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

Chapter 242: Quest and plans

The car’s engine hummed beneath him, a low, steady growl barely audible against the silence in the backseat. Damien leaned back, one arm draped casually along the doorrest, the other hand tapping absently against his thigh as the cityscape whispered past beyond tinted glass.

Night pulled the world into a cleaner shape—cooler, quieter, less crowded. But his mind refused to follow suit.

The bet.

He could still hear the words ringing through that high-ceilinged room. Adeline’s laughter, sharp and bitter. Dominic’s caution, tightly measured. Vivienne’s silence, weightier than either of their voices.

And through it all—his own voice.

Calm. Clear.

“One billion.”

He didn’t regret it. Not the number. Not the wager. Not even the fact that it had been a response born more of instinct than long calculation.

Because it felt right.

But instinct didn’t mean unplanned.

Not anymore.

He lifted his wrist slightly, fingers flicking open his interface with a practiced twitch.

[System Interface: Open Quest Log]

The faint shimmer of translucent blue lit his eyes. The list unfurled, familiar markers glowing softly until one new line at the top expanded with a subtle pulse.

[New Main Quest: “Legacy of Self”]

—————-

Quest Type: Foundational

Title: Legacy of Self

Objective: Create an independent business venture and grow it from zero to a net worth exceeding 1 billion Draxen within 365 days.

Current Resources:

— Seed Capital: 100 million Draxen— System Influence Level: Minimal (Neutral Observer)

Restrictions:

— No access to Elford family infrastructure

— No use of inherited networks or backdoor contracts

— Independent results only

— Third-party audit active

Reward:

— Title: [Heir in His Own Right]

— Authority Expansion in System

— Unique Skill Evolution

— 3000 SP

Failure Penalty:

— System Confidence Penalty

— Lockout from Business-Related Quests

—————-

Damien stared at the screen for a long moment, reading the words twice. Not because he doubted them—but because he knew what they meant.

This wasn’t just a bet anymore.

This was an anchor.

A declaration written into the system itself.

‘Legacy of Self,’ he thought, mouth twitching into the faintest curve. ‘Fitting.’

The system had named it with precision.

Not revenge.

Not proof.

Self.

The kind of quest that didn’t care about familial approval or political rank. The kind that demanded identity forged through friction.

He closed the interface with a flick.

Then leaned back in the seat again, watching the villa’s familiar approach begin to rise in the distance.

Blackthorne waited.

Tomorrow, Vivienne would pick him up.

Tomorrow, he’d begin selecting his team.

Damien’s eyes followed the clean arc of the villa walls as the car slowed to a halt. Blackthorne rose like a shadowed sentinel against the indigo sky, lights in the windows gleaming like half-lidded eyes watching his return.

But his thoughts weren’t on the villa.

Not really.

They were still trailing the system screen he’d just dismissed. Still flickering over that quest title like it had been carved into the back of his mind.

Legacy of Self.

He’d accepted it without hesitation—but not blindly.

Damien Elford did not bet without a plan.

And this one?

It was already in motion.

As he stepped out of the car, the cool air brushed against his skin, but it barely registered. His mind had shifted gears entirely now—strategic mode, economic overlay. Vision.

Real estate.

Luxury development.

The two pillars of his foundation.

On paper, it sounded too traditional. Safe. Too… normal. But only if you were playing this game like a simulation.

Damien wasn’t.

He had the advantage of memory—meta-awareness that the system had never taken from him.

While the “game” everyone else had once viewed this world through focused on heroines and stat scaling and Damien Elford’s spectacular spiral into irrelevance… he’d seen the background noise. The overlooked ripples that weren’t part of the main plot but were always there.

Market crashes.

Land bubbles forming in the outer provinces.

Mana-transport hubs shifting due to the re-zoning of supply corridors.

A quiet policy passed through the Azaria Dominion’s Trade Council five years before the endgame events—a policy that gutted tariffs on reclaimed ruins and frontier development contracts. No one in the narrative cared about it because it didn’t affect the romance routes.

Well, not no one. Those who had time to waste on some random things, and especially those who hated Damien Elford’s character sought some other mechanics in the game.

Checking the news, looking at the economics, having some dialogues with Vivienne and Dominic and learning some background information about the world.

And originally, Damien was also one of those.

Had watched.

Had learned.

Because back then, he had nothing else to focus on.

And now?

Now he had a map no one else had the eyes to read.

‘Knowing the future is indeed advantageous.’

A quiet policy passed through the Azaria Dominion’s Trade Council five years before the endgame events—a policy that gutted tariffs on reclaimed ruins and frontier development contracts.

No one in the narrative cared.

Not unless you went looking.

And Damien had.

Back then, he had nothing else. No strength. No pride. Just hours. Endless, bitter hours and a silent grudge simmering beneath his skin. So he read. Studied. Dug through dialogue trees, hidden system flags, half-finished quest threads that never became anything in the main routes.

And buried beneath it all was the truth: the world didn’t stop for the story.

The economy had moved.

The power map had changed.

The Elford family—one of the three great pillars in Azaria’s corporate mana hierarchy—was not immune.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular as the villa’s silence wrapped around him.

‘This is the start.’

The first tremor.

The subtle signs were already there. The way Dominic had called him. Vivienne’s shift in posture. The unusually frequent turnover in the lower trade circles tied to Elford supply lines. A few foreign media outlets running quiet stories about regulatory friction in border zones.

All pieces of the same mosaic.

The Elford family would face pressure soon. Internal. External.

Not a collapse.

A bleed.

That slow, creeping erosion that destroyed dynasties before anyone realized they were dying.

But Damien?

He’d known before the family did.

And he didn’t mind it.

In fact…

He welcomed it.

‘All of you,’ he thought, the edge of a smirk tracing his lips, ‘I’ll crush you properly.’

Not with fury.

Not with some tragic need for vengeance.

But with precision.

Because there was more than pride on the line now.

There were assets he was hunting.

People.

And he already had a shortlist.

At the top of it?

Isabelle Moreau.

He tilted his head slightly, the thought of her bringing a different kind of warmth into his chest—less sharp, but just as serious.

She wasn’t just a love interest.

She was a weapon.

Top-ranked student at Private Vermillion. A commoner in a nest of nobles. The kind of talent that carved her way up by grit and blood, not inheritance. Her discipline was relentless. Her results spoke for themselves.

If she stayed in the system, they’d smother her brilliance—dress it up in etiquette, marry it off, and call it “respectable.”

A vase on someone’s shelf.

Damien had no intention of letting that happen.

‘You’re sharp,’ he thought. ‘Focused. Rigid in the way that breaks easily if you’re not given room to grow.’

He didn’t chase her because of her figure. Or her fire. Or even her pride.

He chased her because she was worthy.

And if she stood beside him, not just as a romantic victory but as a pillar of his enterprise—then she would become untouchable.

Feared.

And free.

She might not see it yet. Not clearly. Not fully.

But Damien did.

He saw the potential. Saw the shape of what she could be when unshackled.

And he planned to give her that.

Not as a gift.

But as a stage.

‘You’ll stand beside me,’ Damien thought, the smirk settling into a more thoughtful curl. ‘One of the few I’ll let stay that close.’

He moved toward the stairs without haste.

‘But well, that will take a while.’

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