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

The tension between the two siblings crackled in the air, though neither of them raised their voices nor broke composure. It was a quiet battle of presence, of subtle digs wrapped in polite civility. But before Adeline could get in another word, Vivienne sighed dramatically.

"Now, now," she interjected, her voice warm yet firm, cutting through the air like silk-wrapped steel. "Let's not turn breakfast into a battlefield, shall we?"

She reached for her teacup, taking a slow sip before setting it down with practiced grace. Then, with a smile that was both gentle and absolute, she continued, "Besides, this might be the last meal we have together for a while."

A beat of silence.

Damien didn't react. He already knew where this was going.

But Adeline—

Her brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise flashing across her otherwise controlled features. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice cool, but demanding.

Vivienne exhaled, brushing a golden strand of hair over her shoulder. "Damien will be moving to Blackthorne Villa starting today."

Adeline froze.

For the first time, her control cracked.

"What?"

She wasn't loud. She wasn't angry. But there was a sharp edge in her voice that hadn't been there before.

Damien smirked. Oh? Wasn't expecting that reaction.

Adeline leaned forward slightly, her piercing blue gaze flickering between their mother and father, searching for confirmation. "He's moving into Blackthorne?"

Dominic, who had remained silent, gave a slow nod. "Yes. That has been decided."

Adeline's lips parted slightly before she caught herself, quickly smoothing her expression into something more neutral. But Damien saw it.

Something about this news bothered her.

"Why?" she asked, but her voice had dropped to something quieter, more calculating.

Vivienne hummed, stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea.

Vivienne hummed, stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea before answering.

"Because," she said lightly, "your brother requested it."

Adeline's brows knit together, her sharp gaze flicking toward Damien. "And why, exactly, would you request that?"

Damien merely smirked but didn't speak. He wanted to see how his mother would answer.

Vivienne exhaled softly, setting her spoon down before clasping her hands together in a graceful, deliberate motion.

"He told me yesterday," she began, "that he wanted a change."

Adeline's expression barely shifted, but Damien noticed the subtle tightening of her jaw.

Vivienne continued, "He wants to learn how to live on his own. To break away from his… past habits." Her eyes drifted to Damien for a brief moment, as if recalling their conversation. "And I think that's a very mature decision, don't you?"

Adeline's fingers tapped once against the table. A slow, calculated movement.

Then she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her expression unreadable.

"So that's the reason," she murmured.

Interesting.

She wasn't just surprised—she was bothered.

Had she wanted the villa?

Had she planned to use it at some point?

Damien had always known that Blackthorne Villa was one of the prime properties within the family's holdings. It wasn't the grandest, but it was secluded, luxurious, and ideal for someone who valued privacy.

And Adeline?

She was someone who planned ahead.

Even if she had never outright claimed interest, the fact that she was reacting this way now meant something.

His smirk widened.

Oh, sister.

Are you feeling territorial?

Adeline's fingers drummed once more against the polished surface of the table. Slow. Measured.

Damien could see it now—the wheels turning in her mind, the careful calculation behind her seemingly composed exterior. She wanted to object. He could feel it, the tension in the air as she weighed the words before they could leave her lips.

But she didn't speak.

Because she couldn't.

Not without exposing herself.

If she protested now—if she suddenly requested Blackthorne Villa—what would that look like?

A last-minute demand. A transparent attempt to take something back rather than claim it as her own from the start.

And Adeline Elford did not make rash demands.

She planned. She positioned. She executed.

Throwing a fit over something as trivial as a residence? That would make her look childish. Impulsive. Unworthy of the discipline and control she prided herself on.

No.

She couldn't do that.

So instead—

Adeline exhaled softly, tilting her head as if she had already dismissed the matter. "I see," she murmured, her voice as smooth as ever. "If that is the decision, then so be it."

A perfect, emotionless acceptance.

But Damien saw past it.

She was seething.

Damien let the silence hang between them for a moment, savoring the tension. He could almost hear the restrained fury in the measured rhythm of Adeline's fingertips against the table—each tap a quiet, frustrated concession.

Oh, this was delicious.

She hated this. Hated losing. Hated being caught off guard.

