Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 11: Club

The words hit harder than the slap.

"You disappointment."

It wasn't just an insult. It wasn't just anger.

It was final.

And the moment she said it, the body I was trapped in shook.

I felt it—the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides, the way his entire frame tensed as if his body itself had recoiled from the weight of her words.

The pain from the slap crept in, a slow-burning sting spreading across his cheek. It wasn't unbearable—not physically. But something else, something deeper, was twisting inside him now.

A sickening coil of emotions, tightening, constricting.

Fear.

Doubt.

Despair.

It crawled into his veins, through his chest, wrapping around his lungs, making each breath feel heavier.

"W-what?"

His voice cracked.

Pathetic. Weak.

"What do you mean?"

His head turned back toward her, desperation leaking into his eyes. He was searching—begging—for an answer, for something, anything, that would explain this.

But Celia?

She didn't move.

Didn't soften.

Didn't speak.

She just glared.

Those emerald-green eyes, sharp as blades, locked onto him with a look that carved deeper than any words could.

There was no warmth. No hesitation. No trace of the girl he was hoping to see.

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Only judgment.

And that silence—her refusal to answer—was worse than anything she could have said.

I could feel it in him.

The panic, the confusion, the slow, gnawing realization that something was very, very wrong.

And somehow, I already knew.

Celia sighed. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough.

Enough for the weight of it to sink in.

Enough to make the idiot I was trapped inside feel it.

Her expression didn't change, but something about her presence did. It was colder now. Sharper. The kind of quiet disappointment that carved deeper than any anger ever could.

She didn't need to raise her voice. She didn't need to scream at him, to break into hysterics, to throw drinks in his face like some melodramatic romance drama.

She just stood there.

And judged him.

She had thought he would change.

She had hoped he would become better.

But he didn't.

And somehow, that was worse than anything else.

The tension in the air was suffocating, pressing down on him like a weight he wasn't strong enough to lift. I could feel his emotions swirling in his chest—panic, confusion, desperate scrambling to piece this together.

But he didn't get it.

Not yet.

And then—

"C'mon, Celia, relax."

Kaine.

The idiot to the side.

His voice was easy, casual, the kind of fake chill you'd expect from someone who had never taken anything seriously in his entire fucking life. He was grinning, swirling his drink in one hand as if this entire situation was just an inconvenience, something that could be brushed off like spilled beer on the floor.

"We were just having fun."

I felt a flicker of anger—not my own, but hers.

Celia's head turned, her piercing emerald eyes locking onto Kaine.

And in that moment, I swear I felt the temperature drop.

"Who said you are allowed to talk?"

Her words were smooth. Perfectly delivered. But the weight behind them was devastating.

Kaine's smirk twitched—just for a fraction of a second—before it crumbled completely.

His lips pressed shut. His throat bobbed. His entire body seemed to shrink under that gaze, his confidence evaporating like alcohol under open flames.

He had been cut down in an instant.

I almost fucking laughed.

But the one I was trapped in?

He didn't laugh.

He was too busy trying to fix this.

He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting between Celia and the glass still in his hand.

I felt it—his desperation, his scrambling, his need to control the situation.

He genuinely didn't understand.

"Celia, it's not what it looks like."

His voice was hesitant, pleading. He was searching for the right words, anything to make this moment disappear. To smooth things over.

And yet—

I could feel it.

The sheer depth of his confusion.

As if he truly didn't comprehend why this was happening.

'You bastard... You have a fiancée, yet you dare to come to a place like this! And you don't even know what's wrong with that?!'

The thought burned through me, my own frustration mixing with Celia's.

And by the look in her eyes, I knew she was thinking the exact same thing.

She had expected better.

She had trusted him to be better.

And yet, here he was.

Sitting in a club, drink in hand, a woman draped over his lap just moments ago—completely unaware of why that was a problem.

And that was the stupidest part of all.

The fool still didn't get it.

I felt his thoughts racing, his mind scrambling for a way out, searching for the right words like this was just another minor inconvenience—something he could fix.

Like a dumb, arrogant young master in some cheap drama, convinced that problems could be solved with a few empty promises and an expensive gift.

And sure enough—

"Celia, come on."

His voice was soft now, coaxing, oozing the same pitiful charm as a man trying to soothe a woman who he thought was simply overreacting.

"It's harmless. It doesn't matter at all."

I clenched my nonexistent jaw.

Fucking moron.

He actually believed this.

His hand reached out toward her, just slightly, hesitant but expectant—because he was sure she would listen.

"You know you're the only one in my heart, right? You know that, Celia."

Her expression didn't change.

But I felt it.

That deep, brewing disgust rolling off her in waves, sinking into the space between them.

He was too caught up in his own delusions to notice it.

"Look, if this is about making it up to you, I'll get you something nice."

His voice lifted slightly, like he was proud of this idea.

"A necklace? A bracelet? You liked that limited edition watch, didn't you? I can have it delivered to you tomorrow."

He smiled.

A fucking smile.

Like he had just won. Like that was all it took to make her happy again.

Celia's eyes narrowed.

And for the first time—

She moved.

One step.

Then another.

Closing the distance between them.

I felt the fool's tension ease, like he thought she was finally relenting.

Like he had solved it.

And then—

SLAP!

The second hit cracked through the air.

His head jerked to the side, harder this time, the sting biting deeper. His breath caught in his throat, shock freezing him in place.

This time, I felt it.

The shift.

A sliver of something he hadn't felt before.

Fear.

But Celia didn't wait for him to process it.

She turned.

And without another word—

She walked away.

The coldness of her departure was absolute, like a winter wind that cut to the bone.

But it wasn't the slap that left him shaking.

It wasn't the public humiliation, the stares from those around him, the music that now felt distant, irrelevant.

It was her gaze.

That final glance over her shoulder.

The way her emerald eyes locked onto him for a single, excruciating moment—

Not with sadness.

Not with anger.

But with disgust.

And then—

[System Notification: Connection Complete.]