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

Chapter 248: Candidates

They hadn’t noticed at first. Too preoccupied with the subtle stabs and buried tensions of their own game.

But there he was.

Damien Elford.

And beside him, as radiant and poised as ever—Vivienne.

The pair moved along the Promenade with quiet precision, not quite hurried, but not meandering either. Every boutique they passed seemed to slow for them, store attendants bowing just slightly deeper, glances drifting from other shoppers and fixating like moths to flame.

Damien didn’t walk like the boy they remembered. Gone was the soft shuffle, the unsure weight, the habit of lowering his gaze when someone met his eyes too directly.

Now, his stride was smooth, steady. Self-assured. Tailored black suit cutting across his broad frame, hair tousled like some wind-kissed aristocrat out of a fashion editorial. His presence had weight—not just because of his name, but because of how he moved through the world now. Intentional. Unapologetic. Eyes like still water, reflecting nothing.

But Celia’s gaze wasn’t on him.

Not yet.

It was on Vivienne.

The image of her stepping down from the mansion’s steps—her smirk, the condescension in her voice, the way she had whispered that final threat—flashed through Celia’s mind like a brand.

Her fingers curled slightly at her side, nails digging into the soft lining of her glove.

‘You will not come here again.’

Vivienne walked with the same ease now, her blonde hair pinned back into a simple yet elegant twist, her long coat fluttering behind her like a cape. She said nothing, yet she pulled attention in her wake. Her every gesture whispered of refinement, of a superiority so deeply ingrained it no longer needed to be declared.

And beside her… Damien was laughing.

Actually laughing.

Something quiet, private. His face tilted slightly toward her, an effortless smile tugging at his lips. Not the nervous, tight-lipped grin of the old Damien—this one was clean, easy, unfamiliar.

Celia stared.

And for the briefest of moments—she faltered.

Because he looked good.

Too good.

The weight loss had transformed him, yes, but this was more than just change. This was evolution. Even his expressions were different. No awkward shifting, no restless fidgeting. His posture didn’t scream for approval. It commanded space. Even now, passing in full view of people who had mocked him, scorned him, treated him like a background joke—he didn’t look toward them. Not once.

Not toward Celia. Not toward her entourage. Not even when they were clearly in his line of sight.

He simply… moved past them.

The four girls stood still.

Lillian blinked. “Okay. I’ll admit it,” she murmured. “That was…”

“An improvement,” Cassandra finished for her, her voice barely above a whisper.

Even Victoria didn’t say anything at first, her eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful.

Celia’s throat was tight, but her face was cold marble.

She would not speak.

She would not comment on his looks. Not on the suit. Not on how his eyes had flicked over them like they were no more important than mannequins in a shop window.

But inside?

It burned.

The memory of that day still festered beneath her ribs. The slap that never landed. The words he’d said. The things he had taken from her without touching a single thread on her body.

Her pride. Her image. Her narrative.

Now, even his silence mocked her.

The man who once trembled beneath her heel—

Didn’t even acknowledge her.

‘You’re playing with something you don’t understand, Damien.’

Her fingers unclenched, slowly, purposefully.

She turned back toward her friends, fixing her voice into its usual polished calm.

“Let’s continue,” she said. “We have better things to do than stare at a walking PR experiment.”

But none of them corrected her.

Because even they couldn’t deny it.

That experiment?

Was working.

****

The car eased to a smooth stop in front of Elford Central Holdings, its arrival marked not by the blare of security nor the bustle of a reception but by a quiet acknowledgment of presence. The building itself stood like a monolith of modern authority—eight stories of curved obsidian glass and mana-reactive alloy, shaped to mirror both efficiency and opulence. Subtle arcs of glowing sigils traced along its edges, like veins running beneath steel skin.

As Vivienne and Damien stepped out, the building seemed to breathe.

Mana-sensors embedded in the walkway pulsed once, identifying Vivienne’s signature. The towering front doors—two slabs of deep black with no visible handle—parted soundlessly.

At the threshold, a woman in a crisp navy suit with silver-thread lapels waited, tablet in hand and posture perfectly upright.

“Lady Elford,” she greeted, voice clear. “Welcome back. We received your update. Everything’s been shifted forward as requested.”

Vivienne gave a small nod of approval, already moving.

The assistant turned briskly to walk beside her, barely sparing Damien a glance—not out of rudeness, but sheer focus. “The staffing list from Logistics was sent to your primary stream. Department heads are standing by for selection briefing. Also—Sire Halden left a message confirming the artifact import from Velmire Row has cleared customs. The security team will forward footage later.”

“Good,” Vivienne said. “And the restructuring proposal for Aurevia?”

“In final review. Legal will push it through by the end of cycle.”

Damien followed a half-step behind, absorbing everything silently.

The entrance lobby of Elford Central Holdings opened like a cathedral of progress—tall ceilings laced with luminescent mana-channels, gliding platform lifts moving up glass-panel shafts, silent drones patrolling on thin aerial paths. The walls carried shifting holographics of sector data, real-time currency flux, global news banners, and private network alerts—all calibrated to eye-level, mana-keyed for selective visibility.

Every line of architecture was designed for momentum. Every sound was softened, intentional. The floor beneath was tempered grav-stone—smooth, frictionless, and cool. You could practically feel the weight of decisions made here, printed into the very air.

“Majestic,” Damien murmured, his gaze tracking the transparent elevators that rose like floating spires through the central chamber.

Vivienne glanced at him. “It was built to reflect the family’s philosophy,” she said.

“And what’s that?”

She walked ahead without missing a beat.

“Power that moves should never need to announce itself.”

Damien smiled faintly.

Fair enough.

This was no place for grandeur without teeth.

This was where engines turned—quiet, deliberate, and merciless.

And he was here now.

Not as a guest.

But as a future player.

Vivienne led Damien through a side corridor flanked by semi-translucent mana panels, their surfaces flickering with real-time data flows. Everything pulsed in layered silence—pulse rates of staff, internal project velocity, department resource draw.

This wasn’t a business.

This was a machine.

And Vivienne knew every gear.

They stepped into a secure elevator—no buttons. Just a retinal scan and mana resonance pulse. The glass walls lit softly as the lift ascended with weightless precision.

“You’ll be pulling from the Operations Wing,” Vivienne said, her tone sharp but smooth. “Mid to upper tier staff. Not top brass—you’re not poaching my executives. But they’ll be more than enough to form your spine.”

Damien nodded. “I’ll be the one picking?”

“Of course,” she replied. “This is your company. But if you choose anyone just because they look eager, I will intervene.”

He gave a dry smile. “Understood.”

The lift opened into a wide viewing floor lined with desks made of arcanite glass and mana-forged alloys. No clutter. Everything hovered. Interactive. Controlled.

At the center stood a conference-style war table—semi-circular and sleek, lined with floating files and employee dossiers.

Already waiting were two HR directors and a lean data technician, who bowed slightly as Vivienne entered.

“Bring up the candidate pool.”

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