Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 105: Plan

The grand entrance of Vermillion Private School loomed before Celia Everwyn, its towering iron gates standing open, welcoming students into its pristine halls. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass from the academy's expansive gardens. The morning sun cast golden streaks along the marble pathways, illuminating the elite as they made their way inside—heirs and heiresses, future rulers of industries, politics, and power.

And yet, as Celia stepped through the gates, a different tension filled the air.

The hushed murmurs. The stolen glances. The subtle way conversations halted as she passed by.

They were watching her.

Of course, they were.

Not because of admiration.

But because Damien Elford had humiliated her.

Her emerald-green eyes remained impassive, gliding over the students as if their whispers didn't exist. As if their petty thoughts were beneath her. She walked with the same unwavering grace she always had, her sapphire-blue hair cascading down her back in perfect waves, her uniform flawless as ever.

If they thought yesterday's events had shaken her—they were wrong.

She would not allow a single crack in her image.

And then—

"Celia!"

A familiar voice rang out from the side.

She turned her head just slightly, her gaze flickering toward the trio of girls waiting for her near the grand courtyard fountain.

Victoria Langley. Cassandra Merlot. Lillian Duvall.

Her closest allies. Her entourage.

Victoria's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as Celia approached, though there was something just a little too eager in her expression. Cassandra, as always, maintained her poise, her red lips curling into a subtle smile. Lillian adjusted her ribbon, her delicate fingers working at the silky strands before looking up with mild curiosity.

"You're late today," Victoria noted, tilting her head.

Celia simply offered a soft, unreadable smile. "There was traffic."

A flimsy excuse, but none of them pressed further. None of them would dare ask about the real reason—her father's scathing words from the night before, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on her like an iron brand. But Celia? She would never show it.

Instead, she moved gracefully beside them, seamlessly slipping into their conversation as if nothing was amiss.

"I tried the new shade from House Levasseur's collection," Victoria mused, turning her cheek slightly so the morning light caught the soft coral-pink tint. "What do you think?"

"It suits you," Cassandra said approvingly, adjusting her bracelet. "It complements your hair."

Celia gave a small nod of agreement. "A good choice."

Lillian hummed, studying her own nails. "I was thinking of switching brands soon. Levasseur is good, but the consistency of their gloss is lacking."

"I have a few new imports from overseas," Celia offered, her voice effortlessly smooth. "I'll send them to you later."

As the group continued toward the main building, the lively hum of conversation surrounded them. Though Celia remained composed, she could feel the weight of eyes on them—admiring, longing, eager.

It was nothing new.

Every step they took, students subtly moved aside, parting like the sea, whether out of respect or sheer intimidation. The daughters of nobility, the academy's social elite—Celia and her entourage carried an unspoken authority that no one dared to challenge.

Near the staircase leading up to the classrooms, a small gathering of male students stood waiting.

"Good morning, Celia," one of them greeted, his voice polite but laced with nervous excitement. In his hands, he held an elegant paper cup. "I brought coffee from the new café in town. I thought you might enjoy it."

Celia barely paused, her eyes flicking to the offering before shifting back to the young man's hopeful expression. Without hesitation, she took the cup, her fingers brushing his just briefly.

"How thoughtful," she said smoothly, though her voice carried only polite detachment. "Thank you."

The boy's face lit up, though he barely had time to respond before another stepped forward.

"Victoria, I managed to acquire the newest shade from House Levasseur." He held out a small, beautifully wrapped package, his hands slightly trembling. "I remember you mentioned wanting to try it."

Victoria's lips curled into a pleased smile as she accepted the gift. "You're quite attentive," she remarked, tucking the package neatly into her bag.

Lillian and Cassandra received similar gestures—boxes of imported chocolates, delicate perfumes, neatly handwritten letters of admiration. The boys, some nobility and others simply ambitious social climbers, surrounded them, eager to be noticed, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Celia remained unaffected, her steps unhurried as they moved through the crowd. A few of the braver ones attempted conversation, offering compliments, trying to find an opening in the unshakable wall of refinement the girls maintained.

