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

Chapter 239: Awakening approved

Damien stood motionless, eyes closed, the air around him drawn tight like a chord waiting to snap. The subtle gravity dialed into the room pressed against his skin—not enough to crush, but just enough to provoke. Just enough to make his heart beat with that old rhythm.

The rhythm of threat.

Of violence.

Dominic remained still at the edge of the ring, voice low but unyielding.

“Focus on the moment it first surfaced,” he said. “When something in you moved that had never moved before.”

Damien didn’t respond.

But in his mind, something shifted.

The canyon.

The way the wind had screamed between stone. The monster—its breath, its bulk, the shimmer of madness in its eyes.

It hadn’t just attacked.

It had chosen him.

That moment—when the gap between death and defiance narrowed, when his instincts should’ve buckled but didn’t—that was when it rose.

A pulse.

A hunger.

Damien’s brow furrowed faintly.

“It’s not just emotion,” he murmured. “It’s not rage.”

Dominic’s eyes sharpened. “No. Rage is blind. Bloodlust has a shape.”

He stepped closer, slow.

“Think,” he said. “That moment. When you saw the creature. What did your body do?”

Damien exhaled, long and quiet.

“It moved.”

“How?”

“…Forward.”

His voice was almost distant now. He wasn’t answering Dominic anymore. He was answering himself.

“I didn’t flinch,” Damien said. “Didn’t think.”

He stood straighter.

“I wanted it to die.”

A whisper of tension spiraled outward again—but this time, Damien noticed it.

Felt it.

It was like the echo of a scream that hadn’t yet left his mouth. A pressure that began in the center of his chest and radiated outward—not with force, but with intent.

Dominic gave a slow nod.

“Good. Don’t suppress it yet. Shape it.”

Damien’s breathing deepened.

He reached into that pulse again—not trying to crush it, not trying to extinguish it—but to understand it. To give it context. A boundary. Not a wildfire, but a blade.

His intent.

Not random. Not chaotic.

The desire to kill something that should not exist.

The resolve to do it again.

And as that thread formed between memory and presence, the pulse around him began to tighten.

Not shrink—but refine.

Dominic watched with a slow, dawning recognition in his eyes.

“Bloodlust answers to thought,” he said. “But it obeys conviction.”

The pressure that had once spread through the room like spilled oil began to coil inward now. It clung to Damien’s skin like a second layer—no longer leaking from him, but cycling through him. A loop. A sheath.

Damien’s lips parted.

He could feel the difference.

Not just from the air.

From within.

It was as though the room had stopped pushing back—and started acknowledging him.

A slow breath left him.

And with that exhale, the bloodlust retracted.

Not vanished—but drawn close. Tucked into the spaces between breath and spine, buried beneath his calm.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed faintly, but not with doubt.

With respect.

Damien opened his eyes.

No smirk.

No quip.

Just a steady, leveled gaze.

“…It’s quiet now,” he said.

Dominic didn’t speak right away.

He studied the boy—no, the man—before him.

Then nodded once.

“That’s how it starts.”

Dominic let the silence hang a moment longer, the hum of the training room now less intrusive, more like the breath of something watching—listening.

Then he spoke.

“What you did just now,” he said, voice calm but edged with gravity, “wasn’t just suppression. It was synchronization.”

He stepped closer, his boots clicking lightly against the alloy floor.

“You didn’t brute-force the bloodlust down. You linked to it. Directed it. Not with muscle, not with mana—” he gestured lightly toward Damien’s chest, “—but through your spirituality.”

Damien’s brow twitched faintly.

Dominic elaborated.

“I’m not talking about religion or soul theory. I’m talking about the subconscious. The root of instinct. The language of presence. You gave that pressure a frame—and more importantly, you recognized it as your own.”

He folded his arms.

“And that’s not something most can do on command.”

He let that sit.

“I struggled with it,” Dominic admitted, the words matter-of-fact but not diminished. “When I first Awakened, I leaked for weeks. Every breath I took set off monitors. The servants wouldn’t enter the wing.”

A faint smirk touched his lips.

“Bloodlust, spiritual imprint, mana resonance—it’s all the same at the core. The challenge is always control. Not power.”

He looked Damien over again. Not as a father. Not even as a commander.

As a peer.

“When you awaken mana,” Dominic continued, “you’ll face the same process again. The current will rise through your body, wild and raw. You’ll have to shape it. Temper it. Just like this.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“But now I know something most never get to confirm before the fact.”

Damien raised an eyebrow, faintly curious.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed—not in threat, but in clarity.

“From how you just moved, how your body holds the pressure—” he gestured again, slowly tracing the outline of Damien’s stance, “—from the way your breath synchronized with intent, how your frame adapted to weight rather than resisting it…”

He let the last part land clean.

“You’re ready for Awakening, aren’t you?”

Damien met his father’s gaze. No words. No bravado.

Just a single, steady nod.

Dominic exhaled once—slow, deliberate.

Then nodded back.

Dominic’s gaze lingered on Damien for a breath longer—silent, thoughtful.

Then, his tone shifted, just a touch more inquisitive beneath the steel.

“Were you training combat with Elysia?”

Damien’s lips twitched.

A slow, faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—more amused than smug.

“Father,” he said lightly, “I’m not that talented. I didn’t kill a monster with my bare hands without even learning how to fight.”

Dominic let out a sharp breath through his nose—almost a laugh, but too disciplined to sound like one.

“Hmph. I figured as much.”

Damien’s smile lingered, but there was a quiet edge behind his eyes. He had expected this line of questioning. Anticipated it.

Because, really—who else could’ve taught him?

He hadn’t left the estate in days.

No tutors. No mercenaries. No hidden instructors summoned from the family vault.

Only one person had been at Blackthorne the entire time.

Dominic nodded slowly to himself. “Elysia.”

Damien didn’t need to confirm it again.

Dominic’s brow furrowed faintly. Not in disapproval—just in calculation.

“Strange choice,” he muttered. “Elysia isn’t exactly the best teacher.”

He turned slightly, stepping toward the wall panel, fingers brushing across a data input slot—but his mind wasn’t on the interface.

“She’s talented,” he added. “Dangerously so. One of the youngest combat maids to ever reach A-rank. Her instincts are sharp, her reactions cleaner than most veterans I’ve trained with. But she doesn’t instruct.”

He glanced back at Damien, gaze sharp.

“She reacts. Responds. Executes.”

A beat.

“That’s not how you teach a beginner.”

Damien shrugged slightly, voice calm. “True. But I didn’t need a teacher.”

Dominic’s brow lifted.

Damien’s eyes glinted now—not with arrogance, but clarity.

“I’m someone who can learn just by watching,” he said. “That’s all I needed.”

Dominic studied him in silence.

Not judging.

Just… seeing.

A breath passed between them—quiet, weighted—and then Dominic gave a single nod.

“I see.”

And he did.

Because what he had just witnessed wasn’t luck. It wasn’t the clumsy progress of someone fumbling forward with borrowed strength.

It was pattern recognition. Internalization. Discipline.

The way Damien had reined in his bloodlust—it hadn’t been brute force or some miracle from the system. It had been observation, memory, intent.

He’d watched Elysia fight.

Watched how she moved, reacted, adjusted.

And then he’d taken that information, broken it down in his head, and made it his.

Dominic stepped closer, gaze slightly narrowed—but not in challenge.

In quiet realization.

‘This kid didn’t need her to explain anything,’ he thought silently. ‘He just needed her to show it….And indeed, if it comes to execution, Elysia is one of the best.’

Indeed, they were a good match it seemed.

‘He really changed to something beyond comprehension now…’

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