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

Chapter 271: All on me

Isabelle stared at the three of them, her fingers still lightly resting on her now-closed bento box.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t smile.

But her brain was working.

‘Cafeteria food. That means spending. At least fifteen credits for anything edible. Double that if Madeleine insists on the bakery line. And then the drinks—’

She blinked once, eyes narrowing slightly.

‘Unnecessary expenditure. Unscheduled time loss. Shift in caloric intake.’

But she also knew—refusing now would land poorly. Madeleine was already too determined. Miri was watching her like she’d just done something heroic. And Chessa had that glint in her eye—the one that meant she’d drag her across campus if needed.

Still, the idea of them paying on her behalf—

‘No.’

Not an option.

Her jaw set slightly at the thought. She could already imagine it. Madeleine waving off the cost with a dramatic hand. Miri whispering something sweet about “just this once.” Chessa grinning like a cat with someone else’s wallet.

Her pride flinched at the idea. Hard.

And just as she was about to speak—about to thread the needle between polite refusal and financial neutrality—

“Why are you stealing my meal partner?”

The voice cut in like a smooth blade, laced with casual possession and just enough amusement to turn heads.

Damien.

He was suddenly beside them, hands in his pockets, posture as relaxed as ever. But his eyes tracked Isabelle immediately, sharp and faintly glinting.

Madeleine blinked, caught off guard. “Your what now?”

“My meal partner,” Damien repeated, glancing briefly at the other girls, then letting his gaze settle back on Isabelle. “We had plans. Of eating together.”

He said it plainly, like it was the most obvious arrangement in the world.

Madeleine blinked. “Wait—you mean like, here? In class?”

Damien nodded once. “Where else? For nearly a month now.”

Chessa raised a brow. “Since when are you two meal partners?”

Before anyone else could answer, Isabelle’s voice cut in—flat, calm, irritated.

“When did we become partners?”

Damien tilted his head, expression unbothered. “After eating together for nearly a month.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “We just happen to both bring our lunch. That’s all.”

“Exactly,” Damien said, smirking. “Which means we’re partners. It’s not complicated.”

“You don’t even ask before you sit down.”

“I sit. You don’t kick me out. That’s confirmation.”

Miri let out a soft laugh, and Madeleine crossed her arms, smirking as she watched the back-and-forth unfold.

Damien turned his attention back to them. “Anyway. Since you’re stealing my lunch partner today… I believe that means you owe me a seat.”

The three girls gave him matching side-eyes.

“…Heeeeh,” Madeleine said, voice flat.

“That’s how this works?” Chessa added, eyebrow raised.

“I’m not sure that’s how seating etiquette functions,” Miri murmured.

Damien just shrugged, unfazed. “I’m just here to join the celebration. And, of course—” He looked to Isabelle again, his voice dipping into something more genuine, though still laced with that maddening glint— “to congratulate our Class Rep.”

She blinked at that.

He went on.

“Top rank in the nation. Even while dealing with troublesome students.”

Madeleine let out a laugh. “Troublesome students, huh… We can’t even guess who that is.”

Chessa smirked. “Yeah, not a clue.”

Damien raised both hands slightly, a picture of innocence. “No comment.”

Then his gaze slid back to Isabelle, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

“Isn’t that right, our Rep?”

Isabelle let out a long, restrained sigh—less out of frustration, more out of reluctant surrender.

“Sure, sure…” she muttered, grabbing her chopsticks and tucking them back into their cloth wrap. “Why not.”

Miri grinned. “See? Look at this unity.”

Madeleine passed Isabelle her satchel with a flourish, and Chessa made a small show of stepping aside like they were parting a red carpet.

And just like that, the group started moving—Isabelle slightly ahead, Damien slipping effortlessly into the middle of the cluster as if he’d always been part of it.

That was the thing about Damien Elford.

He didn’t knock on doors. He leaned on the frame, made a joke, and somehow ended up sitting inside with a drink in his hand.

He didn’t beg for space—he just took it, but without malice, without pressure. His presence didn’t demand. It eased.

And that side of him—when he wasn’t being provoked, when his pride wasn’t bruised—it came out smooth as glass.

Laid-back jokes, perfectly timed.

A dry comment here, a head tilt there.

Even Miri, who usually kept more reserved around the boys, was smiling as he teased her about her cafeteria tray being “a nutritionist’s nightmare.”

Chessa tossed a snark back and got one instantly sharper in return. Madeleine laughed out loud and declared him “surprisingly tolerable.”

And Isabelle?

She walked beside them.

But her mind wasn’t on the jokes.

Not entirely.

‘He’s too easy right now.’

There was no edge. No pushback. No verbal sparring like they usually had. He was playing nice—but not in a forced way. Genuinely at ease.

That should have made her relax.

It didn’t.

It made her analyze.

‘Is this what he’s like when nothing’s pressing against him? No pressure? No threats?’

The realization sat uneasily in her chest. Not bad. Just… uncertain.

Because this version of Damien wasn’t loud. He didn’t disrupt the flow. He rode it—like someone who’d figured out exactly how to blend in when he wanted to.

And quite frankly—

She’d been seeing this side of him more.

It wasn’t an isolated slip. Not a momentary mood swing, or one of those rare days where he decided to behave.

No—this version of Damien, the composed one, the smooth one, the one who paced conversations like he was already two steps ahead—it was beginning to overwrite the previous image she held.

The reckless heir.

The hot-blooded fighter.

The boy who bristled at authority and shot sparks at anything that got in his way.

That part was still there. The storm hadn’t vanished.

But this… this was something else entirely.

And what unsettled her more than anything—

Was how aware he seemed of her.

The fact that he’d walked up at exactly the moment her pride had backed her into a corner. The fact that he hadn’t asked, hadn’t teased—just acted. Inserted himself cleanly into the dynamic. Shifted the pressure. Freed her, without making it feel like rescue.

And when he’d looked into her eyes—

For that half-second—

It hadn’t been playful.

It had been knowing.

‘He knew,’ she thought, even now as they stepped into the cafeteria, the low hum of voices rising around them.

‘He saw me thinking. Saw the trap I was in. And this was…’

She didn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t.

Because if she admitted that Damien Elford had moved in sync with her—without being told, without being asked—then she’d have to admit he’d read her.

That he understood something unspoken.

And that was far more intimate than any compliment, or smirk, or seat shared at lunch.

The line moved quickly. Madeleine led the way, laughing at something Chessa said about fruit tarts, while Miri clutched her juice like it was precious cargo.

Isabelle trailed in step, still silent, still composed.

She picked the lightest option she could find—some grilled greens and rice, water instead of tea.

She would have reached for her card.

But before her fingers even brushed her pocket—

Damien stepped forward, passed his ID across the scanner, and tilted his head just enough to flash a grin at the group.

“It’s all on me today.”

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