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

Chapter 252: Forgotten Passive Skill ? (4)

Vivienne was waiting at the far end of the corridor, arms crossed, gaze calm and assessing as always. The polished hallway lights framed her like a portrait—elegance honed to precision.

As Damien approached, she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Not until he was within arm’s reach.

“How did it go?” she asked, voice clipped but not cold. Measured.

Damien loosened his tie slightly, more for effect than comfort, and exhaled through his nose with a faint, satisfied hum.

“Better than I expected.”

Her eyebrow arched faintly. “And what exactly did you expect?”

He glanced at her sidelong, that same dry smirk touching the edge of his lips.

“A wild wolf,” he said.

Vivienne gave a slight tilt of the head, interest piqued. “And what did you find instead?”

Damien stopped just short of the elevator, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.

“I found a hunting dog,” he said. “Lean. Ragged. Pissed off. And with its path taken from it.”

A beat.

Vivienne’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, unreadable as always. Then she turned toward the lift panel.

She then pressed the lift panel with a quiet chime, then glanced back at him, lips quirking ever so slightly—less a smile, more a tilt in the fabric of her composure.

“When did you learn to speak like that?” she asked.

Damien’s eyes tracked the rise of the floor indicator, idle.

“I learned it from you,” he said. “And Father.”

Vivienne’s eyebrow lifted, just enough to be visible. “I don’t speak like that.”

Damien didn’t look at her. Just let that smirk edge back in, slow and amused.

“I guess so.”

The elevator doors opened.

He stepped in first.

Vivienne didn’t follow.

As the doors began to close, she simply watched—expression unreadable, silence deliberate.

Damien met her gaze one last time before the lift sealed shut.

Then—

He turned.

His display lit up automatically, syncing with the updated roster.

Five candidates remained.

Five more threads to pull.

“Next,” he muttered to himself, eyes flicking to the glowing names. Each pulsed with quiet possibility—some dim, some stronger now that he’d gotten closer.

The intuition wasn’t absolute.

But it was beginning to speak.

And Damien?

He was ready to listen.

*****

By the time the last door slid shut behind him, Damien was tired—but not physically. It was the mental weight that sat on his shoulders now. He’d spoken to all twelve.

Twelve candidates, twelve glowing names.

And only five worth keeping.

He leaned against the glass railing of a mezzanine floor that overlooked the internal logistics core—mana lifts gliding like nerves through the spine of the building. Data shimmered silently on all sides, but Damien wasn’t watching the displays. He was thinking.

Observing.

Calculating.

The [Merchant’s Intuition] had taught him something valuable today—not just about others, but about itself.

The glow hadn’t lied.

But it also hadn’t told the whole story.

From a distance, they had all shimmered with promise. But now, after face-to-face meetings, real posture, eye contact, presence? The difference between them had become obvious.

Some pulses had flared briefly in conversation—then dimmed once their depth failed to match their data.

Others?

Others deepened.

Kael was still the strongest, no question. But Renia, with her meticulous planning and deadpan insight, had a frightening ability to spot weak links in a chain before they snapped. Lysa had a mind like an intake funnel—able to ingest chaos and output structure. Myla, for all her modest stats, had a charm that made people work better—not files, not numbers—people. She could glue a team together whether they wanted it or not.

And Jaro Tren?

Quiet.

Almost too quiet.

But the moment Damien dropped a hypothetical supply-line fail scenario on the table, Jaro responded with a recovery plan that mapped out contingency vectors before Damien even finished his second sentence.

Not loud talent.

Silent muscle.

That was five.

Out of the twelve he’d examined, only five met the mark.

And what had he learned?

That [Merchant’s Intuition] didn’t guarantee quality—it flagged potential. Which meant not all pulses were equal. Some were faint flickers—barely there. Others were dense, sharp, alive. And now, he understood why.

The skill’s precision degraded the further it got from truth. From reality. Numbers on a page couldn’t carry the full resonance. But up close? In person? Once he started asking the right questions, with a goal in mind?

The skill focused like a lens aligning to light.

It responded to intention.

It filtered based on what Damien already envisioned.

He was building a real estate empire—not just trading buildings, but reshaping space. Maximizing urban mana yields. Securing old zones for long-term passive mana growth. Structuring high-yield territories like interlocking gears.

And nearly everyone he’d kept reflected that direction:

Kael for on-site ops and raw enforcement. A man who would hold territory and cut through red tape with a blade if needed.

Renia for procurement and internal audits—ruthlessly detail-oriented, already thinking in terms of cost shielding.

Lysa for systems coordination—logistics webbing, personnel flow, scheduling. She could juggle thirty moving pieces without blinking.

Myla for PR and human capital—subtle, intuitive, knew how to make a crowd soften before a contract ever landed.

Jaro for infrastructure strategy—cold, quiet mind built for backend design and multi-node simulations.

Twelve names. Five selected.

Seven walked away.

He didn’t regret it at all.

And as he remained at the mezzanine rail, gaze angled downward but mind pulling patterns into focus, he thought of those five names. Five pieces.

That was enough.

A massive team was a luxury for people who didn’t know what they were building. Damien knew. Every link needed purpose, every hire a hinge. He didn’t need a crowd. He needed a core.

Someone approached—heels sharp, measured. He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

Vivienne came to stand beside him, her arms at her sides this time instead of crossed. No judgment in her posture.

Only observation.

“These are the people you’ve decided to go with?” she asked.

Damien didn’t look at her. Just nodded once. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Vivienne’s eyes traced the faint glow of personnel tags hovering in the air over the central console. “They won’t be easy to control.”

Damien exhaled through his nose, not dismissive, but knowing. “Depends on what you think control looks like.”

Another pause. This one longer. Weightier.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, but there was no bite in it. Just thought. Appraisal.

He waited for the criticism.

It didn’t come.

Instead, she nodded. Slightly. Almost to herself. She didn’t approve—but she had watched. She’d seen the process. The patience. The cutoffs.

And she couldn’t deny the clarity.

“Then you’ll need space that suits them,” she said finally. “Not just for presentation—but for structure. A core team like this doesn’t work buried under upper management.”

Damien turned to her now, leaning a little off the railing. “You’re saying I should separate the floor?”

“I’m saying,” she replied, “that if you’re serious about this being your operation, then you need the architecture to match. Independence. Visibility. Control. You don’t start by sitting under someone else’s ceiling.”

He smiled. “So a tower?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not overcompensate.”

He chuckled, then shook his head. “Ground floor with expansion zoning, maybe. Flexible ownership rights. Near a mana channel node.”

Vivienne considered that. “I can have a shortlist prepared.”

Damien nodded. “No rush.”

He looked out across the glowing panels again, his team’s tags hovering silently among hundreds of others.

They wouldn’t be easy to manage.

But that wasn’t what he was building.

He didn’t need obedience.

He needed results.

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