Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 12: In control

[System Notification: Connection Complete.]

The robotic voice thundered through my skull.

And then—

Everything crashed into me at once.

A tidal wave of sensation, suffocating, overwhelming, real.

The dull ache from the slap flared into a sharp sting, heat radiating from his—no, my—cheek. My chest felt tight, my breath unsteady, my pulse pounding as if my heart had been forced into overdrive. Every muscle in my body tensed, rigid, as if I had been dunked into ice-cold water.

And then—

The nausea.

A deep, gut-wrenching, stomach-twisting sickness surged through me, like my entire existence had just been ripped apart and forced back together in an instant.

I lurched, body swaying, vision spinning, colors bleeding together like a distorted mess.

Too much.

Too real.

This wasn't like before—when I was just a passenger, a witness trapped in someone else's skin.

This was different.

I wasn't just feeling him anymore.

A jolt ran through me.

Like a live wire had been shoved straight into my spine.

My fingers twitched, then clenched. My knees locked, my muscles tensed, and for the first time, I realized—

I could move.

The body wasn't resisting me anymore.

It wasn't dragging me along for the ride, forcing me to witness everything like some helpless ghost.

No.

I had control.

That realization sent a chill through me—one that barely had time to settle before another notification flared in my mind.

[System Notification: Initialization Start.]

The robotic voice echoed again, but I barely registered it.

I couldn't care.

Not now.

Because my head was still a fucking mess.

The sheer weight of my own body pressed down on me in ways I hadn't felt in a long time.

My legs—my own goddamn legs—felt foreign, stiff, awkward, like they weren't built for me. Which, in a way, they weren't.

It had been so long since I had moved freely. Since I had stood on my own two feet.

And my body—this stolen, unfamiliar body—was making sure I felt every second of it.

My knees buckled.

My stomach twisted.

And before I could even brace myself—

I collapsed.

THUD!

A sharp pain shot through my hands as I hit the ground, the impact rattling through my bones. The world tilted, spinning violently, my vision a blurred mess of neon lights and moving bodies.

"Damien! Are you okay?!"

A voice.

Kaine.

The useless sack of shit was already crouching beside me, one hand reaching out to help.

But the moment I saw it—his filthy fucking hand coming closer—something inside me snapped.

With a sharp motion, I smacked his hand away.

Hard.

SMACK!

Kaine flinched, pulling back like a startled dog.

The fucker had the audacity to touch me?

Me?!

"Don't fucking touch me."

The words came out sharp, venomous. My own voice startled me—rough, stronger than before, carrying a weight that even I wasn't expecting.

Kaine blinked, his mouth opening slightly, but no words came out.

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Good.

I pushed myself up, legs shaking, my balance still off. My whole body felt like a lead weight, muscles sluggish, refusing to obey properly.

I needed to get my shit together. Fast.

"Bathroom. Where was it?"

Kaine blinked again, clearly thrown off by my tone. "What? Didn't you just go—"

"Fuck! Just answer the damn question!"

I didn't have the patience for this.

My voice snapped, sharp and demanding, and I saw the immediate effect it had on him.

Kaine stiffened.

Kaine was flustered.

I could see it in his eyes—the hesitation, the slight flicker of confusion as he tried to process what had just happened. Just moments ago, I had been someone else, someone he could joke with, someone predictable. Now, I was barking orders, swatting his hand away like he was beneath me.

Good.

But that didn't matter right now.

His mouth opened, then closed, his brain clearly working overtime to catch up. Still, despite his bewilderment, his instinct to comply kicked in. He hesitated only a second before pointing toward the far end of the club.

"Uh... it's down the hallway, past the VIP section. You know that."

That last part. A small, uncertain reminder, as if he was testing me, checking to see if I was still me.

I didn't acknowledge it. I had no time for that.

I turned and moved.

Or at least, I tried to.

The moment I took my first step, I felt it again—the wrongness of this body.

Everything was stiff. My limbs felt sluggish, unresponsive, like I was wading through knee-deep water. My movements lacked precision, the kind of instinctive control I was used to. My balance wavered, and I had to catch myself before I stumbled again.

It wasn't just the unfamiliarity of the body itself—it was something else.

The connection.

It still wasn't stable.

I could feel it, flickering like a weak signal on an old radio, the edges of my senses warping, twisting slightly, like I was only half synced to reality. My heartbeat wasn't entirely my own. My breathing felt off—sometimes deep and strong, sometimes light and shallow, as if the body was struggling to decide which rhythm to follow.

Fucking hell.

But I pushed forward.

One step. Then another. My legs protested, my muscles straining as if they hadn't been used properly in years. Every movement felt too much—the weight of my arms, the shifting of my torso, even the simple act of adjusting my posture took conscious effort.

This was ridiculous.

Back in my old body, I wouldn't have even thought about walking. It was automatic, effortless. Now, I had to fight for every goddamn step.

But I kept going.

The hallway stretched ahead, dimly lit, lined with black walls and neon blue underglow. The heavy bass from the club vibrated through the floor, a constant thud-thud-thud beneath my feet. The air smelled thick—alcohol, sweat, perfume, the remnants of too many people packed together in a confined space.

I forced myself forward.

Step.

After.

Step.

By the time I reached the bathroom door, I could feel the sweat forming on my brow, my breathing heavier than it should have been. This body was exhausting to move in, uncooperative, sluggish in ways that made my frustration bubble beneath the surface.

I didn't hesitate.

I shoved the door open and stepped inside.

The moment I stepped inside, my stomach twisted.

A violent, sickening churn that shot up my throat without warning.

I barely had time to stagger forward—barely had time to brace myself against the sink—before it all came up.

"Guh—!"

Right now, I just needed a fucking second to breathe.

---------A/N----------

Please don't forget that he was just a sick person on a deathbed just recently, hence, it has been a while since he felt his legs or his body completely.