But Celia knew the game well.

They all did.

This was not affection.

This was worship.

And just like every other morning, they accepted it with quiet amusement before stepping past it entirely.

The moment they reached the upper floor, the crowd began to thin.

The gifts had been given. The words had been spoken.

Now, the admirers could only watch as Celia Everwyn and her entourage disappeared into Class 4-A—untouchable as ever.

And then when Celia and her entourage stepped into Class 4-A, the energy in the room shifted instantly. Conversations picked up, a familiar rhythm settling among the students as they flocked toward the girls.

"Celia, did you see the latest announcement? Professor Laurent hinted that today's quiz might focus on applied theory rather than just formulas."

"I hope so," Cassandra remarked, adjusting the diamond clasp on her bracelet. "Memorization is far too tedious. It would be nice if they actually tested us on something that requires intellect rather than repetition."

Victoria scoffed. "It doesn't really matter either way. If you've studied properly, you'll be fine."

A few students nearby exchanged glances, some nodding in agreement, others clearly less confident about the upcoming quiz.

"Some of us have other priorities," one boy muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

Lillian, overhearing, gave a knowing smile. "Procrastinating until the last moment, are we?"

The boy chuckled nervously. "Well, some of us can't rely on sheer genius like you four."

Laughter rippled through the classroom, the tension of the quiz lightened by the playful banter.

Seated toward the center, a girl with neatly pinned auburn hair leaned over to Celia. "Are you worried about today's quiz?" she asked.

Celia tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering in her emerald eyes. "Not at all," she said smoothly. "Though, I am curious to see how difficult they plan to make it."

The air was relaxed, the usual hum of academic chatter mixed with idle gossip about weekend plans, a recent charity gala, and the latest high-end fashion trends. The presence of Celia and her circle had an almost magnetic effect—drawing people in, setting the tone of the room without needing to assert control.

Then—

The door creaked open.

And just like that, the entire classroom fell silent.

Damien Elford stepped inside.

His movements were unhurried, his posture completely at ease as if he hadn't just walked into a room filled with people whose eyes were now locked onto him. Unlike before, there was no slouch in his stance, no air of aimless arrogance or drunken indifference.

Just quiet, steady confidence.

The difference was impossible to ignore.

Some students exchanged brief glances, confusion flickering in their expressions. Others quickly turned back to their desks, suddenly interested in their notes.

And yet, Damien remained entirely unfazed.

His sharp blue eyes flicked across the room, not with hesitation, not with discomfort—but with the detached amusement of someone watching pieces of a game board shift in real time.

Without a word, he strode toward his seat.

And only when he lowered himself into it did the tension in the room break.

A few whispered conversations sparked back up, though noticeably quieter than before. It was clear—no one quite knew how to react to him yet.

And then—

"Everyone, take your seats."

Isabelle Moreau entered just behind Damien, her crisp, composed voice cutting through the last remnants of hushed murmurs. Unlike him, she commanded attention not by presence alone, but by sheer authority.

Celia's emerald gaze sharpened the moment Damien settled into his seat.

Her expression remained unreadable, her posture as poised as ever, but beneath the surface, irritation simmered.

The way he walked in—completely unbothered, completely unaffected by the weight of their scrutiny—was infuriating.

How dare he?

After everything?

Victoria, seated just beside her, let out a quiet scoff, her sharp blue eyes narrowing in distaste. "He really thinks he's something now, doesn't he?" she muttered, voice laced with quiet venom.

Victoria then exhaled slowly, forcing herself to maintain her usual elegance. Then, just as smoothly, she smiled.

Not a real smile.

Something sharper.

Something that held secrets.

She leaned in slightly, her voice low as she whispered, "Don't worry."

Lillian and Cassandra, sensing the shift in tone, instinctively leaned in as well.

"I have a plan," Victoria continued, her words smooth as silk.

Updated from freewёbnoνel.com.

A flicker of interest passed through Victoria's expression. "Oh?"

"By the end of today, Damien Elford will regret ever thinking he could act as if he belongs here."