And more than anything—hated him for being the one to do it.

So, of course, he couldn't just leave it alone.

Leaning back in his chair, he let out a soft chuckle, his smirk widening as he turned his golden gaze toward her. "You're taking this rather well, dear sister," he mused, his voice thick with mockery. "I expected at least some protest. Maybe a dramatic sigh, a cold glare—something to remind me of my rightful place beneath you."

Adeline's fingers stilled against the table.

Ah.

Hit a nerve, did I?

She turned her gaze toward him, her expression perfectly composed, but he knew what to look for. The slight tightening at the corner of her lips, the way her grip on her handbag flexed just enough to betray the tension in her hands.

"Why would I protest?" she said coolly, tilting her head ever so slightly. "The decision has already been made. Wasting my breath on something so insignificant would be beneath me."

Damien's smirk only widened. Oh, she was holding it in—barely—but he could feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

And he?

He wasn't feeling generous enough to let it go.

He exhaled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "That's funny," he mused, resting his chin against his palm. "Because yesterday—and every damn day before that—you seemed to love throwing tantrums."

Adeline's fingers curled around the handle of her teacup.

Bingo.

Her icy gaze snapped toward him, sharper now, her voice cool but edged with irritation. "And you—" she exhaled sharply through her nose, "—are the one who throws tantrums, Damien. Acting like a child, flailing around just because you finally got a shred of attention."

Damien let out a short, amused laugh. "See?" He gestured toward her, golden eyes gleaming with mockery. "You really can't handle even a little bit of criticism, can you?"

And that—

That did it.

The muscle in Adeline's neck twitched.

Her fingers, still gripping her teacup, tightened just a fraction too much. A sudden shift in the air followed—a slight distortion, barely perceptible, but Damien felt it.

A flicker of mana.

Raw. Uncontrolled.

The fine porcelain in her grasp let out a faint creak under the pressure.

Ah.

Damien's grin stretched wider. Oh, now this is interesting.

But before she could do anything—

"Enough."

Dominic's voice was calm, smooth—but it cut through the air like a blade.

A subtle shift followed. An unspoken authority settled over the room, pressing down with the sheer weight of his presence.

Adeline froze.

Damien saw it—the briefest flicker of restraint returning to her gaze, the moment she realized she had let herself slip.

A beat of silence passed, and then—

"Adeline," Vivienne's voice followed, softer than Dominic's, but carrying an unmistakable warning. "That's quite enough."

Vivienne exhaled softly, setting her teacup down with a delicate clink. The warmth in her eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by quiet exasperation as she turned her gaze toward Damien.

"Apologize to your sister," she said. Not a harsh command—more of a firm expectation, as if this was simply the natural order of things.

Damien, still lounging lazily in his chair, tilted his head ever so slightly. His smirk never wavered. "I don't apologize."

Vivienne closed her eyes briefly, as if gathering patience. Then, slower this time, "Apologize."

"I won't."

A beat of silence.

Then—

Sigh.

Vivienne shook her head, not with anger, not even with disappointment—just that quiet, resigned acceptance.

She was used to this.

To him.

To the way he defied without raising his voice, the way he turned even the simplest exchange into a battle of wills.

Adeline, for her part, had schooled her expression back into perfect control, but Damien knew exactly what was happening beneath the surface. That little display of mana earlier? That twitch in her neck? That had been real. Raw.

And he had made her do it.

To be frank, Damien knew he was acting like an asshole.

No need to sugarcoat it.

He was intentionally pressing buttons, deliberately prodding at the cracks in her composure. Because why shouldn't he?

This woman—his oh-so-perfect sister—wouldn't hesitate to do the exact same thing to him in the future.

In another world, in another timeline, she had done it.

So why should he be the one to play fair?

Fairness was an illusion. A luxury for those naive enough to believe in it.

The world didn't care about fairness.

So why should he?

Damien leaned back, watching as Adeline pulled herself together with practiced grace. The tension in her shoulders, the way she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve as if brushing the exchange off her skin—oh, he saw it.

She wouldn't forget this.

She wouldn't let herself forget this.

And that?

That was exactly what he wanted.