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

Chapter 277: This….(2)

Damien’s steps slowed.

Across the corridor, just past the row of lockers where the sunlight broke in sharp angles against the tile, stood Victoria Langley.

Alone.

Her hair caught the light in a glossy braid, one hand resting casually against the edge of a bench like she’d simply paused mid-thought. But her eyes—those emerald-green eyes—were locked onto him.

Unblinking. Cool. Focused.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t gesture.

She didn’t have to.

Damien’s gaze lingered for a second longer, the faintest grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

‘Well, well.’

He turned slightly toward the girls ahead of him, still deep in their wardrobe deconstruction.

Madeleine was mid-rant about peplum injustice. Chessa and Miri were offering counterexamples like it was a courtroom drama.

They wouldn’t miss him.

Not really.

And Isabelle—walking just a few paces ahead of him—caught the shift in his step. Her eyes flicked to the side, sharp and perceptive as always.

He spoke before she could.

“I’ve got something to do,” Damien said lightly, voice almost a hum of disinterest. “Don’t wait up.”

Madeleine didn’t even glance back. “Okay, see you later!”

“Don’t do anything shady,” Chessa said absently, still locked in fashion tribunal mode.

But Isabelle…

Isabelle’s gaze held his for a beat longer.

Not accusing. Not disappointed.

Just… measuring.

But in the end?

She didn’t say a word.

Because why should she?

Damien was a variable, not an obligation. He came and went as he pleased, orbiting just close enough to touch their world but never close enough to be pulled in.

She turned away, steps resuming with the others, her silence crisp as the echo of her heels down the hall.

And Damien?

He broke off.

Crossed the corridor with the same lazy stride, each step humming with the quiet thrill of intention.

Victoria didn’t shift. Didn’t blink. Her braid hung over her shoulder like a rope drawn tight, her hands folded neatly in front of her skirt. Composed. Poised. And yet those eyes…

Those emerald eyes burned straight through him.

Damien stopped a few paces in front of her, tilting his head, the corner of his mouth curled in that irreverent, familiar way.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice low and velvety, “what do we have here?”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly—enough to make her glare unmistakable. But she didn’t speak.

Damien’s grin deepened.

His tongue grazed the edge of his lips, a slow, thoughtful gesture.

‘Just as I was getting bored.’

****

Victoria had only meant to step out for five minutes.

Ten, at most.

A quick detour to the mirror lounge, a light touch-up to her lip color, a breath away from the noise of the hall. She’d crossed paths with Marek there—just outside the north stairwell. His shirt still perfectly pressed, his tie straight, his expression unreadable in that polished, practiced way of his.

Of course because of the eyes in the academy, they couldn’t be close, but then again she was still reminded of something.

“Sorry,” he’d said again. Third time this week. “I’ll text you later. It’s just… hectic.”

The usual. Vague words. Crisp tone. A hint of distance hidden under professionalism.

Family business. That was the latest excuse.

He hadn’t offered more than that.

Victoria knew Marek’s family had been on the rise.

It was hard not to know.

New holdings. Quiet investment chatter. That sharp uptick in the way his name turned heads in the upper years. Even without the gossip, the signs were everywhere—his recent absences, the ever-smoother way he spoke about things he used to brush off, the weight behind his silences.

And Marek himself?

He was working harder than ever.

Not publicly. Not for show. But Victoria had always noticed the subtleties—the way his shoulders stayed tense even after class, how his tablet was always synced to at least three different monitoring apps, how even his moments with her were measured like part of some larger equation.

She didn’t need constant attention. Never had.

But she understood the game he was playing.

And that understanding—that shared ambition between them—was part of what kept her focused. Because if he was working harder, then so would she. If he was outpacing expectations, she would too. It wasn’t competition.

It was synergy.

The kind that didn’t need to be spoken to be real.

So when he gave her another clipped apology, Victoria didn’t flinch. She nodded once, touched his sleeve briefly, and let him go. There were other girls who’d crumble at being made secondary.

Victoria Langley wasn’t one of them.

And with that quiet affirmation still humming under her skin, she turned down the west corridor—her bag neat on her shoulder, the light catching the gloss on her lower lip.

The classroom was just ahead.

But her pace faltered.

There, leaning against the locker column just beside the entrance like some rogue punctuation in her otherwise structured day, stood Damien Elford.

Hands in his pockets.

Shirt collar lazily undone.

Their eyes met.

And in that instant—brief, but piercing—Victoria caught it.

A glint in Damien’s eyes.

Humor.

It was quieter. Sharper.

But his humor was her torment after all…

‘Not again..’

A flicker of something that didn’t belong in a hallway lined with lockers and exam notices.

Something… dangerous.

Her breath didn’t catch. Her expression didn’t shift. But inside, something tightened—instinctive, immediate. Like the soft warning of glass flexing under pressure. She didn’t break stride, didn’t let the discomfort surface. But her eyes stayed on him one second too long, registering the smallest details—the casual looseness of his stance, the precision hidden under it.

And when the girls beside him—Chessa, Miri, and Madeleine—began to move past him, already halfway through another thread of conversation, Damien didn’t follow.

He pivoted.

A smooth, lazy turn.

And then—just like that—he started walking toward her.

Not quickly. Not aggressively. But with a directness that made her spine stiffen.

Each step seemed louder than the last, even though the hallway was hardly silent. His presence had always been disruptive—like static in an otherwise perfect channel—but now it felt… deliberate.

Calculated.

Like a hand reaching for the volume dial of her day, ready to twist.

Victoria’s fingers closed subtly around the strap of her bag. Her jaw didn’t clench, but her eyes sharpened as he approached. He wasn’t saying anything. Not yet.

Which was somehow worse.

He stopped a breath away from her, gaze steady.

Close enough to hear her breathing, if he cared to listen.

Close enough that she had to look up slightly to meet his eyes.

Those unnervingly blue eyes.

And just as the silence stretched a moment too long—

“Yo.”

Victoria didn’t respond.

Not a glance. Not a sound.

She just kept walking, heels clicking softly against the marble floor, posture held like a blade. Perfectly upright. Unshakable.

Damien’s grin twitched wider.

“If Celia or the others were here, you’d have the courage to look at me,” he mused. “But now that you’re all alone—what’s this? Silent treatment?”

Still nothing.

He sighed, exaggerated. “Cruel.”

They turned the corner of the hallway together, her stride smooth and purposeful. His—lazy, unrushed, but stubbornly close.

“Why are you running away?”

“I’m not running away,” she said coolly, eyes still forward.

“This sure seems like you do.”

“I’m walking to class. Try not to confuse normal behavior with your delusions.”

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, sliding under her skin like a current.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping just slightly, “the thing about delusions is—sometimes, they bleed into reality.”

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

He leaned in a little closer, tone practically humming now.

“Like your boyfriend.”

Victoria turned on her heel so fast the air seemed to crack.

In one fluid motion, she pressed a hand over his mouth—palm firm, eyes sharp, her expression a blend of fury and flawless control.

“Don’t.”

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