’re allowed to do,” Dominic said, voice low, cold. “I gave you a direct—”

“I know what you gave me,” Elysia interrupted.

And that—that—was the first crack in routine.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Elysia.”

But she didn’t falter.

Didn’t stammer. Didn’t soften.

Her spine straightened even further, if that were possible.

And in that moment, for the first time in years, she didn’t look like a subordinate.

She looked like a wall.

“My master is Master Damien Elford.”

Source: .com, updated by novlove.com