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

Chapter 237: Bet

“I’ll grow my own business.”

The moment Damien has said that….

Adeline’s expression shifted—just enough.

He let that sink in, let the words hang like a gauntlet thrown on polished marble.

Adeline stared at him for half a heartbeat.

Then she laughed.

Short. Sharp. Not hysterical—but biting. It echoed off the high ceilings like a note of disbelief draped in silk.

“He’ll grow his own business?” she repeated, the mockery rolling off her tongue like a toast at a banquet. “At what, exactly? And when? With which skill*?” She cocked her head, the smile spreading, practiced and poisonous. “Don’t tell me you plan to start a tea shop out of spite?”

Dominic didn’t speak.

But his gaze never left Damien.

Damien, for his part, didn’t blink. Didn’t scowl. He only returned her smile—with one of his own.

Quieter.

Sharper.

Almost… entertained.

“At what…” he echoed. “That’s a good question.”

He didn’t react to her ridicule. Didn’t rise to her bait. He simply let the air breathe around his words.

“That,” he said, “is what I’ve been thinking about too.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if watching something Adeline couldn’t see.

“But the answer will come soon.”

His smile lingered.

Not because he was bluffing.

But because he meant it.

Dominic, who had remained silent through the exchange, finally leaned forward—his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, fingers laced.

His gaze pinned Damien with that measured weight that only a father like him could wield: not scorn, not doubt—but reality sharpened into a lesson.

“Business isn’t so forgiving, Damien,” he said, voice level. “It’s not just about strength. Or resolve. Or even timing. It’s execution. Insight. Discipline.”

A pause.

“Three things you’ve yet to properly test outside of a training field.”

He didn’t say it to wound. He said it to warn.

Because this world—the world of capital and consequence—didn’t care how much weight one lost or how fierce one’s gaze had become. This battlefield bled with quieter knives.

Still, Damien nodded.

Once. Firmly.

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know much.”

Dominic arched a brow.

Damien continued.

“I haven’t been taught the foundations. I haven’t read the ledgers or studied the cycles. And yes—up until recently, I didn’t even care to understand it.”

He exhaled softly.

“But that’s over now.”

Adeline let out a sharp breath—a scoff half-laced with disbelief.

“Oh please,” she muttered. “You act like every time you say something with confidence, the universe will rearrange itself for you.”

Damien turned to her, his expression unreadable for a moment.

Then—

His smile returned.

But this time, it was colder.

Measured.

And deliberate.

“You like wagers, don’t you?” he said.

Adeline blinked. “What?”

He stepped forward once, not menacing—just enough to let his presence settle again between them.

“You think I’m bluffing. So let’s make it interesting.”

He looked to Dominic.

“Let this be a bet.”

Then back to Adeline.

“I’ll start my own business. From nothing. And if, within one year, it surpasses the valuation of any single independent venture you own…” He let the weight of that hang in the room. “You’ll acknowledge it.”

Adeline’s eyes narrowed. “And if you fail?”

“I’ll step away,” Damien said. “From business. From stake. From any talk of influence within the family.”

Dominic’s brows drew together. “That’s a steep risk.”

“I know,” Damien replied calmly. “But father, you must know me at this point.”

Dominic exhaled through his nose, slow and quiet.

This… wasn’t how he intended the night to go.

He had called Damien here to introduce him to the board, not throw him into open fire. He wanted to begin integration—slow, methodical, manageable. But now?

Now both of his children were standing in front of him with teeth bared and pride sharpened like daggers.

Again.

He studied them both in silence.

Adeline, standing with her arms folded, a blade in her gaze, her poise a fortress built out of wins and expectation.

Damien, relaxed in posture but taut in resolve—bearing down on this challenge not with calculation, but conviction.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed faintly.

‘She’s becoming more like me,’ he thought. ‘Commanding. Measured. Strategic. Every word weighed. Every move purposeful. She’s learned the market well… and she’s starting to believe the market owes her everything she takes from it.’

Then his gaze shifted to Damien.

‘And him… he has Vivienne’s defiance. Her impossible sense of timing. Her hunger to carve a path, not follow one. No formal training, no natural leverage—and yet he still wagers like the odds don’t matter.’

His jaw tightened.

‘Just like her.’

He remembered the first time he met Vivienne.

Back then, she’d stood in the bidding chamber of the Aurelian Concord—no allies, no promises, just a scroll of data in one hand and a dagger tucked under her sleeve. She had raised her voice against three provincial lords, exposed their corruption, and walked out with two contracts and one enemy for life.

He hadn’t known it then, but he saw it now, more clearly than ever.

‘She risked everything to prove a point. Not for power. Not for show. Just so no one could define her.’

And now here was Damien, repeating history with different stakes.

Putting everything on the line not to defeat Adeline… but to define himself.

Dominic sighed.

“…You really are your mother’s son,” he muttered.

Adeline blinked. “What?”

Dominic waved a hand dismissively, standing straighter.

Dominic exhaled slowly and straightened, brushing a crease from the front of his coat with the practiced grace of a man long used to recalibrating chaos.

“This is enough,” he said firmly. “If you both insist on a wager, then it will be one made with structure.”

His tone shifted—measured, formal now. The way he spoke when contracts were drawn and empires reoriented.

“We do things thoroughly in this house. No vague boasts. No impulsive leaps. If this is to be a test of capability…” He glanced at Damien. “Then it will be treated like any other venture proposal.”

He tapped the interface on his desk. The projection blinked, recalibrated. A new screen opened—one marked in gold ledger lines and timestamped tracking modules.

“You’ll be given a founding capital,” Dominic said, voice crisp. “One hundred million”—he paused—”Draxen.”

Damien’s brows lifted slightly. Draxen was the principal trading currency used within the upper houses of the Azaria Dominion—a hard-backed currency stabilized by mana-reserve bonds and Guild-certified credibility. Not a symbolic amount. Not a gift. A real number with real weight.

“You’ll receive it under a sealed House-neutral contract,” Dominic continued. “No access to Elford-aligned consultants. No backend support. No inherited infrastructure. All transactions will be monitored by a third-party overseer.”

Adeline arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued despite herself.

“Fair,” Damien said simply.

Dominic looked up. “Now tell me—what are you going to turn that into?”

Damien didn’t blink.

His voice was calm. Clear.

“One billion.”

Adeline scoffed.

Dominic just watched.

Damien’s smile was slight—but it reached his eyes this time.

“In one year,” he added. “That’s my goal.”

Silence stretched for a heartbeat too long.

Adeline stared.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed slightly.

‘Bold,’ he thought.

‘Impossible,’ his instincts whispered.

But then again—

So was Damien’s return.

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