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

Chapter 243: Mother’s presence

Morning came early.

The first light stretched across the polished floors of Blackthorne Villa, pale and sharp through the tall, narrow windows. The kind of morning that cut clean through dreams and demanded presence.

Damien was already awake.

Had been for a while.

His breath moved in slow, even draws, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin the only trace of the training session he’d just completed. The villa’s private gym was still cooling down, its lights set to dim as the last of the mana-weights hovered silently in their cradles.

No records broken. No thresholds pushed.

Just control. Flow. Repetition.

The water ran hot and fast, steam curling against the dark marble walls as he stepped into the shower.

He didn’t linger.

No long soak. No moment of reflection.

Just efficiency.

He scrubbed the sweat from his skin, rinsed away the quiet intensity of the morning, and stepped out into the cool air of the villa’s upper suite with a towel slung around his waist, hair damp but already drying from body heat alone.

He was just reaching for his shirt when he felt it.

The hum of presence.

Not mana. Not magic.

Something quieter. More practiced.

Then—footsteps. Approaching from the front entrance. Confident. Unhurried. He recognized the cadence immediately.

His lips curled faintly.

Right on time.

A knock echoed through the villa’s entry hall—not loud, but unmistakable. Polite, but unnecessary.

Damien buttoned his cuffs slowly as Elysia moved through the hall to open the door.

And there she was.

Vivienne Elford.

Not dressed in armor or silk, but something in between—a tailored charcoal coat over a dark blouse, the subtle glint of mana-threaded embroidery tracing her collar. Her hair was swept back in its usual pristine twist, not a single strand out of place. Eyes sharp, mouth set in that composed line she wore when diplomacy was likely—but not guaranteed.

She didn’t step in right away.

She didn’t need to.

Damien came to the top of the stairs, fully dressed now, jacket crisp, his presence relaxed but unmistakably present.

“Morning, Mother,” he said simply.

“Charcoal suits you,” Damien said, voice even, eyes catching on the subtle shimmer at her collar. “Makes the others look overdressed by comparison.”

A breath of silence passed—then Vivienne smiled.

Not a wide grin, never anything so loose. But it reached her eyes. That brief, unmistakable lift of approval she rarely gave, reserved for moments earned.

“You’re too sharp this early,” she murmured. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

She stepped into the foyer at last, heels barely audible against the polished floor as Elysia stepped aside with a respectful bow.

Vivienne glanced around once, noting the neatness, the absence of disorder. Then her gaze flicked back to Damien at the top of the stairs.

“So,” she said, voice warm beneath its practiced poise, “he trains early now?”

“Yes,” Elysia answered evenly from her place at the side. “Every morning.”

Vivienne’s brow lifted slightly.

“Even on weekdays?”

“Before school,” Damien confirmed, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket as he descended the stairs. “No exceptions.”

A quiet hum followed—low, thoughtful.

Then pride.

Not loud, not declared, but worn openly in her posture. In the way she looked at him. In the slight exhale that softened her features without ever diminishing their edge.

“Well,” she said, voice gentle, “some of us do take longer to bloom. But it’s beautiful when they do.”

Damien reached the final step and smirked faintly. “Give me a minute to collect the folder. Then I’ll be ready.”

Vivienne nodded once, stepping aside with a casual grace that would’ve looked choreographed if it hadn’t been so natural.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said simply.

*****

A few minutes later, Damien stepped out from the study hallway, the door whispering shut behind him. He’d changed into a clean set of clothes—charcoal slacks, a soft white shirt with faint cuff detailing, and a jacket that was crisp but just short of formal. Simple, clean, functional.

He adjusted the strap of the leather folder tucked under his arm and walked into the entry hall with his usual unhurried pace.

Vivienne turned at the sound of his approach.

And her expression immediately flattened.

Her eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in that subtle, surgical way she used when spotting something off. Her gaze dragged down, then back up. Once.

Then—

“What is this?”

Damien paused mid-step. “…Hm?”

She motioned vaguely at his chest, then down to the hem of his jacket. “That,” she said, tone tightening. “That ensemble.”

Damien blinked. “It’s a jacket.”

“It’s wrinkled.”

“It’s barely wrinkled.”

Vivienne gave him a look that said she could see through fabric, excuses, and bullshit in equal measure.

“I know you’ve been training every morning,” she said, stepping forward with her hands clasped behind her back. “And I’m glad. I truly am. But that doesn’t mean you get to stroll into my operations wing looking like you just crawled out of a utility closet.”

Damien arched a brow. “It’s not bad.”

“No,” Vivienne said, voice sharpening like the edge of a fine letter opener. “It’s not bad. But it’s not excellent. It’s not impeccable. And that’s the problem.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Mother.”

“I’ve let it slide these past few weeks,” she continued, circling him once like a fashion appraiser preparing for battle. “Because you’ve been focused. Disciplined. You’ve changed. That’s good. But if you want to lead—if you want to command attention—you do not get to look ‘decent.’ You wear excellence.”

Damien gave a wry smile, half-exasperated. “You’re saying I should dress like I’m worth a billion already?”

She looked him squarely in the eye.

“No. I’m saying you dress like you’re already building something greater than that. Because if you don’t believe it enough to wear it, no one else will.”

A beat passed.

Then Damien gave a small nod. “Understood.”

Vivienne reached out, brushing an invisible speck off his shoulder, then smoothed the lapel of his jacket with precise fingers.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because image, Damien—image isn’t vanity. It’s the first contract you make before you speak a word.”

She stepped back, satisfied—for now.

Damien simply adjusted his cuffs again, smirk faint but intact. “Then next time, I’ll wear a crown.”

Vivienne’s lips twitched.

“There will not be a next time,” Vivienne said smoothly, her smile sharp as a scalpel. “You’re coming with me.”

Damien blinked. “To—?”

She was already turning on her heel, coat flaring slightly as she walked toward the front doors. “To fix this.”

He followed, the steady click of her heels echoing down the polished hall.

“You’re serious,” he said, more statement than question.

“Of course I am,” she replied, not even glancing back. “We’re buying you a proper wardrobe.”

As they stepped into the early morning light outside, the estate’s driveway was already prepped—sleek black vehicle humming quietly, engine warmed. The chauffeur bowed as Vivienne opened the rear door herself.

Damien exhaled through his nose and slid in beside her. “I thought we were going to Elford Central Holdings.”

Vivienne waved her hand lightly, dismissively, as the door clicked shut behind them. “I’m the boss. Who’s going to stop me?”

Damien glanced sideways at her, amused. “…Can’t argue with that.”

“No,” she said, cool and satisfied. “You can’t.”

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