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

Chapter 275: Elford, but he now socializes

“Elford?”

Chessa glanced up from her drink. “Gentlemen.”

“Afternoon,” Rin added, nodding politely to the girls.

“Hey,” Miri greeted with a wave. Madeleine offered a grin. Isabelle dipped her head, only slightly. They all knew each other—same class, same shared lectures, same ridiculous P.E. rotations. The familiarity wasn’t strange.

But the sight of Damien sitting at the table with them?

That was.

Aaron placed his hands on the back of Damien’s chair. “You don’t usually come to the cafeteria.”

“Let alone sit here,” Lionel added. “With them.”

Madeleine raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Aaron held up both palms in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, Elford usually ghosts us when we ask him to grab food.”

“You always reject our invites,” Rin said, eyes narrowing theatrically. “And now we find you here, basking in filtered garden light with the most elite girls in the class?”

He shook his head. “You betrayed the code, man.”

Damien didn’t look up right away—he finished his bite first. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then smirked.

“Don’t be jealous that these girls didn’t invite you guys.”

“Oh please,” Madeleine said, rolling her eyes, “we didn’t invite you either. You barged your way in.”

Damien turned toward her with an exaggerated shrug. “I get myself invited. It’s a skill.”

Chessa gave a snort of laughter. “The audacity.”

Miri giggled. “You’re not wrong though.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes at the group. “This is a whole conspiracy. Did y’all switch sides on us?”

“We go where the food is good,” Madeleine said sweetly.

Aaron squinted. “Wait… don’t tell me—”

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing in mock betrayal. “You paid for the food?”

Damien didn’t blink.

“I did.”

A few of the boys groaned in disbelief. Lionel dragged a hand down his face. Rin tilted his head like he’d just heard something structurally unsound.

“Why?” Aaron asked, half accusing. “Since when are you that generous?”

Damien picked up his cup, letting the rim tap softly against his lip before answering.

“Since I decided to celebrate our Class Rep’s achievement.”

That landed.

All three boys turned—like a single unit—toward Isabelle.

She was mid-bite.

The moment the weight of their attention shifted her way, she paused ever so slightly. Not visibly. Not to someone untrained. But Damien caught it—the micro-freeze, the faint flicker behind her eyes before the shield went up.

The blush from earlier?

Gone.

What sat in its place was something far more familiar. Controlled. Professional.

She set her chopsticks down with quiet precision.

“These guys are overreacting,” she said, tone flat and composed. “It was just a ranking.”

Aaron gave a loud snort. “Just a ranking? Rep, you hit number one in the entire nation. You beat out rich brats with satellite tutors and neuro-chip optimization. That’s insane.”

Rin folded his arms, grinning. “Honestly, we should be the ones treating you.”

Lionel gave her a nod. “Respect, Moreau.”

She blinked at that. Not at the praise—she was used to praise. But at the casual, no-pressure way they delivered it.

Not pedestal stuff. Not showboating.

Just respect. Peer to peer.

Aaron slapped Damien’s shoulder once, grinning. “Okay, fine. You’re off the hook. This one time.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Rin added, already backing away.

“Where are you going?” Chessa asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aaron waved a hand over his shoulder. “Just relax—we’ll be back. Gotta make this celebration look like we actually planned it.”

Rin added, “You guys just keep being mysterious and socially competent. We’ll provide the sugar.”

With that, the trio peeled off toward the dessert line, already debating the best frosting-to-cake ratio like it was a tactical operation.

The table quieted for a beat.

Then Madeleine turned, eyes narrowing slightly. “Since when are you that close with those guys?”

Chessa leaned in with a smirk. “Yeah, I thought you avoided the sports cliques like they were contagious.”

Even Miri tilted her head. “You and Aaron talk?”

Damien didn’t look up from his tray. Just plucked a piece of meat, chewed, then said—

“We, men, connect fast.”

Isabelle raised a skeptical brow. “Really.”

Damien nodded solemnly. “You’d be surprised. Takes only a single football game.”

