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

Chapter 273: Selfless compliment ?

They found a table near the outer rim of the cafeteria—half-shielded by a vertical garden wall, with clean light and just enough distance to filter out the din of the crowd. It was the kind of table that felt unintentionally private, even when full.

Trays were set down. Drinks opened. And just like that, the chatter began.

“So,” Madeleine said, leaning forward with both elbows on the table, “national top rank. You planning to tell us how you pulled that off, or are we meant to believe you’re just secretly a demigod?”

Isabelle lifted her water bottle slowly. “It was just a result.”

Chessa groaned. “Spare us the stoic humility. That wasn’t just a result—that was domination. They don’t even curve national exams. You didn’t just beat everyone, you broke the whole structure.”

“Didn’t even know Vermillion had someone in top ten last year,” Miri added, eyes wide.

“Top hundred,” Madeleine corrected. “And that was barely.”

All eyes turned to Isabelle.

She kept her expression steady, but inwardly…

’Why does this feel more intense than the rankings announcement itself?’

She stabbed a piece of grilled eggplant with her chopsticks and spoke evenly. “I studied.”

Damien, who’d just returned and was settling into his seat beside her, made a quiet scoffing sound. “Understatement of the year.”

Isabelle shot him a sidelong glance.

He raised an eyebrow. “Rep, you say you ’studied’ like someone else says they ’breathed.’”

Madeleine snorted. “Seriously. If studying were a combat sport, Isabelle would’ve been banned for excessive force.”

“She probably was training while we were doing warmups,” Chessa said. “No, seriously. Were you?”

Isabelle didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.

Miri leaned forward. “But… I guess I didn’t expect it to go this far. I always knew you were top here, but first in the country? That’s not normal, right?”

There was no judgment in her tone. Just awe.

And that was what finally made Isabelle falter.

Just slightly.

Her gaze lowered to her tray, and she paused.

’It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not attention. Not spotlight. Just efficiency. Discipline. Victory, yes—but not spectacle.’

“It’s not about being special,” she said softly. “It’s just about being consistent. Focused.”

Damien tapped his chopsticks once against his tray. “It’s about obsession, Rep. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

She turned her head, slightly affronted.

But he was already looking at her, calm, not mocking.

“People study,” he continued. “People try. But they don’t hunt their results like you do.”

Damien glanced at her—not with the usual teasing edge, but something quieter. Measured.

“Most of us here,” he began, voice low but certain, “had special tutors before we even learned our times tables. The best textbooks. The highest-paid prep schools. Personalized modules. Controlled environments.”

His gaze didn’t drift.

“And you… came in on a scholarship. No head start. No curated education. Just you. And still—first.”

His words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. The weight of them pressed into the space between bites and banter, into the silence Isabelle wasn’t quick enough to fill.

Across the table, Miri blinked. “That’s… actually true.”

Madeleine nodded slowly. “I’ve had one-on-one instructors since I was eight.”

“So have I,” Chessa added. “Like… expensive ones. And I still can’t do half of what you can.”

Isabelle froze, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. Her cheeks, already faintly warm from the attention, deepened into a visible flush.

’I didn’t ask for this.’

The praise. The spotlight. The validation.

It twisted something uncomfortable inside her—but it also stirred something else.

Pride.

Not arrogance. Not the sharp kind.

But a quiet acknowledgment.

She had fought for this.

Earned it.

And yet, she still couldn’t meet any of their eyes.

“I just worked hard,” she muttered, gaze fixed firmly on her tray.

Madeleine leaned her chin into her palm and grinned. “Aha… she’s blushing.”

Chessa smirked. “So she can make expressions like that.”

Miri gave a soft laugh. “Maybe we really should come here more often.”

“You mean crash her lunch every day?” Madeleine said.

Chessa shrugged. “She needs to be destabilized now and then. Otherwise she’ll ascend.”

Isabelle huffed softly through her nose, trying to hide the fact that she very much wanted to bury her face in her hands.

And beside her, Damien simply leaned back in his seat—quietly victorious.

Yet, his victory smile didn’t last too long.

