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

Chapter 235: Informed

“Someone is attacking us.”

Damien didn’t blink.

“Not through force. Not directly. But across our economic front. Three acquisitions lost in the past two weeks. Two bids blocked. Longstanding contracts withdrawn without warning.”

He gestured toward one of the flickering nodes.

“These aren’t random collapses. Someone’s pulling strings. Coordinating between mid-tier houses—Kesselrin, Astirell, even fringe families who never had the spine to challenge us before.”

Dominic fell silent after his last statement, letting the red-lit web of failing assets and hostile bids pulse quietly in the air between them. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes fixed not on the projection—but on Damien.

He said nothing more.

Because this part wasn’t about speaking.

This part was about watching.

You’ve never stepped into a boardroom.

You’ve never touched the pulse of the Elford economic arm.

You haven’t been trained in this world… because I kept you out of it.

Dominic let the thought settle in his mind as he studied his son’s face.

There was no flicker of confusion in Damien’s eyes. No glazed look, no tension in his jaw from unfamiliar terminology. No signs of panic or false bravado. Just focus—quiet, deliberate focus. The kind that absorbed first, reacted later.

That alone told him more than words could.

He listens now.

Not the boy who used to flinch under pressure. Not the angry child with wounded pride and no direction.

This was someone calculating. Measuring.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

I don’t expect him to fix any of this. That would be foolish.

Damien wasn’t a strategist.

He wasn’t trained in the Elford family’s corporate warfare or political undercurrents. He had no experience in reading quarterly volatility charts, no exposure to the ruthless ecosystem of power consolidation among noble houses.

But that’s not the point.

The point wasn’t contribution. It was exposure.

He needs to start seeing the board.

Understanding the shape of the house. The pressure on our name. The enemies at our gates who don’t wear armor or draw swords.

And maybe… just maybe… if Damien saw enough of the game, he’d start playing it in ways even Dominic couldn’t predict.

So he stayed quiet.

Let Damien sit in that glow of flickering red. Let him absorb the silence.

Not a test. Not entirely.

More like placement.

Like watching a blade to see if it would settle… or begin to cut.

The soft hum of the projection filled the silence. The red veins of disruption pulsed faintly in the air, casting shifting light across Damien’s face—shadowing the sharpness of his jaw, glinting in the calm of his gaze.

He didn’t lean forward.

He didn’t tap his fingers or glance at Elysia.

He simply said, quietly, without force:

“…Go on.”

Dominic’s eyes flicked toward him. Not surprise. Not approval. Just assessment.

Good, he thought. He’s not asking to be involved. He’s asking to understand.

Dominic tapped a finger on the edge of the control disk. The projection restructured. The web compressed, zooming in on a quadrant labeled AURELION SECTOR – COMMERCIAL HOLDINGS.

“Adeline’s territory,” he said.

Lines branched out—ports, contracts, verticals in manufacturing and supply distribution. Slowly, one after another, nodes turned a deeper red.

“These,” Dominic said, “were some of the most stable holdings we had. Low volatility. Decades-old merchant ties. But now?”

He gestured to the cluster of dimmed contracts.

“They’re being eaten. Quietly. Repeatedly. Deliberately. Three auctions lost to last-minute overbids. Two logistics firms pulled out of their contracts a week before delivery. And most of these groups?”

He tapped again. Another shift—this time showing family seals behind the bids.

“Kesselrin. Astirell. Borezan.”

Flickers of minor houses. Insignias that had never once touched Elford sectors before.

“They’re moving in places we’ve owned for years. And they’re doing it with the kind of money and timing that doesn’t come from instinct.”

He let that statement hang.

Then, flatly: “Someone is backing them.”

Damien’s gaze lingered on the projection, watching the shifting seals and dimming lines as if tracing veins through a wounded body.

He finally spoke—his tone still level, but with the faintest edge of something deeper. Thoughtfulness sharpened by intent.

“…What kind of businesses?”

Dominic arched a brow—not in skepticism, but in approval. He didn’t say it, but the question mattered. It was the question of someone who understood not all assets bleed the same.

He tapped again.

The display rearranged—dividing into sectors by industry, color-coded and categorized.

“There are hundreds,” Dominic said. “Agriculture. Logistics. Shipping lanes. Mid-level enchantment materials. A few pharmaceutical subsidiaries in the western provinces. Most noble families would kill for just our secondary holdings.”

He paused, then flicked his hand across the display.

The rest of the board faded.

Only one quadrant remained lit—arcane industrotech. Hundreds of subnodes flared in concentric rings, all linked to a central symbol: the Elford Crest surrounded by a gear and rune.

“For most,” Dominic said, gesturing to the glowing sector, “this is what they would want.”

The arcane industrotech quadrant pulsed faintly, its hundreds of subnodes like stars orbiting a central sun—the Elford Crest, paired with a mechanical gear and an intricate rune circle.

“The foundation of our strength,” Dominic continued. “Our real dominion. Not the farms. Not the ports. This.”

He tapped a node. A thin thread lit up, connecting to several more.

“Elford magic engineering is a cornerstone of the Acaria Dominion’s military infrastructure. Our spellcore modulation arrays are installed in over sixty percent of the Dominion’s siege units. Our alchemical data-binders regulate high-tier enchantments across five provinces.”

His gaze stayed locked on the projection, voice steady.

“No one’s contested us in this space for over two decades. Not because they haven’t tried—but because we are too far ahead. And because we play gatekeeper for those beneath us.”

Dominic turned to Damien, his expression unreadable.

“But that’s why they’ll keep circling. Not where we’re strongest—where we’re spread thin.”

Damien didn’t speak.

He stood, gaze fixed on the swirling projection. The subtle shifting threads of energy, influence, and control that stretched far beyond anything most outsiders could ever glimpse. This wasn’t just about money. It was about control of knowledge. Of the future. Of war.

And perhaps for the first time, he understood why everyone feared the collapse of legacy.

Because the legacy wasn’t built on reputation.

It was built on infrastructure.

On silence, he studied it all—absorbing, connecting, weighing.

And then—

The door opened.

Smooth. Precise. No knock.

And Adeline stepped in.

Her stride was sharp, confident, as if she already owned the space. She wore a deep emerald jacket over tailored black slacks, and her eyes swept the room in one glance—landing on Damien with a flicker of tension that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble. Her gaze didn’t leave Damien, though the expression she wore was one of veiled amusement—a smirk barely tucked behind poise.

“I heard my dear brother was summoned to a private talk,” she said lightly, the kind of tone polished for diplomatic dinners and subtle boardroom cuts. “I thought I’d come listen. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

She directed the question toward Dominic, though her eyes never left Damien.

Dominic gave a slow, wordless nod. He could already sense the friction beginning to mount.

But Adeline’s smirk wavered.

Slightly.

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