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

Damien chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly as he took in Moren's outburst.

Typical.

This was exactly why he despised simps.

They were weak.

Not just in strength, but in character.

They didn't have bonds—not the kind that actually mattered. They lacked the camaraderie, the brotherhood that real men built with one another. The kind of friendships that pushed them forward, that made them better.

Instead, they were lapdogs.

Pathetic creatures who existed solely to chase after women's validation, desperately clinging to the scraps of attention they were occasionally thrown.

And yet—

They lacked the qualifications to even earn that attention in the first place.

Moren was a perfect example.

Socially awkward. Lazy. Weak-willed. The kind of guy who never had the drive to stand on his own, so he latched onto those around him, forming shallow alliances with others who were just like him.

Because at the end of the day—

Simps always found one another.

Birds of a feather flocked together.

But unlike real friendships, unlike actual bonds, their relationships were built on nothing more than shared interests—a fragile, meaningless connection that could shatter the moment their goals no longer aligned.

And now?

Moren had just proved Damien right.

Because in the end, he was no different from any other weak man chasing after a woman who didn't give a single fuck about him.

Damien tilted his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes locked onto Moren with something bordering on amusement—and disappointment.

"So that's what you thought of me?" he murmured, his voice slow, deliberate.

Moren flinched, his bravado faltering just slightly.

But before he could say anything—

Damien caught movement from the side.

Victoria.

She was watching them with an unmistakable smirk—enjoying this.

Of course, she was.

This was exactly what she wanted.

Two men fighting over her, one turning against the other. A battle that had nothing to do with strength, nothing to do with actual worth—just petty, meaningless drama designed to feed her fragile, self-important ego.

Damien could practically hear her inner thoughts.

Look at them, tearing each other apart for my sake.

It was pathetic.

And yet, Moren didn't even realize he was playing right into her hands.

Damien exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"Hey…" Moren muttered, his voice quieter now. "It's not like that…"

Damien's expression didn't change.

Then—his voice turned cold.

"Quit the bullshit."

Moren stiffened.

Damien's smirk was gone now, replaced with something far less forgiving.

"At least be spineful enough to stand behind your words," he said, his voice sharp as a blade.

Moren swallowed hard, his fists clenching, but he didn't say anything.

Because he couldn't.

He had already spoken.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Moren's fists remained clenched, his breathing uneven, his eyes flickering between anger and hesitation.

For a moment, it seemed like he would back down. Like he would swallow his words, retreat into his usual pathetic, spineless self.

But then—

He sighed.

And just like that—

"You're still a fucking bastard, Damien," Moren spat, his voice low, but filled with venom. "You think just because you've changed a little, you're better than everyone? You think you can just walk all over people? News flash—you were never anything special. You were just the fat loser everyone tolerated because of your last name."

A few students nearby inhaled sharply, exchanging uneasy glances.

Victoria, still watching with amusement, tilted her head ever so slightly, her smirk deepening as she soaked in the conflict like it was fine wine.

Moren's breathing was heavy now, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched.

And Damien?

He smirked.

But this time—it was different.

Something darker. Something almost pleased.

Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the desk before letting out a soft chuckle.

"Now you're looking like a man. Just a little."

Moren blinked, caught off guard. "What—"

Damien tilted his head. "That is how you should've spoken from the beginning," he said lazily. "With your own voice. Not barking for someone else's sake. Not acting like some spineless little puppy waiting for approval."

Moren's mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Because deep down, he knew—

Damien wasn't angry at him.

He wasn't even insulted.

If anything, it was like he had just evaluated him.

Damien's smirk didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened as he leaned forward slightly, placing his elbows on the desk, his sharp blue eyes locking onto Moren's with something dangerous.

"Now back your fucking words," Damien said, his voice smooth, almost amused. "Since you 'tolerated' me all this time, don't fucking do it anymore."

Moren tensed.

"Now what?" Damien continued, his gaze never wavering. "What the fuck are you going to do? Will you actually do something to me? Or was that just you barking again?"

Moren's breath hitched.

Because suddenly—he felt it.

The weight of Damien's stare.

Cold. Calculating.

There was no hesitation in his eyes. No nervousness, no cracks in his confidence.

And that was what made it terrifying.

Because Damien wasn't saying this as an empty taunt.

He meant it.

"Tolerating me as if you're some sort of saint…" Damien exhaled through his nose, shaking his head before his voice dropped, his tone lower, cutting. "No, you fucking aren't."

Moren's throat dried.

"You didn't tolerate me because you were some kind of good person," Damien continued, voice smooth as silk but sharp as a knife. "*You tolerated me because you *couldn't do anything else.**"

Moren's entire body went rigid.

Damien let the silence hang between them for a moment longer, savoring the weight of his words as they sank deep into Moren's mind.

Then, with a slow, mocking sigh, he leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening ever so slightly.

"But let me do a good deed for you," he said smoothly, tilting his head. "From now on, you are nothing to me."

Moren's fists trembled at his sides.

"Now do whatever the fuck you want with that."

Damien's voice was calm, steady. He wasn't raising it, wasn't forcing the words out in anger.

And that made it worse.

Because it meant he wasn't just throwing insults—

He was done.

Moren opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.

Damien just chuckled, shaking his head before giving him one last look—

"Right, Mister Fucking Tolerant?"

A few students muffled their snickers. Even those who usually had no interest in conflicts like this couldn't help but find amusement in the way Damien had completely ended Moren in a few sentences.

Moren stood there, fists clenched, shoulders stiff, but he couldn't respond.

Moren's teeth clenched as his fists trembled at his sides. He had no comeback, no argument that could flip the situation in his favor. All he had left was anger.

And so, with a glare, he spat out the only thing his wounded pride could manage—

"I'll remember this, Damien."

Damien let out a short, amused laugh.

"Yeah, yeah… Everyone fucking says that nowadays." He waved a dismissive hand before his sharp blue eyes flickered across the room.

Then—

His gaze landed on Leon.

The blond-haired, stone-faced student had been watching the whole thing from his desk, his usual impassive expression betraying nothing.

Damien smirked.

He lifted a hand and gestured toward Leon with a casual flick of his fingers.

"See this guy?" he said smoothly, addressing Moren but keeping his eyes locked on Leon. "Don't be like him. Don't waste your life because of a random bitch. Be better than that."

A ripple of tension spread through the classroom.

Leon's jaw tightened just slightly.

"Right, Leon?" His voice was low, taunting. "Your father must be enjoying his vacation."