Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 199: Classic

Damien watched her.

Head still resting in his palm, eyes half-lidded but sharp beneath the lazy curtain of lashes, he took in every flick of her fingers, every narrowing of her eyes as she combed through his score report like it had betrayed the world order.

And then—

That smirk.

Subtle. Slow. Curving at the corner of his mouth like a knife being drawn from a velvet sheath.

'Just as expected,' he thought, gaze fixed on the class rep's furrowed brow.

'So serious. So rattled. This is why you were worth the trouble.'

Watching her unravel piece by piece—not because he failed, but because he didn't—was almost better than the rank itself.

Almost.

He leaned back in his seat slightly, a low hum of satisfaction pressing into his chest. He didn't need her to say anything. Her silence was more honest than words.

She wasn't annoyed that he'd made it.

She was annoyed that she hadn't seen it coming.

Out of the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention.

Madeline.

She had crept closer—quiet, cautious, hovering just behind Isabelle's shoulder now like a curious shadow. Her gaze flicked from Isabelle's hands to Damien's face, suspicion and surprise battling in her expression.

She looked like someone trying to read two books at once and failing at both.

'Ah,' Damien mused, 'the loyal friend arrives.'

Madeline's eyes dropped to the packet in Isabelle's grip.

She blinked.

And then, slowly—visibly—her mouth parted.

Not in disbelief.

In realization.

She saw it too.

Damien gave her a polite nod.

Nothing more.

No words. Just that faint tilt of his head that said: Yes, it's real. And yes, I'm enjoying this.

Across the room, more glances had begun to turn their way. Murmured speculation. The shift of students elbowing each other quietly. A few had noticed Isabelle standing at Damien's desk far longer than she ever lingered anywhere outside of formal discussion.

They didn't know what was on the paper.

But they knew what it meant when the class rep looked stunned.

Damien finally spoke again, voice low enough for only the two girls to hear.

"Surprised, Madeline?" he asked, without looking at her. His eyes were still on Isabelle.

Madeline blinked again, caught off guard. "You… you actually got twenty-three?"

"I did," he said, tone smooth. "It's in her hands, after all. Would you like to see it too?"

Damien watched the disbelief settle over Madeline's face like a shadow shifting with the light. She looked down at the sealed packet in Isabelle's grip, then back to him, as if trying to confirm that it wasn't some prank—some kind of elaborate, slow-burn joke he'd planted just to mess with the class rep.

He didn't grin.

He didn't even smile.

He just spoke—casually, like commenting on the weather.

"She just checked it with her own eyes," he said. "I didn't say anything."

Madeline's expression faltered. A flicker of color crept into her cheeks.

"I… I guess that's true," she muttered, half to herself. Her hand moved forward almost on instinct, fingers brushing Isabelle's wrist as she gently tugged the report from her friend's hand.

Isabelle didn't resist. She let it go, still too locked in place to protest.

Madeline flipped it open again, scanning quickly now, like she couldn't trust her memory.

And there it was.

Rank: 23.

Confirmed.

No tricks. No errors. No missing decimal.

"Holy crap," she breathed.

Damien tilted his head slightly, watching her. Then, slowly, his gaze returned to Isabelle.

She was still staring at him.

Not in disgust.

Not even in skepticism.

Just… stunned.

And beneath it?

A hint of something else.

Damien's voice dipped low again, almost teasing, but quieter now—meant for her alone.

"You really didn't think I would do it," he said.

A statement more than a question.

She said nothing.

Didn't nod. Didn't deny it.

She just kept looking at him like she was recalibrating a machine she thought she'd already understood.

'You didn't,' Damien thought, smirking faintly.

'You thought I was bluffing. That I was all talk. That this was another mess you'd have to clean up or ignore. But here we are.'

And then—

DING.

A familiar tone echoed in his mind, subtle and crisp, like a bell tucked beneath thought.

—----------------------------------

[Quest: Win the Bet]

You have started another bet with someone. And as a scoundrel, you should never lose your pride.

Objective: Place in the top twenty-five of the upcoming exams.

Reward: +250 SP

Failure Penalty: -50 SP, Loss of Isabelle's Study Partner Condition

—----------------------------------

And just beneath it—

Status: Quest Completed.

Damien blinked once, the corners of his mouth twitching.

'Of course.'

Even the system recognized the moment.

This wasn't just about proving himself anymore.

It was about pride.

About keeping the promise he made with the kind of grin only madmen or idiots wore.

And he wasn't about to let the world mistake him for the latter.

Isabelle finally moved.

Her fingers brushed back into alignment the packet Madeline had left slightly skewed. Then she looked at him—steady now, composed again, but the surprise still flickering faintly behind her eyes.

"You really did it," she said softly.

Damien met her gaze, gave a slight nod. "I did."

No fanfare. No flourish.

Just fact.

Isabelle lingered for a heartbeat longer, eyes narrowing slightly—not in suspicion, but thought. Then she turned.

"I'll talk to you later," she said.

It wasn't a dismissal.

It was a promise.

He watched her retreat to her desk, watched her sit with mechanical precision, already flipping through her own packet again like she needed something else to ground herself.

Damien leaned back once more, satisfied, the weight of his body sinking easily into the chair.

And then he felt it.

Eyes.

Not hers.

Theirs.

He glanced to the side.

There—two desks across the room, two gazes locked on him like wires pulled too tight.

One: blonde, emerald-eyed, posture a little too stiff, as if the act of being surprised had frozen her in place.

Victoria.

The other: blue-haired, green-eyed, silent as stone, face unreadable but unmistakably focused.

Celia.

'Heh.'

The corner of Damien's mouth curled again, that crooked, slow burn of a smile that never reached his eyes.

They didn't speak.

They didn't need to.

Because they were watching. Processing.

Judging.

And that was enough. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

'What are your thoughts now, dear Celia…' he mused, gaze meeting hers for just a second longer than necessary.

'Your ghost. Your disgrace. The one that discarded you. What happens when the thing you planned to cast out after using, now grew his teeth?'

He didn't glare.

Didn't smirk.

Just looked.

Since he had always wondered about this while playing the game.

And now that he was living the scenario itself, how could he not be curious?

******

The exam haze hadn't lifted entirely by the time they made it out to the gym field, but the tension had started to melt. One test. No more classes. And an unspoken agreement hanging in the air: they needed to move. Burn it out. Shake it off.

P.E. was the only thing left on the schedule, and even the instructor looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Alright," the man called out, adjusting the sweatband on his wrist with a yawn. "Same deal as last time. Boys—lower field. Football, track, fight club—I don't care. Girls—volleyball rotation or light circuit. Figure it out."

He gestured vaguely at both halves of the grounds, then wandered toward the benches with all the urgency of a dying turtle.

A chorus of cheers, groans, and clapping followed. Some students instantly broke into jogs, others drifted toward the sidelines, dragging their feet and stretching lazily. The sound of rubber soles and cleats echoed across the turf, conversations springing up in every direction.

Damien moved slower.

Not because he was tired.

Because he wasn't.

His mind was sharp, his body humming with leftover adrenaline from the morning's exam. He still hadn't even felt the drain yet. Not fully. And he didn't want to sit with the feeling.

Aaron trotted past him, already bouncing a ball between his feet. "Oho, look who decided to grace the field again," he grinned, pushing his hair back with a sweatband. "Got energy left, Mister Twenty-Three?"

The boys were at it again..