Madeleine was the first to pivot.

“Well then,” she said, eyes narrowing just slightly, “since we’re all laying our academic souls on the table today…”

She turned her gaze.

Right at Damien.

Chessa followed suit with a slow, wolfish grin. “Yeah. What about you, Elford?”

Isabelle blinked. Then frowned, the flush in her cheeks dimming beneath something more analytical.

Miri tilted her head. “You’re… what, rank twenty-three now?”

“That’s not normal either,” Chessa added, and this time, the tease was sharper. “You were, like, bottom five last year.”

Damien, who had just lifted a piece of pork to his mouth, paused mid-bite.

The table went very still.

He chewed once, casually.

Then swallowed.

Madeleine raised an eyebrow. “What happened, Damien? Some kind of miracle drug?”

“Or were you just pretending to suck before?” Miri asked, her tone still gentle, but her curiosity unmistakable. “Because… you’re not the same.”

There it was.

The question under the question.

Not just grades.

Not just rank.

Damien Elford—formerly a bloated mess of charm and apathy—was now leaner, sharper, and unsettlingly present.

His face had thinned. His uniform fit differently. His posture was better. He listened now. And perhaps most damning of all—

He cared.

Isabelle’s brow creased slightly as she looked at him. “You’ve changed.”

Not an accusation.

Just a fact.

Damien leaned back, setting his chopsticks down with deliberate slowness.

Then he smiled.

Not wide.

Not smug.

But cool. Controlled.

“Change isn’t complicated,” he said. “You just burn everything you used to be and decide not to look back.”

Chessa blinked. “That sounds… intense.”

“It was,” he said. No irony.

Madeleine narrowed her eyes. “You’re dodging.”

Damien’s gaze flicked across the table—at the four of them. At Isabelle, especially.

Then he shrugged.

“I got tired of being pathetic,” he said. “So I stopped.”

Miri frowned. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Damien replied. “It was brutal. And it’s still not done.”

Isabelle’s eyes sharpened.

There was something in his tone—stripped of showmanship. Something that didn’t try to impress or deflect.

Madeleine, however, wasn’t ready to let go. “But how? I mean, really? Rank twenty-three isn’t a fluke. That takes work. Obsession, like you said.”

Damien tilted his head.

Then smiled again—this time with a spark of deliberate mystery.

“I found motivation.”

Chessa raised an eyebrow. “And what, it just lit a fire under your ass hard enough to melt a few dozen pounds off?”

“Roughly,” Damien said, voice dry.

“But really,” Miri said softly. “You were like a whole different person back then.”

Damien didn’t reply immediately.

He tapped his knuckles lightly against the table, once. Twice.

Then, finally:

“That’s because I was.”

Madeleine rolled her eyes, drawing a long, theatrical sigh. “Okay, okay. Changed man, mysterious phoenix reborn, got it.”

Chessa leaned back, smirking. “The ’tragically misunderstood transformation arc’ routine only works if you give us at least one juicy detail, you know.”

Damien offered nothing.

Not a wink. Not a deflection.

Just that same unreadable calm, like he’d already said more than he meant to.

Miri, gentle as ever, picked at her salad and said, “Still… it is impressive. You’ve really changed. I mean that.”

A beat passed.

Then Madeleine leaned in, grin returning. “More pleasant to be around, too.”

Damien arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Pleasant?”

“You used to be a grease-slick disaster,” Chessa added helpfully. “Now you’re… tolerable.”

“Charming,” Miri corrected.

“Handsome, even,” Madeleine said, lips curling into a teasing smirk.

Damien gave her a flat look. “So I look handsome now?”

Madeleine shrugged. “You do.”

He blinked once.

Then smiled—crooked, faintly amused.

“…It’s rare to hear it said that directly.”

Miri laughed softly. “That’s because most girls don’t say it while sitting next to their boyfriend.”

Damien turned his head slightly. “You’re taken?”

Miri nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I am.”

“I see,” Damien said, voice light, almost neutral. “Then I’ll consider the compliment entirely selfless.”

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