Madeleine rolled her eyes. “You’re saying a few minutes of passing a ball around suddenly makes you blood brothers?”

“Exactly,” Damien replied without missing a beat. “There’s grunting. Casual shoulder bumps. A shared moment of staring at the sky after collapsing from a sprint.”

He shrugged. “Bond formed.”

Chessa huffed a laugh. “Honestly… I’ve seen dumber rituals.”

And they had.

The girls remembered it—some P.E. scrimmage a few weeks back when Damien had been dragged into the field at the last minute. No warmup, no prep, just him shrugging off the offer and lacing up.

He’d played fine.

More than fine.

Sharp passes. Smart reads. Enough stamina to keep up—enough guts to dive for a sliding steal that made half the class wince.

And when the game ended, a mess of limbs and laughter and bruised egos—Aaron had clapped him on the back and called him “a fucking menace.”

Of course, the thing wasn’t just the game.

It wasn’t about a single match or some testosterone-fueled bonding ritual.

It was the way the boys acted around him now.

They liked him. Genuinely. Not just tolerated. Not just respected from a distance because of his name or family or some convenient alliance.

They laughed with him. Nudged him in passing. Slipped into his rhythm like it was natural—like it had always been that way.

And maybe that was the strangest part.

Because it hadn’t.

Damien Elford used to be the kind of guy you avoided eye contact with in the locker room. Too smug. Too disengaged. Too steeped in that lazy entitlement that made it feel like being near him was a chore.

But now?

Now, he was sharp. Present. Dry-witted and maddening, sure—but steady. Controlled. And somehow, even with that ego still intact, he didn’t press on the people around him.

He just… existed.

And being in his company wasn’t bad.

It was actually kind of good.

Relaxing, even.

Isabelle didn’t want to admit it. But as she glanced around the table—at the way Chessa leaned in during his jokes, how Madeleine didn’t roll her eyes nearly as hard as she used to, how even Miri, usually wary around boys, smiled easily when he spoke—she couldn’t deny it.

Damien fit.

Not because he forced his way in.

But because, slowly, deliberately, he’d earned his place.

And as if to drive that point home, the boys returned—Aaron balancing a whole plate of mini cakes like a chaotic waiter, Rin carrying a tray of cold brews and whipped cream-topped nonsense with deadly concentration.

Aaron set the plate down with theatrical flair, miniature cakes wobbling dangerously on their pastel wrappers.

“See?” he declared, spreading his arms. “This is how you celebrate. Properly. Sugar. Caffeine. Excess.”

Rin slid the drinks into place with surgical precision. “Honestly, I don’t think Damien even knows what a celebration looks like. Guy probably thinks grilled greens are festive.”

Damien gave a dry scoff, flicking a crumb off his tray. “I eat healthy.”

“You eat boring,” Aaron shot back, already stabbing a fork into something that looked dangerously overfrosted.

Chessa snorted. “He does have monk energy. All discipline, no dessert.”

“Explains the posture,” Madeleine said, gesturing with her fork. “You sit like someone who meditates before bed.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “I do meditate.”

Rin blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

He gave a casual shrug. “It works.”

“You’re just trying to sound deep,” Chessa muttered.

“It’s working,” Miri said, sipping from her whipped coffee and smiling behind the cup.

Isabelle didn’t comment.

But she watched.

The way Damien didn’t push back too hard, didn’t deflect with barbed jokes the way he once would’ve. He absorbed the teasing, let it roll, even gave some back—but always with control. Always knowing when to stop.

Aaron reached across the table and shoved a mini cake toward him. “Eat one. Just one. You’ve earned it, stoic prince.”

Damien stared at it like it was a trap.

Then sighed, slow and theatrical, and picked it up between two fingers.

The others watched, grinning like wolves.

He took a bite.

Paused.

Chewed thoughtfully.

“…Not bad,” he admitted.

Aaron slapped the table. “We got a reaction, boys.”

“Call the newsfeed,” Rin added.

Even Isabelle allowed a quiet exhale that might’ve passed for a laugh—if you were paying close attention.

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